❀ Youths Witte, OR The Wit of Grene Youth.  
Choose Gentlemen, and Mez-dames which of them shall best like you.  
Compiled and gathered together by HENRY CHILLESTER.  
First view then read, last judge with regard: give th' Auctor good words he claims no reward.  
❧ VBIQVE FLORESCIT.  
LONDON Imprinted by John Wolf, 1581.   

TO THE RIGHTWORSHIPFULL, Master GEORGE GORINGE Esquiere, one of her majesties Gentlemen Pensioners: HENRY CHILLESTER wisheth long life, with continual health & prosperity to God's good will and pleasure.  
AS the unskilful carver that wanteth both Art and judgement, cunningly to contrive the work he taketh in hand, & yet able to judge of his own imperfection, findeth means, (for the better advancement thereof) to erect the same on the top of some high pillar, or such like place, where the fault cannot easily be perceived by the curious beholders: Even so (Right worshipful) having perfected this my Youths wit, Or wit of Green Youth, (a fit name for so simple a Subject) I was moved, partly of mine own accord, (knowing your worthiness, which well appeareth to the world) and partly at my friends request (that persuaded me you would courteously accept it) to make my special choice of your worship, to support, and sustain by your virtue & worthiness, this simple work, unworthy such a Patron. For though it be sufficiently fraught with a few pretty conceits, yet can I not myself in privy conceit, so much love or like it (as the Crow that thinketh her own bird fairest) to suppose, it may well swim through the sensural seas of such as have either high Foreheads, and sharp wits, or want of judgement, with evil tongues, unless it be guided by such a Pilate, as can safely conduct it.  
May it therefore please your worship (of your courtesy) to allow my good will, and hereafter to like of the work, I shall have what I especially wish for in this behalf, and care the less for the sharp censure of such as disfavour my doings. For I know that Apollo for all his skill, refused not to hear the harishe Pipe of Pan, though but a rural God. And Pallas, though in Art she far surpassed Arachne, yet vouchsafed she to handle the third of her spinning, and to say that her web was well wrought, and cunningly contrived. And Xerxes, a mighty Prince, thought no less well of the poor man that presented him with a handful of water, than he did of the greatest gifts that ever any bestowed upon him. And truth it is, that such men as are either guided by the rule of reason, or endued with the courteous gifts of gratitude, do more regard the mind of the giver, than the worth of the present. Therefore to conclude, I humbly beseech your worship, with the force of your virtue, to defend my YOUTHS' WIT from the malicious reports of those that mislike, and seek to disgrace it: And in so doing, your worship shall give me encouragement, hereafter to attempt a better work than this is: For the smallest tree, (if it be well pruned) will prosper, and very light labour not misliked, is likely to grow so far onward, as to become Industry itself. And thus abruptly finishing these rude lines, I commit you to the tuition of the Almighty, Resting always  
Your worships most humble at commandment, Henry Chillester.   

TO THE READER.  
MAy it please you amongst other books, some good, some bad, to peruse this my YOUTHS' WIT, Or WIT OF GREEN YOUTH, in such sort as they were wont to survey the Tables of Phidias, and the Pictures of Prazitiles, that had before seen the excellent workmanship of Appelles, between whom and the other, though there were as great difference, as between the least twinkling Star, and the Sun itself, yet did they both like of the one as they had cause, and look on the other when occasion served. The praise that Homer purchased by his skill in Poetry, was not so great, that it could quite disgrace the doings of his Inferiors: For Mevius and Bavius (though not so excellent) yet were they allowed for Poets of many: some have desired to hear an Orator of evil utterance, to the end they might afterwards take the more pleasure, when they hard one plead, that could pronounce his words distinctly, and with good discretion. Cato the wise man of ROME, was wont oftentimes to vaunt, that he learned no less good by conversing with fools, and spying their faults, than he got wisdom by the wisest, and those of best behaviour: And therefore, I am thus far to entreat you for this my simple work, that if it be not in your conceits, worthy to be likened to Appelles' Pattornes, ye will vouchsafe, at idle times, to gaze upon 〈◊〉, as a table of Phidias or Praxatiles. If it bear not the beauty of a sun beam, then liken it to the least star that shineth. If it be not comparable to Homer's poesy, that was taken as a sufficient dowry with his daughter in marriage: yet permit it to be allowed of some, as were the verces of Bavius and Mevius, If it taste nothing at all of a good Orator, yet accept of it, till a better come in place. If it teach no wise conceit, yet esteem of it as a pattern of my foolish conceit, whereby such as have judgement, may conceive (if they will) a platform of some wisdom. Bear with me, I pray you, though I seem in this linking of my lines together, half to riddle with you, and accept my good will, For I have been as much troubled in contriving these my conceits, as they that build castles in SPAIN (as the French Proverb understandeth it) Or, as a Hen with two Chickens, And so far ye well.   

In ZOILUM, Richardus W.  
INuide cur acuis ringendo Zoyle dentes?  
cur sulcat vultus ruga maligna tuos?  
Sed tu Maeonidem ridebas Zoyle vatem,  
& similis nunquam desinis esse tui:  
An non est Iwenum iwenilia condere Scripta?  
sic capitur studijs ipsa Iwenta suis.  
Ve Cereri grata est peragen dis messibus aestas,  
Bacchus in Autumno dulcia vina bibit,  
Sic matura dabit posthac maturior aetas,  
intera hoc placida perlege mente, precor.   

M. G. In commendation of the work.  

Such sugared sap, such dew of sweet delight,  
As painful Bees that bide on Hibla hill:  
From fragrante flowers both fresh and fair in sight.  
With labour great, do galne their hives to fill.  
Such, and no more, the well disposed mind:  
Within this book, by reading soon may find.   

Then praise the wight, whose pains shall please thee so,  
And please thyself with that which profit brings:  
And with thy profit, profit many more,  
And then report by proof what profit springs  
From our (Green Youth) and safely say thou this:  
Such wit doth want in graver heads than his.    

Th. W. To the Reader.  

THe proverb saith, wit goeth not all by age,  
the wise regard men's deeds and not their time  
Let Zoilus then cease of his wonted rage,  
and Momus grant that greenest wits may climb  
To touch the top of highest things with praise:  
Which Nestor scarce attained in all his days.   

Young colts bears price before old resty jades,  
young twigs stand fast, when taller trees decay:  
The budding rose exceeds the flower that fades,  
youth waxeth ripe, whilst age doth were away.  
Then judge aright, and praise him for his pains:  
That proves his theme, in praising youthly brains.    

G. A. In commendation of the Author.  
LEt hoary hears, who long in painful soil,  
with heavy hand have sowed Experience seed:  
At harvest reap, in guerdon of their toil,  
the name, and fame, of wisdom for their meed.  
But yet for wit, let youth receive the praise:  
As this our Youth doth flow in these our days.   

N. Skr. In the praise of his friend.  

THough wanton will did wrangle late with wit,  
though Soldier braulde, though Scholar cavil still  
Manillas' moan, though no man pity it,  
nor womanlike, so lose a praise of will.  
Though counsel then, that came from physics lore:  
Doth yield as yet no salve to heal his sore.   

Yet died not wit, he did but make his will,  
I not deny but then he might be sick:  
His addle head may were a kercher still.  
for then his brain was touched to the quick.  
But who so looks, shall see him here alive:  
And well perceive how youth can him revive.    

Mistress Marie P. In commendation of her servants work.  
TO praise the wight whose deeds deserve no less,  
were but to throw my words into the wind:  
For each that sees his work, must needs confess,  
(unless they serve contrary to their kind,)  
That he deserves far more than I can tell:  
his works, his words, his deeds deserve so well.   

R. W. gent. To his friend A N.  
Lo for my friend I here do break my vow,  
who erst have sworn in silence for to rest:  
But for because my friend constrains me now,  
both vows and oaths, I do account as jest,  
And say and swear, as I have done of yore:  
that such Green wits have seldom been before.   

I. Io. Gent.  
IN verse to write the praises of my friend,  
I want the skill of learned Poets old:  
Whose pregnante wit in Virgil may be pend,  
(and not by me) his filled phrase be told.  
Read, gallant youths, this book which he hath wrote:  
not for his own, but your delight, God wots.   

I. H. To his friend A. N.  
TO say of troth, that this my friend doth well,  
and in the end his doings should prove bad:  
My name, his fame, I should both by and sell,  
and neither win, but both of us be sad.  
So that to praise him further than I say:  
I neither can, ne will, ne must, nor may.   

YOUTHES' WIT OR THE WIT OF GRENE YOUTH. WITH THE CASTLE OF Conceits, Choose Gentlemen & mez-Dames which of these two shall best like you.  

Two lovers being together in the night, the Man died for joy, the Maid for grief: Whereof ensued the death of other two.  
IN the city of Cessenna not long since, was dwelling a rich merchant named Affranio, who had two children, a Son and a Daughter. Near unto him was dwelling an other merchant named Gerardo, who had likewise a Son and a Daughter, and as between the fathers there had of long time been great familiarity, so did acquaintance grow and increase between their children, specially between their Daughters: For Camilla the Daughter of Gerardo, (by means of her brother's absence, who was resident at Rome, where he had continued a long time as factor for his father,) having no body to keep her company in his absence, resorted divers times to Cornelia, who (her father being dead) was then only Mistress of the house, which her brother Hannibal (as sole inheritor of all his goods) did hold and enjoy after his decease: The continual conversation of these two gentlewomen as it engendered between them such perfect amity as could never be dissolved, so did it kindle a new fire in the heart of Hannibal, which by the contemplation of Camillas beauty, so increased from time to time, and in the end took such deep root, that it could not possibly be removed: This strange passion so tormented the mind of the poor gentleman (who had never before been acquainted with the like) that neglecting all his necessary affairs, he applied his whole care and study to please and pleasure his beloved Camilla, who utterly ignorant of his grief, showed him no better countenance than she did commonly to all other young gentlemen of her acquaintance, which Signior Hannibal perceiving, and not satisfied therewith would feign have made his meaning more apparent, craving such comfort as the necessity of his cause required, but the fear he had to offend, (and so to lose the favour whereof he was assured, by her continual presence) did still detain him, and would never suffer him to prosecute his purpose: Thus hanging between hope and despair, th'one pricking him forward, the other pulling him back, imagining now one thing, now an other thing, and never resolving fully upon any thing, he became at last so melancholic with musing & imagining on this matter, that losing his appetite to meat, and desire to sleep, at the last he grew sick, and by little and little wasted away as snow against the sun.  
Cornelia seeing her brother thus pained applied herself (like a natural sister) to provide him all things that she thought meet for the recovery of his health, by Physic or otherwise, but his disease proceeding of no natural cause, could neither be discerned nor cured by any Physician were his skill and experience never so great: only their opinion was for the most part, that it proceeded of some passion of the mind, which Cornelia understanding, who could by no means imagine upon what occasion he should be so disquieted; to understand the truth, she lay continually upon him, using all the persuasions that possibly she might, to make him reveal unto her the cause of this his grievous malady, which at the last he did with much a do, telling her, that it was only for the love he bore to her friend Camilla, which he had sought by all means possible to suppress, but could not, being continually renewed by the daily contemplation of her celestial beauty.  
Cornelia hearing these words, uttered by her sick brother, with grievous sighs and great abundance of tears, knowing that it was then no time to reprove his folly, but rather to provide a remedy for thextreme mischief whereunto he was so unhappily fallen, comforted him with sweet words, exhorting him to pluck up his spirits, and seek some means to remedy his grief: Whereunto he replied that he knew not how to ease himself, unless it would please her to discover his affection to her friend Camilla, and persuade her to take some pity upon him.  
Cornelia that loved her brother as her own life, gave him her promise that when opportunity should serve, she would satisfy his desire, and make his estate so well known to her in whom his only hope of help consisted, that she had no doubt but that her tender heart would be moved to take compassion upon him, when she should perceive that his intent was honest, and his affection in deed unfamed.  
Hannibal was somewhat comforted with these kind words, & considering the great amity that was between Camilla and his sister Cornelia, thought her words might work such effect with her, that he should easily obtain his desire.  
Cornelia shortly after being with her friend Camilla talking of divers matters (as women will do when they he together) at the last she spied her time, to open her brother's case unto her, telling her what strange torments he endured for her sake, affirming that without her help he was like to languish without all hope of remedy, praying her therefore most instantly to have pity upon him.  
Camilla though she liked not well of these words that Cornelia had used unto her, yet seeing her to be greatly grieved for her brother's sickness, she did the rather hold her excused, and would not greatly reprove her, but gave her to understand that she took small delight in such amorous suitors, praying her from thenceforth to trouble her no more with the like, assuring her (if she did) that she should but lose her labour, and be far enough from obtaining that she sought.  
Cornelia though she were not satisfied with this answer, yet (being so nipped) maidenly shamefastness would not suffer her to proceed any further in the matter, neither durst she show her brother what answer Camilla had made her, lest it should drive him to greater extremities than he was in before: but whether it were with watching, and the great pains that she took with him continually during the time of his sickness, or by some grief she conceived in the uncourteous answer of her friend Camilla, or because she saw no means to remedy her brother's seacelesse torment, she fell shortly after into a grievous fever which constrained her to keep her bed, whereof when Camilla had understanding, she came incontinently to visit her, and being with her all alone, in a chamber next adjoining to the lodging where Hannibal lay, having but a wall between them, so that whatsoever was said in th'one, might easily be hard in tother, Hannibal hearing his Camillas voice, asked his sister Cornelia, who was with her, who answered him that there was no body but Camilla, Hannibal being likewise alone at that present, calling his wits together and taking more courage unto him than he was accustomed to have in this case, taking his lute in his hand he began to sing as followeth: 
Yield me my heart, yield me my liberty.  
From out this prison let me pass again,  
That for thy sake, bide such extremity,  
As never mortal man might well sustain.  
If thou hast vowed to tread Diana's trace,  
If cruelty increase in thee by kind,  
If thou disdain to grant thy servant grace,  
Or canst not lodge such, liking in thy mind:  
Yield me my heart, that wholly than I may  
give up the ghost, when as my race is run,  
Which now for love doth languish night and day,  
And hath no power those painful pains to shun.  
But if thy purpose be to keep it still,  
Yet use it better than thou didst before.  
To vex the wight, no doubt the deed were ill,  
That well deserves, thou shouldest esteem him more.  
Then, in thy breast, as reason doth require,  
My grieved heart vouchsafe to lodge at last,  
That I may say, thou didst not desire,  
Nor wish the woes, that I so long did taste,  
But that thy love though it were long concealed,  
Was firmly sixth, and plainly now revealed.   
And then began on the other side of the wall, with words interrupted with sighs and great abundance of tears, to declare to Camilla his amorous and extreme passion, humbly beseeching her to take pity upon him, and not to suffer him to finish his miserable life in the flower of his youth, through her cruelty and want of compassion.  
Of such force were these his prayers, that mollefying her tender heart, (which she felt suddenly inflamed with an unaccustomed heat) she thought it great cruelty not to have compassion upon him, and no less ingratitude to deny him that favour which his entire affection and perfect loyalty had well deserved: wherefore in friendly wise she spoke unto him after this manner: Senior Hannibal, I am contented to allow of your words, and cannot but like well of your courteous offer, not supposing you to be one of those that with lewd practices do seek to deceive such simple souls as I am, who when they have satisfied their wicked desire, report it amongst their companions, to the great reproach and utter spoil of those that were so fond to believe them. But rather than any such thing should happen to me, I desire to die the most grievous death that may be devised, knowing rightwell, that when a woman hath once lost her good name, she hath then no more to lose, the same being the only riches that she can have in this world. It is therefore very meet that we be somewhat circumspect in this matter, & if the love you bear unto me, be so perfect as you profess, and that your meaning be none other than I imagine it, you may demand me of my Father in marriage who I am well assured will not deny you your honest request. By this means you may easily obtain your desire and keep my good name unspotted, which is the thing wherein I chiefly delight me.  
Hannibal was well satisfied with these words, and greatly commending the virtuous care she had for the preservation of her good name, promised so soon as he had recovered his health to do as she had directed him. After this Hannibal proved all means to procure his health, and being well recovered caused certain of his friends to move his suit to Camillas Father, who knowing his ability, and liking well of the offer, answered that he could be well contented to bestow his daughter upon him, but would not resolve upon any thing till his Son (whose name was Claudius) were returned from Rome which he said would be very shortly.  
Camilla knowing her Father's answer imagined the matter to be fully concluded for she thought assuredly that her brother would not be against it, wherefore betaking herself wholly to her friend Hannibal, her affection towards him grew so great that it was nothing inferior unto his.  
Whilst Claudius deferred his coming from Rome to Cesena, upon some occasion of business that detained him longer than he thought for, these two lovers divers times had conference together, thinking by that means somewhat to assuage the amorous flame, that continually burned in their breasts, but this caused it more and more to increase, and made them think every hour a year till Claudius returned. But when they saw he stayed so long after his time appointed, they caused themselves to be secretly married thinking to celebrat the marriage at Claudius' return, who coming home shortly after was advertised by his Father of the alliance that Hannibal sought to have with him, which (upon what occasion I know not) he greatly misliked and would in no wise give his consent thereunto: persuading his Father very earnestly for divers causes that he thought reasonable, to break of this match and in no wise to suffer it to go forward, wherein the old man following his sons advise, did in all things as he desired him, and answered Hannibal's friends accordingly when they came to know his resolution in the matter.  
The two lovers understanding how contrary to their expectation all things were fallen out, (as it is our human nature to desire that which is most denied us) more desirous now then at any time before to be together, and freely to enjoy each other, Camilla said to her beloved Hannibal: what, are not we handfast? can we be put a sunder with a safe conscience? no verily, and therefore to make the matter more assured (as I may very well without offence to Godward) I will this night admit you to my bed: wherefore if about midnight you will repair to my Father's house, my maid that is already privy to all that hath passed between us, shall give her attendance at the back gate to let you in, when you come, whereunto Hannibal very glad of so good an offer, willingly consented, and when the hour was come, went with all speed to the place appointed, and was privily conducted by the maid to Camillas chamber who received him very courteously, and he embracing and kissing her with great affection, ravished with exceeding joy, through this his unexpected pleasure, his senses failing him, he pitifully died in the arms of his dear Camilla, who seeing this strange adventure, betwixt fear and grief, was so grievously tormented that being unable long to endure it, at the last she fell down dead upon the corpses of her beloved Hannibal.  
The poor maid that was present, beholding this pitiful tragedy, and seeing no hope of recovery in them, cried for help so loud as she could. Claudius that lay not far of, being awakened with this sudden clamour, came running into his sister's chamber with his weapons ready drawn in his hand, to see what was the cause thereof, and beholding there this pitiful spectacle, knowing it was the body of Hannibal that then lay by his sisters, not staying to hear what the maid would say to him, presently stabbed her in with his dagger, and so leaving her for dead returned again to his own chamber.  
In the morning this strange accident being noised throughout the whole town, and at the last coming to the ears of the Governor, he caused the maid to be examined (that was not then fully dead.) and understanding by her how all things had passed, caused Claudius to be apprehended, and within two days after (the maid dying) condemned him to be beheaded, whereupon he was presently executed in the place, appointed for the punishment of all offenders: The two lovers likewise with great lamentation were both buried in one tomb, very sumptuously prepared, in perpetual remembrance of their incomparable amity.   

A Prince being enamoured of a beautiful gentlewoman, perceiving a favowred servant of his to be greatly tormented for the love of the same gentlewoman, giveth him leave to enjoy her, and quencheth his own heat by an other mean.  
A Certain Prince (whose name I need not rehearse) sojourning for his pleasure in the town of Blais, had amongst all his followers one that he specially favoured, who walking one day abroad for his pleasure, beheld by chance a very beautiful gentlewoman, that was wife to a wealthy merchant of the Town, and finding in her (as he thought) so many good gifts, as he never saw in any in all his life before, he became so greatly enamoured of her, that he could never be in quiet, but was continually troubled in mind, practising by all means possible to find a remedy for his new passion, and so behaved himself that the gentlewoman well perceiving his purpose & being vanquished with the like affection, did by her looks and gestures give him plainly to understand, that she liked well of his friendly offers, and would willingly satisfy his desire, if opportunity did serve.  
During these hopes the Prince his master made a solemn feast, whereunto were asembled all the Ladies & gentlewomen of any reputation in the City, amongst whom this gentlewoman before spoken of, was one, who for her beauty, neatness in apparel and comely behaviour, did as far surmount the rest, as the pretty pigeon doth the fowl black raven, or the fairest spring, the filthiest puddle: to be short there was no comparison between them, so greatly did they differ in all things: which the youthful, Prince perceiving, and wondringe greatly at such excellent beauty, as she on the other side did at his royalty, and the rare perfections that she perceived to be in him, love by and by attached both their hearts, and inflamed them with such affection each towards other, that they instantly desired a speedy end of their amorous proceedings, and so finely they handled the matter, that before they parted, it was concluded between them, that the next night (her husband being from home) they would meet at her house, and satisfy each other, with full assurance of their unfeigned amity.  
The love of this gentlewoman being thus removed from the Servant to the Master, the last stood so greatly in her grace that the first was in a manner quite forgotten, her sweet looks, converted to rigorous regards, she now set him at nought, whom before she highly esteemed, which sudden alteration, so tormented the mind of this poor gentleman, and drove him into such extreme passions, that being quite altered from that he was wont to be, he seemed rather a dead image, than a living creature. In these extremities he withdrew himself into his chamber, and taking his lute in hand, song thereunto as followeth: 
Both love and death are now become my foes:  
Of liberty hath love bereft me quite,  
So death denies his due to end my woes,  
And lets me live (to work me more despite)  
A wretched life, that lasteth all too long,  
Since all things tornes contrary to my mind:  
My mind is grieved to bide such open wrong,  
Such open wrong as no redress can find:  
Yet see I well the cause of all my grief  
Springs from the place where lay my most delight:  
A small delight that lends so bad relief,  
A bad relief that so bereaves my right,  
And to an other void of like desert  
Yields that which should requite my passed pains  
A grievous case, a cause that cuts my heart  
So much the more because no help remains:  
But (thus resolved) that whilst my life shall last  
I will no more a woman's words believe  
This hurt once healed, I hope my heat is past,  
And then no more it shall my senses grieve  
To think on love or lovers wanton toys,  
I leave that life to such as like it best  
Let them suck sorrow from their secret joys  
I will hence forth devise to live in rest:  
Far well therefore thou false dissembling dame  
Whose luring looks did lull me so a sleep  
That when I felt the force of fiery flame  
And saw myself in danger drowned so deep,  
I could not leave the harm I lykt so well  
Which now I loath, and will do while I live,  
Thy winks, thy wiles, thy words, and all farewell:  
To them that list my interest whole I give,  
That they may keep the thing with cost and care  
Which I desired and should have been my share:   
The Prince his master seeing him so suddenly, and strangely altered, laboured by all means possible to understand the cause thereof, which the gentleman would not in any wise confess, but sought to excuse the matter as he could, and make his case a great deal better than it was. The Prince therefore seeing all his words spent to small purpose, in seeking to persuade him to manifest his grief, & perceiving that the hour approached, wherein he appointed to meet with this gentlewoman, whose love he had so lightly purchased, being loath to prosecute his purpose without the company and council of his favoured servant, whom he had in all things found faithful unto him, he secretly called him, unto him, and said. Though I have divers times demanded the cause of thy grief (which I imagine to proceed of love) and can not be resolved in it, yet for the mutual amity that ought to be between us, I will not conceal any secret of mine from thee: Know then for certain, that I have of late been entrapped with the love of a gentlewoman of this town, so fair and full of all perfections, as I think in all Europe there liveth not her like, whose happy company (if fortune be not too contrary unto me) I hope to enjoy this night at my pleasure, wherefore having now revealed this secret unto thee, as to him in whom I have most special affiance, I pray thee vouchsafe to accompany me to the place where she remaineth that is my only solace, and I assure thee, if thou wilt let me understand what it is that thus troubleth thy mind (which I heartily beseech thee) thou shalt find me as ready to satisfy thy desire in any thing, and as careful to redeem thee from these dolours that now deprive thee of thy natural rest.  
The gentleman knowing the perfect goodwill and unfeigned affection that his Lord and master bore unto him, perceiving also by this his profred courtesy how desirous he was of his well doing, showed him from point to point the cause of all his grief proceeding of love, and the ingratitude of her whom he honoured & esteemed above all other creatures, being the self same gentlewoman that his Lord had chosen for his chiefest friend, which when he perceived whether he had cause to contemn him or no, I leave it to the judgement of those that be lovers, whose nature is, to loath them that seek to be partakers of their loves or to take from them any part of their favour whom they so greatly fancy? Notwithstanding this wise and worthy prince, preferring the love of his friend before his own fond affections, took a clean contrary course, for considering the miserable case whereunto love had brought this poor gentleman, he resolved with himself rather to respect his health then his own private pleasure, and resting upon this determination he said to the gentleman as followeth.  
My friend though I have nothing in the world so dear and delightful unto me, but I could willingly impart the same with thee, though thou mayst dispose of my goods as of thine own, & command my person to do thee pleasure, yet love that can allow of no partners, will not permit us to be both partakers of the gentlewoman whom we both desire, thou art greatly pained for her sake and I prefer the pleasure I might enjoy with her before all my worldly treasure. These are two great extremities, for as the one can well be endured, so may not the other be well forborn: Thy case craveth comfort, and my contentment, if thou want thy will thou art in danger to perish, if I bridle my affections it will breed me sorrow, notwithstanding so great is the love I bear unto thee, that I do rather choose to deprive myself of this favour, then to see thee languish for lack of that which is in my power to grant thee: Comfort thyself therefore cast of this carefulness, and despair no more but count thyself assured of that thou seekest, she shall be thine that best deservest her, thou shalt enjoy her wholly to thyself, I give her freely unto thee, and give over all the interest that I had or may have in her hereafter.  
The poor gentleman hearing these kind words and perceiving his own error, betwixt hope to obtain his desire, and ●eare to offend his good Lord, whom he honoured with all reverence due to so worthy a person, not knowing how to answer or what to imagine, he stood as still as a stone, staring in the prince's face, shedding great abundance of tears, and as one bereft of all his senses unable to utter one only word a great while together: At the last coming to himself again, with all humility he craved pardon for the offence which he had unwittingly committed against his majesty, protesting that he would rather choose to die a thousand deaths if it were possible then willingly seek to impeach the least part of his pleasure.  
The Prince remaining firm in his liberal purpose, after he had studied a while by what means he might best beguile the gentlewoman, and bring his friend relief, having found a fit devise for that purpose, he commanded the gentleman to attend upon him, and upon pain of his displeasure to do whatsoever he should appoint him, and so incontinently they passed together towards the gentlewoman's lodging, where they were finely received at their coming, by a pretty maid, that she had made privy to her meaning, who like a good servant, careful of her Mistress commandments, conveyed the Prince very privily into her chamber, where she attended his coming, whose friendly welcome & amorous enticements, had been enough to move the chastest mind in the world, to take delight in her, and forgetting all friends and friendship, to betake himself wholly unto her. But this good Prince, whose mind was fully bend to seek the safety of his friend, when he and the gentlewoman were laid together in the bed, and the candle put out, feigning as though he rise to ●ase himself, went to the gentleman his servant, whom he had left in an other lodging not far of, & sending him thither to supply his room, satisfied himself with the maid, that was a pretty 〈◊〉 girl▪ whom with his good persuasions, and liberal promises, he easily obtained to be at his commandment in all things, wherewith he did well content himself for the time.  
The gentleman that was now in th'arms of his Lady, whom he loved so dearly, when he had well satisfied his desire, and assuaged his heat, with her sweet embracement, he asked her pleasantly whether she thought that the greatness of a Prince, was able to show more perfect affection, than the good heart and loyal service of a mean gentleman.  
The gentlewoman hearing his voice which she knew very well, perceiving thereby that it was not the Prince whom she had pleasured, but the gentleman that she thought to displease and deprive of that favour, which his entire affetion had well deserved, understanding very well to what end his words did tend, sighing a little she said.  
If my wisdom had been as great as my beauty, I had not deprived myself of liberty, to make me a slave to one that set so light by me, neither had mine expectation been thus deceived, nor myself so beguiled: But seeing it is so fallen out, and that the liberality of a Prince hath been so great, to prefer the love of his servant, before his own private affections, it is great reason that 〈◊〉 should hold me contented, and show myself as liberal 〈◊〉 you (whose loyalty hath well deserved it) as he hath done that gave me this good example, wherefore I do here wholly betake myself unto you, accepting you for my only friend so long as li●e, and your good liking shall last, with assured promise, never more to a●●er my choice, or allow of any other in that respect, but always and in all thing, to be most humble at your commandment.  
These and such like words she used unto him, and afterwards falling into more pleasant talk, they passed the time till morning came, and then the gentleman with a gracious Congee, taking leave of his Mistress, departed with the Prince his master, being both well satisfied, who diverse times after, when occasion served, received the like contentment. But now lest I engender in your hearts some extreme envy, by speaking overmuch of this their exceeding pleasure, I think it best to hold my peace, and so avoid the inconvenience, which otherwise might ensue.   

A lamentable discourse of the love between Barisor, and Flora, with the piteous end of them both.  
Not without great reason do the Poets feign foolish love to be naked, for undoubtedly he is naked of all good virtues. They do likewise make him blind, to show that for want of good foresight, he suffereth himself to fall into all manner of vices: I may then very well conclude with them, and say that his subjects are so naked, so blind, and void of natural sense, that being in a manner despoiled of all good virtues, they suffer themselves, to be led into such filthy puddles, from whence they are not able to get out again▪ till their hard fortune do make them feel the smart of their wilful folly, as plainly appeareth by the story ensuing.  
The most renowned king of Hungary, the last that reigned in those parts, before the Turk had wasted the country, and brought it under his subjection, did in his life time, hold an open Court and had in his train, a great number of gentlemen and Ladies, so well accomplished in all perfections, as there was no Prince in Christendom comparable unto him, where love had so lively displayed himself, that it was hard to find in any other Court whatsoever, more affectionate servants to their Ladies, than was one gentleman of his house named Barisor, who though he were but basely borne, and little favoured with the gifts of fortune, notwithstanding nature far more gracious unto him, made him in all virtue and beauty so perfect, that without comparison he was accounted the most accomplished gentleman in the Court, and had such advantage above all other, that aswell in all manner of Gentlemanlike exercises, as also in martial exploits, he always showed himself far to surmount the rest which made him to be so well-beloved and esteemed of every one, especially of the Ladies of the court, that by means of the good countenance they gave him generally, he took great pleasure oftentimes to bear them company, showing himself so courteous and serviceable unto them, that thereby he drew unto him the hearts of most of them.  
In this honourable troop, there was a Lady named Flora, of an ancient house, and very rich in possessions, who seeing this gentleman so much esteemed and praised of every one save only of her, could no longer forbear to show him the like friendly and favourable countenance. He on the other side beholding the delicate complexion and natural beauty of this worthy Gentlewoman, was in such sort surprised, that he did in a manner lose all his senses. Love incontinently (during these amorous regards) using his accustomed force, at one instant tied the hearts of these twain so straightly together, and brought them to that pass, that it was easy to judge by their outward countenance how they were inwardly tormented, which though it seemed very strange unto them at the first, specially to the young Lady, yet when it had once taken root in her heart, it was so surely settled, as it did accompany her to her grave: Thus to discover their secret thoughts having yet none other means but only the amorous glances of their gazing eyes, they could not sufficiently discover the force of this new fire, wherewith they were so greatly inflamed, which so much tormented the mind of the poor Gentleman, that being on a day all alone in his chamber, and almost out of his wits through extreme sorrow, he cast himself down upon his bed thinking to recover some rest, but Love, and the continual remembrance of this new passion, so often renewed his grief, that in the end he was enforced for the ease of his mind, to sing to his Wife these verses following.  
Another to the like effect.  
Like as the steer that never felt the Yoke,  
But lived free in Woods and pastures still:  
Or like the horse that never yet was broke,  
Nor brought with bit t'obey the Riders will.  
So ranged I long, and wandered oft astray,  
Untaught to bridle my desires alas,  
Amidst my thoughts blind Cupid bore such sway,  
That bastard boy, not he whose son jove was.  
Whose brand was smothering heat not much vnle●ke  
To that clear flame which broileth in my breast.  
Wherein I joy as in the thing I seek.  
And therefore since I therewithal am blest,  
And Reason's yoke hath made my senses tame:  
I cry, O happy yoke, O noble flame.  
His song ended, sighing bitterly he said: O unhappy and miserable wretch that I am, well worthy am I to lose both life and liberty, to become a slave and the most unhappy gentleman on earth, that have settled mine affection in so high a place, that not so much as mine eyes, much les my thoughts shall ever be able to attain unto it, which makes me worthy of a thousand deaths, if it were possible to endure so many: what may I then expect, but even my utter ruin both of body and soul, seeing myself without all hope of remedy at the very beginning of my love, considering the difference of our degrees: Her great wealth, and my want: Her plenty, and my poverty.  
In these words, which were mingled with an infinite number of passions, he could find no reason at all for him to recover any rest. The poor Lady on the other side, that fried in the same fire, withdrew herself into her chamber, and framing her countenance (as she could very well) by feigning herself sick she found the means to ●e alone, to the end she might the better bewail her case, without being perceived of any, wherefore provoked by the heat of her new love, which took from her all Maidenly modesty, she said to herself.  
Alas, is it meet this cruel tyrant should so hardly entreat me, to make me will, that I may not, when I may not as I would? Ah, ah Barisor, well may I count myself unhappy, that ever I saw thee, seeing that sight, hath engendered this love, which at the beginning seemeth so hard and grievous unto me, and will (I fear me) in the end be a cause of greater evil, and peradventure the utter ruin of us both. My only desire is to enjoy thee, that art my only comfort: But alas, I see no way how to bring it to pass, without greatly offending my parents and mine own honour, and therefore should death be more delightful unto me, than still to endure this extreme torment, that my miserable life maketh me so long to endure.  
These poor passionate lovers, so long maintained their inward affection by outward looks and secret favours, that the poor Gentleman unable to endure his consuming griefs, presuming upon the courtesy of his mistress, whom by all evident tokens, he perceived to burn in the same fire that he did, seeing her one day all alone at a window very sad and pensive, pricked forward by an amorous desire, he found the means to enter into her chamber unseen of any, save only of a trusty maid that attended upon her, and feigning to bring her news from some friend of hers (as one that was conversant among the best) he did most humbly and graciously salute her, and then began with a trembling voice to utter these words.  
Madame, though I know the greatness of your beauty and the place ye hold, to be such as should move any man of my degree to be well advised what he will say, before he presume to speak unto you, lest by his unadvised proceeding, he do abridge some part of that honour, which is rightly due unto you, whereof I always had, and ever will have as great care and regard as any the most affectionate servant that may possibly present himself before the eyes of so worthy a Lady: Notwithstanding, confessing the cruel torment that grievously afflicteth every part of me, for fear lest I should obtain no place in her honourable service, whom I desire to obey and please in all things, which would not have suffered my life to continue till this time, had it not been conserved by the hope I had to be so employed to the death: despairing of all succour, I have now taken this presumption upon me, humbly beseeching your accustomed bounty to accept this excuse of your poor slave that desireth no longer to live, than his life shallbe acceptable unto you, and bearing with my indiscretion, to impute the fault to your excellent beauty, that hath entangled me, and so restrained my liberty, that finding myself so wonderfully surprised, I am (said he, the tears standing in his eyes) wholly tied to your answer, whereby I attend the last and final sentence of my life or death.  
The young Lady little acquainted with such amorous discourses (as it is the nature of such tender youth to be somewhat shamefast) at first cast down her eyes to the ground: but anon after (overcome with these sweet words. and unable to resist the fervency of this strange passion) at this first encounter (putting all shame under foot) she looked up again, beholding him with a sweet, and lovely countenance, for whom she died a thousand times a day, and then casting forth a deep sigh, answered him with a trembling voice, after this manner.  
Senior Barisor, I must needs confess, that at the first encounter, my forces failed me, & the honour I ought to my reputation being greatly attainted by the like mishap, (whereof unawares I myself am the cause) at every word I would speak, my heart panted, and was grievously perplexed, my mind likewise, and all the other parts of my body, were so weakened, that I had in a manner, no use of them at all, which now enforceth me (having hitherto forgotten myself) to let thee understand, that the very first time, I was surprised with thy honest behaviour, I felt in myself such extreme anguish, that me thought it pulled my heart out of the accustomed place, to join, and unite it with thine: and since that time, thy virtues, and the knowledge I had of thy fervent affection (the force and assurance whereof is now discovered) hath been so lively imprinted in my mind, that through despair, and extreme passion, I thought a thousand times, that my soul would have departed from my body, supposing all my life long, to keep secret this amorous flame, which, whilst I had sought too much to suppress, increasing more and more, would in the end have quite consumed me. But since upon so just occasion, I see my good, present without dissimulation, unable to deny that which ye know as well as myself, I humbly beseech you, seeing I have so much forgotten myself, as to put my honour into your hands, to be circumspect in your dealing, and forecast the dangerous mishaps, and inconveniences that may ensue, if our love come to light, considering the greatness of my house, and how many noble personages there are, that will seek to hinder the favour that I desire to bear unto you, which I shall not be able so well to dissemble, but that at one time or other it will be perceived.  
Love now, that had deeply wounded these two Lovers at the heart, desirous to make them know his full power and puissance, when he had quite bereft their liberty, so planted his ensign in their entrails, that from the poor Lady Flora he took all ability to resist, and gave to Senior Barisor a rash desire to enterprise that, which after cost him his life, for giving bridle to his unruly affections, with a long and gracious kiss, confirmed his unfeigned amity, and ravished with exceeding joy, through the continual pleasure, he conceived in her many courtesies, finding himself alone at liberty, he made request of that, which most contented his libidinous desire, & so long continued his haunt, that at last, the bruit of suspicion, did not only offend the ears, of all the gentlemen of the court, but also of her Parents, who determined to use some rigorous correction, & to remove her far from him, by whose means she had gotten this ill report, and lost her good name: which when she perceived, she determined rather to make herself unhappy for ever, then to live without the company of her faithful, and well affected servant.  
And after good deliberation, seeing herself greatly urged to forsake the Court, through the fury and fear she had of her displeased friends, she agreed with her best beloved (to the end they might freely enjoy their Love, some where else) to forsake the Court, and her Country, with all convenient speed: wherefore, the better to bring their desire to pass, they caused themselves to be married as secretly as they might, and setting all their affairs in good order, when they were furnished of money, and all things that each of them severally according to their ability, were able to procure, for fear to be discovered, they stole away in the night, and traveled by unknown ways that were not commonly trad●●●, till they came to the sea side, where they took 〈◊〉, with purpose to pass towards Italy, thinking there to spend the rest of their life happily, and as their heart desired: but cruel fortune, inconstant and envious of the good that before she had granted them, turning their sweet into sour, and their pleasure into great displeasure, so extremely handled them, that their miserable mishap may be a good example to all other, to beware of the like, when they find themselves disposed to take so dangerous a wise.  
These two fugitive Lovers being embarked, as aforesaid, before they were fully ten miles, from the haven there rose so great a tempest in the sea, that the sky being covered with many dark clouds, and the water troubled with the vehemency of the wind, that it seemed all things were quite confounded and brought into a confused Chaos so that the boldest in the bark, and he that had best skill was feign to give over his task, and commit all to the mercy of the time, which was so dangerous, that the ship overmatched by the vehemency of the winds, was broken all to pieces, against a hard rock, and all that were in it drowned and lost, save only Barisor and Flora: For Barisor (strengthened by the vehemency of his love) holding his Flora in his arms, all be blubber with weeping when he saw the eminent danger which might no way be avoided, he cast her upon his back, and with an invincible courage leapt into the Sea, and putting himself, to the power and conduct of the tempestuous waves, broke the billows with his body, as a Dolphin with his broad fins. The Lady acknowledging the great diligence of her poor lover, said unto him: Alas my dear friend, I greatly fear, that by seeking my safety we shall both be drowned: nay sweet Lady (said Barisor) thy company is such a comfort unto me, and my desire to preserve thee so great, that it maketh me more swift than the wind, and stronger than the waves that strive against me. The sorrowful Flora bending herself to kiss her bearer (the best recompense that then she could make him for all his pains) it gave the poor gentleman so great courage, that with the help of the time, and the sea which waxed calm again, he gate to land, in a desert Island, inhabited by none but wild beasts. So soon as they were arrived in this place, they looking back on a sudden, perceived a huge Lion hard at their heels, wherefore thinking that he would have devoured them, and so with their life to have ended all their miseries, they prepared themselves with patience, to abide their unhappy destiny, & like friends to die together. But the cruel beast (whether it were that he had before satisfied himself some where else, or that the heavens had so appointed it) contrary to all expectation, departed from them, without offering them any injury, or using any violonce towards them.  
When they had escaped this danger, for fear to fall into the like again, they wandered up and down three whole days together, to seek some place of security, but in all that time they saw no earthly creature, nor found any harbour, but only the wild desert, and the main sea, that environed it round about, wherefore being extremely pinched with hunger, and faint with running, they were constrained to rest their feeble bodies, void of all natural strength, hard by the sea side, where being couched together in this miserable plight, each embracing other, almost dead for want of food, and not able to do any thing but weep and sigh, Barisor said to his beloved Flora: Alas my dear heart, thy sweet and delicate youth, unable to endure the extreme anguish of this deadly famine, must needs perish, without any hope of recovery. Ah my dear friend, said she, I feel myself greatly eased by enjoying thy friendly company. Then pausing a while, and fetching a feeble sigh, she said again: Alas poor soul, I see thou mayst no longer endure this dolour, all the forces of thy pining heart do fail thee: Not in love (replied Barisor) though in this earthly bodies, our souls (so united, that nothing hath power to part them) shall ascend to the heavens together, and so long as any gasp of breath remaineth, satisfy themselves with these two kisses, now cold, for want of nature's gifts. Thus lamentably complaining, and straightly embracing, at the last they gave up the ghost, & shortly after were found by certain strange merchants that came on shore, to furnish themselves of fresh victual, being driven upon this Island by tempest, who when they saw the dead bodies of these desolate lovers, newly deceased, but past all recovery, perceived by all outward appearance, that they died for want of food, wherefore lamenting their case (which seemed very strange unto them) they buried them after the best manner they might, and then departing from them, they departed on their purposed voyage, where they made report of this strange accident, and likewise in all other places where they happened to come, and amongst the rest, in Hungary, so that in the end, it came to the ears of those that were acquainted with the late escape of Barisor and Florinda, who knowing by all evident tokens, that these pitiful news concerned them, some were glad, because they might now with more assurance, enjoy the large revenues that belonged to Flora, others reproved their folly, but all in general lamented their loss, specially such as were lovers, to whose mind this strange example was no small terror.  
Behold here, Gentlemen, the force of foolish Love, which inflameth the hearts of the greatest, oftentimes bereaveth them offence, and maketh them careless of all duties, who, the greater, & more noble that they be, the more care they ought to have, not to remit any thing, how small so ever it be, that may be any blemish to their reputation: For it is most certain, that whosoever once forsaketh God, and suffereth himself to be led away with every foolish passion, that provoketh him, he must needs fall into such dangerous ways, as will lead him at last to utter perdition, which he shall never be able to avoid.   

Constance loving Martuccio Gomitto: when she heard that he was dead, desperately put herself all alone in a bark, which being transported by the wind to Suse in Barbary. From thence she went to Thun●s, where finding her friend Martuccio alive, and in great authority she bewrayed herself unto him, who marrying her shortly after returned with her very rich to Lippare: Wherein is plainly set forth the force of love, and the steadfast affection of those that love faithfully: with a perfect example of the fickleness of fortune, who never abideth custom, but every day altereth her estate, advancing one, and overwhelming an other, and sometime greatly abasing them whom she mindeth to bring to a better state.  
NOt far from Cicilia, there lieth a little Island named Lippare, the inhabitants whereof are chief maintained by merchandise & navigation: In this Island a virgin of very good parentage, named Constance, was borne, and brought up, who for her beauty and virtuous behaviour was well beloved, and greatly desired of many in marriage, but specially of one Martuccio Gomitto, a comely and courteous young man, not very wealthy, but well skilled in the art he professed, to whom this virgin did likewise bear so good affection, that she never thought herself well without his company, whereof when Martuccio was assured, purposing to make her his wife, he demanded her father's good will, which he denied him, saying he would bestow his daughter upon one that should be well able to maintain her, to the end she might be a comfort to him in his old age.  
Martuccio greatly grieved to see himself rejected, and in a manner despised for his poverty, prepared a little vessel and furnishing it with all things fit for his purpose having also drawn divers of his friends and kinsfolk to take part with him, he made a vow never to return again to Lippare till he were rich: wherefore departing from them, he began to practise piracy on the borders of Barbary: pilling and spoiling all that he found too weak to resist him, wherein fortune was very favourable unto him, if he could have taken the time whilst it served. But he and his companions not contented that they were in short time become very rich, in seeking to get more, they were all taken by certain Saracins, who shutting them up under their hatches carried them to Thunes, where they were committed to prison and long after kept in great misery, whereupon news was brought to Lippare for certain, by many credible persons, that all they that were in the little bark with Martuccio were drowned. Which Constance hearing (who was grieved without measure at his sudden departure) she greatly lamented amongst the rest, and determining to live no longer, because her heart would not serve to make away herself by any violent means, she sought to find some new necessity to hasten her desired end: For which purpose going one evening forth of her father's doors towards the sea side, she found by chance a fisherbote in the haven somewhat distant from the other ships, which (by means that the owners were newly arrived) was furnished with mast, sail, and oaers, which Constance perceiving presently entered into it, and (having a little skill in navigation, as most of the women of that Island have) she launched into the deep, and casting overboard the oaers and rudder and all things else wherewith the boat might be guided, hoist her sail and committed all to the mercy of the wind, thinking it would either overwhelm the boat (being unbalaced, and without a pilot) or else drive it upon some rock, and so break it all to pieces, and so being unable to avoid the danger when she would, must of necessity be drowned: In this mind weeping bitterly, she wrapped her clothes about her head and laid her down under the hatches: But it fell out contrary to her expectation, for the gentle Northwest wind did blow so full and freshly, that by the next night after she went a board the bark, it brought her within a hundred miles of Thunes, into a haven near to a town named Suse: The young virgin felt not whether she were on land or in the sea, for whatsoever happened, she never lifted up her head, nor never thought to lift it up again.  
By good hap, as the bark stroke upon the shore, there was a poor seafaring woman hard by, laying forth her fisher men's nets to dry in the sun, who marveling greatly to see it run on ground with full sail, and thinking that the fishermen were a sleep within, she went a board the bark, and finding no body there, but this poor desolate virgin that was then fast a sleep (wondering greatly at so strange a case) and perceiving by her garments that she was a Christian, she called her divers times so loud as she could, and when she had waked her, she asked her in Latin, how it was possible for her to come thither, all alone in that little boat.  
The virgin hearing her own country language, doubting that some contrary blast had brought her back again to Lippare, started up suddenly and looked round about her: But not knowing the country, and yet seeing herself on land, she asked the poor woman where she was: who answering her, said: My daughter thou art now near to Suse in Barbary: The poor virgin hearing this story that the had so well escaped the danger of the seas, and fearing to fall into the hands of these barbarous people that would abuse her, not knowing what was best to do, she sat her down on the boats side and wept bitterly.  
The good old woman seeing what sorrow she made, greatly pitied her case & comforting her all that she might, and entreated her to go with her into a little house she had upon the shore which at last, after long and earnest persuasion she was contented to do, and being there the old woman so ●●nely flattered her that in the end she told her by what means she was arrived there: The good old woman knowing by this means that she had fasted long and must therefore needs be a hungered, set before her such simple fare as she had, and entreated her so much that she got her to eat a little. Constance being now somewhat refreshed asked the old woman what she was, who answered that she was of the Trappany, and that her name was Chereprise, and served certain Christian fishermen dwelling in that country.  
The young virgin (though she were greatly grieved) yet hearing Chereprise named, her mind gave her straightways that she had heard the name before, not knowing any cause that should move her thereunto, and began now to hope, she knew not what, and did no more desire to die as she was wont to do, desiring the old woman without inquiring any further of her estate, to have compassion on her youth, and give her council how she might keep herself from receiving any injury, which the good old woman promised her to do: Wherefore leaving her alone in the house, she went with all speed to take up her nets, & then returning back again, when she had folded and laid them up handsomely together, she led Constance with her to Suse, where being arrived, she said unto her.  
My daughter I will bring thee to the house of a good Saracin Lady, for whom oftentimes I do such business as she shall please to appoint me, she is an old gentlewoman very wise and charitable, I will recomend thee unto her so well as I can, and I am sure she will receive thee willingly, and use thee as if thou were her own child: And for thy part, when thou art with her, conform thyself to serve her well and faithfully, that thou mayst win her favour, and continue it until such time as it shall please the Lord to send thee better fortune.  
This said, she brought Constance to the Lady's presence, who when she knew what she was, and understood what had happened unto her (for Chereprise had informed her thereof at large) she earnestly beheld her and pitying her case, the tears tickled down her cheeks, then receiving her into her service, she kissed her, and led her by the hand into her house, where she remained after that amongst other women (without the company of any man) that were continually employed about diverse kinds of curious works, that they wrought with the needle, which Constance learning in short time began to work amongst them, and by her good behaviour and great diligence, won the favour not only of her Mistress, but also of other that were conversant with her, who quickly taught her to understand and speak their language.  
Whilst Constance was remaining at Suse, her loss being greatly lamented in her father's house, it happened that in the time of Mariubdile King of Thunes, there was a young Lord of a great lineage & very puissant remaining in Grenado, who challenged the realm of Thunes to be his and for that cause levying a huge army, he came to make war upon the King, thinking to drive him out of the country.  
These things coming to the ears of Martuccio Gomitto, who could very well speak the Barbary language, when he understood that the King sought to make himself as strong as he could to withstand the malice of his enemy, he said to one of his keepers: If I might be permitted to speak with the King, I could give him such council as might easily gain him the victory: The keeper told his Master what Martuccio had said, who went incontinently to make report thereof to the King, who commanded Martuccio to be brought before him, and being come, asked him what his council was: Martuccio with all reverence answered him in this manner.  
Worthy Prince since the time that I have frequented your country, I have always had good regard to the order of your fight, and perceive (unless I be deceived) that your greatest strength consists in archers, wherefore in any conceit if it might be so brought to pass, that your enemies should want arrows, and your people have plenty, it must needs be that they shall be vanquished and you have the victory: In deed said the King if this could be done, we need not to doubt of the conquest. Surely Sir (said Martuccio) if you please it may easily be done and in this manner. First you must cause the strings of your archers bows to be made a good deal less than those that are commonly used, which done you must likewise cause the notches of their arrows to be made fit for those strings, but this most be done secretly and with such expedition, that your enemies have no understanding of it, least by knowing your policy, they seek means to prevent it. And this I say because you know it is the custom when the arrows on either side be all spent, then to store themselves with those that they receive from their enemy, and to return them back again so long as the fight endureth: Now by this device that I have told you, you may have great advantage of your enemy. For when you have both discharged all your arrows one against an other, their arrows being big notched, shall serve your small strings very well, but your small notched arrows shall not be able to serve their great strings, so shall you have great plenty to assail them a fresh, and they none at all to resist you, by this means ye may deal with them, as you list, and they shall no way be able to escape your hands.  
The king that was a very wise Prince, perceiving how profitable this council might be unto him, caused it with all diligence to be put in execution, and finding it to fall out to his commodity, and the confusion of his enemies, he greatly commended Martuccio, and to show himself thankful for so great a benefit, rewarded him very bountifully, and advanced him to great authority.  
The report of this ran through out the whole country, so that at last it came to Constance ●ares, that Martuccio Gomitto (whom she supposed to be dead long since) was yet alive: wherefore the love that she bore unto him, which by this time was almost quite extinct, began now to kindle a fresh with a new flame, which increasing more and more, did quite remove from her all desire to die, and opening her case to the good Lady that she served, told her that she greatly desired to go to Thunes, to satisfy her eyes with that which her ears had heard, to th'end she might be more assured of his safety, whose welfare she wished as her own. The good Lady greatly commended her, provided a bark, and with all speed went with her to Thunes, where at their coming they were honourably received by a kinsman of hers that was dwelling there: where when they were settled, she sent Chereprise (that went thither with her) to hearken after Martuccio: who undestoode that he was alive, and in great authority, whereof making report to the Lady, she rejoiced greatly at this good news, and desired to be the first that should bring tidings to Martuccio of the welfare of his friend Constance, and of her being in the country, went one day to the place where he lodged, and desiring to speak with him, was permitted to come unto him, to whom she said. Senior Martuccio there is a servant of yours that came from Lippare, arrived at my house, whose desire is to have some conference with you, and because I would not trust any other (as she requested me) I am come myself to do the message unto you: Martuccio thanked her and went with her to her lodging, where she left Constance, who seeing that her dear friend Martuccio was ravished with exceeding joy, and not able to bridle her affection leapt suddenly about his neck, & embraced him with open arms, but the remembrance of the passed pains, and the pleasure she conceived in her present fortune, did so bereave her sense, that she could not utter one word, nor reframe from shedding tears in great abundance.  
Martuccio beholding her whom he so dearly loved, the case seemed so strange, and so greatly amazed him, that he stood in doubt a great while, whether he saw her in deed, or else dreamt that he saw her, but when he came to himself again, and knew for certain that it was she he said unto her. Alas my dear art thou yet alive, it is long since that I hard report that thou was lost, neither could it be known whether thou wentest, or what was become of thee. This said, weeping bitterly he embraced and kissed her a thousand times together. Then did Constance tell him of all her adventures, and how courteously the good Lady had dealt with her from time to time, after which and divers other talk that they had together, he departed from thence, and going to the King his Master advertised him of all that had happened to him and his friend Constance, craving leave of him to marry her according to his country manner: The King greatly marveling at the matter, sent for Constance, who confirming all that Martuccio had reported, he said unto her: Now truly fair virgin thou art worthy to have him to thy husband, for whom thou hast taken such pains and passed so many perils: wherefore bestowing many large gifts upon them, he gave them leave to do whatsoever they thought good: Then Martuccio very liberally rewarding the Lady for the great benevolence that she had used towards Constance in her adversity, with the King's licence, took leave of all his friends in that country, & with Constance and Chereprise took ship, and returned very rich to Lippare, where they were so cheerfully received of all their friends (who never thought to have seen them again) that it is not possible to declare the exceeding joy that this second meeting did bring to every one of them: To conclude Martuccio and Constance (to their great comfort and contentment) being solemnly married, ever after during the term of their life enjoyed their love together, as they ought without any impediment or let, to their deserved pleasure.   

The complaint of one in misery.  

THe day seems long to them that dwell in dole,  
and short the time to such as live in joy:  
The sick-man's grief full little knows the hole,  
so much delight doth differ from annoy,  
That th'one doth cause in man desire to die,  
tother still to live continually.   

What man would wish to live that lives in woe?  
and in delight who would desire to die?  
Since that by death an end of grief doth grow,  
and death of joys deprives us utterly,  
Of worldly joys, for only so I mean:  
of which we see death doth deprive us clean.   

Whereby not all old proverbs true I find,  
for old said saws do say that life is sweet:  
But death is more desired of noble mind,  
than life to lead for living far unmeet.  
Which loathed life doth make me thus to cry:  
I live too long come death and let me die.    

A Lover fancied, but not favoured of Fortune.  

MY mourning mind doth crave some sweet delight,  
and fancy fame would lend me some I see:  
But fortune frowns, and sends me foul despite,  
and care doth keep all comfort quite from me.  
Such passions strange do still perplex my mind:  
as I despair of any ease to find.   

But let me see, I must not yet despair,  
Dame fortunes wheel may happen ●ourne again:  
When storms are passed the weather may be fair,  
and pleasure comes unlooked for after pain:  
Things at the worst, the proverb saith will mend,  
why should not then my sorrows have an end.   

But old said Saws are not yet scripture all,  
for things at worst are passed all mending quite:  
To pining hearts all pleasure seemeth small,  
what mirth can do the py●ing heart delight.  
When fates do frown and fortune is our foe,  
●ought can be thought to rid the mind of woe.    

The nature of the Lark described.  

THe little Lark that in the ground is hatched,  
and there bred up till feathers make her fly:  
No sooner she a flight or two hath catched,  
but up she mounts unto the lofty sky.  
Where if she see Son shine and weather fair,  
how then for joy she twittles in the air.   

But if she see the wind begin to blow,  
it pour down rain and tempests do arise:  
Within a bush she keeps herself full low,  
where pretty wretch close to the ground she lies,  
Until such time as all the storms be past,  
and then again she giveth her up in haste.   

Which plainly shows the nature in the Lark,  
is still to seek, to mount to lofty sky:  
And though perhaps you now and then may mark,  
a kistrell kite to make a flight so high,  
Yet all things weighed if each thing have his right,  
a lark will far be liked above a kite.    

The haughty mind how it disposeth itself.  

WHat hill so high? but little emmets climb,  
what precious pearl? but poor by travel gain,  
What thing so hard: but is atchiud in time,  
what pleasure such? but may be got with pain,  
What doubt so great but hope may men assure?  
see more, what heaven? but prayer may procure.   

The heavy Ass both keep the valley still,  
the clownish coultes do love the Country best▪  
When haughty hearts do climb the highest hill,  
and gallant minds do seek in court to rest,  
The coward dreads and in despairs doth die,  
when boldest bloods by hope do climb full high.   

Then let my heart go climb the highest hill,  
and leave the valley for the country Ass:  
My mind in court shall seek by travel still,  
to find a pearl which (far) all pearls doth pass.  
My hope shall rest upon a princely mind.  
by help of God some heavenly grace to find.    

Loathing his life, he wisheth for death.  

WHat greater grief than torments of the heart,  
which daily grow by troubles of the mind?  
And what such joy as sudden ease of smart,  
which long time sought, full hard hath been to find?  
What heaven on earth, with lucky love to dwell?  
then luck●les love again what greater hell?   

But how fares he that feeleth no delight?  
what world is that? where nothing is but woe:  
What woe to that? which worketh such despite,  
as makes a man no kind of comfort know.  
What life leads he▪ that daily cries to die▪  
far worse than death, lo such a life lead I,   

Then let me thus conclude my tale in brief,  
I am the man that only may lament  
A loathsome life; that find no ease of grief,  
nor hopes for help until my days be spent.  
And sadly so I end my solemn song:  
Come, come, good death, I dying, live too long.    

Hanging between hope and despair, he calleth for help.  

TWixt cheerful hope, and comfortless despair,  
strangely perplexed, full sore amazed I stand:  
Hope seems to show the weather will be fair,  
and dark despair, says tempests are at hand.  
Venture says hope, despair doth bid me slack:  
hope pricks me on, despair doth pull me back.   

Have well says hope, despair doth bid me doubt,  
trust me says hope, despair says hope is vain:  
Shrink not says hope, despair cries not to stout.  
labour says hope, despair doth show no gain.  
Good hap says hope, despair cries contrary:  
hope bids me live, despair would have me die.   

Thus twixt those two, at point of death I live,  
in hope of good, yet fearing froward chance:  
In you it lies, a happy hap to give,  
to bring me out of this despairing trance.  
Oh help me then, that thus on knees do cry:  
Assure my hope, or in despair I die.    

The Lover craveth reward, for his long and faithful service.  

OH Love, to whom I long have been a slave,  
consider well, how truly I have served;  
And blame not him, who is compelled to crave,  
the due reward that he hath well deserved.  
Let trusty troth, be ever yet regarded:  
that faithful servants, may be well rewarded.   

Thou knowest how long, that I have lived a thrall,  
thou knowest again, my true and faithful mind:  
And thou canst tell, how lands, limb, life, and all,  
by faith full fast, I once did firmly find.  
To serve a Saint, all this thou love dost know:  
and how my faith, I never did forego.   

And since thou knowest I never reaped reward,  
nor ever sought till now reward to crave:  
Sweet love, let now my humble suit be heard,  
and pity take, upon thy silly slave.  
And cause the Saint whom I so long have served:  
to lend me liking as I have deserved.    

Oh amour.  

WHat thing is love? a God as Poet's wright,  
why Poets feign, then how can that be true?  
What is it then? some worldly sweet delight,  
oh then, their love, why should so many rue?  
It is a grief? then why are men so vain?  
to joy in that, which doth procure their pain.   

But such a pain, as pleasure brings withal,  
and such a grief, as yealds a heavenly joy:  
Doth make the heart, to think the hurt but small,  
when fancy rids the mind of self annoy,  
And such is sure, the pangs that lovers prove:  
that wretched wights, can joy so much in love.   

But peace, I see love is a God in deed,  
who divers ways, doth work in mind of man:  
Whose mighty power man's reason doth exceed,  
by working woe or comfort now and than.  
But is it so? is love a power divine,  
than God of God's speed well this love of mine.  
Nought dare I do therefore oh God of love  
I thee beseech, to work for thy behove.    

Of a haughty mind.  

THe conquest rare, doth greatest glory gain,  
the strongest forts by stoutest wights are won  
The hardest things atchiude with greatest pain,  
do breed most ease, when so the work is done.  
Well labours he, how so his time be spent,  
that for his pains doth reap his hearts content.   

God knows my heart, and what I do desire,  
but what I seek doth few or no man know:  
The nobler heart, the higher doth aspire:  
and for myself I cannot stoop to low,  
But if I seek to climb a step to high,  
God save the child, for if I fall I die.   

In high attempts, the boldest bloods of all,  
do best prevail, when peril once is passed:  
Then live, or die, or stand, or slide or fall:  
climb sure I will God set my footing fast,  
And help me so to height of my desire,  
that I may wish, save heaven to climb no higher.    

After many misfortunes he craveth death as the ender of all calamities.  

I Long in jest have wished and called for death,  
when foolish toys have gone against my mind:  
But dying now at latest gasp of breath,  
I call to God that I may favour find.  
That sin breed not my souls eternal pain,  
that dying here I may not die again,   

For now I see the woes of wretched will,  
and now I find the filthy shame of sin:  
And now by grace I know the good from ill,  
I loath the state that I have lived in▪  
I see the life of man is but a flower,  
which springs, grows, fades, and dieth in an hour.   

What are we all but even a clod of clay,  
first made of earth whence back again we must:  
A life unsure which lasteth not a day:  
A death most sure to which each one may trust.  
And yet that death yields life by heavenly grace,  
which grace God grant each one in wretched case.   

And for myself God me my sins forgive,  
and God forgive each one that is amiss:  
Our sins forgive, God grant our souls may live,  
From wretched world with him in heavenly bliss.  
And thus I end my solemn dying song,  
Lord save my soul I dying live too long.    

He proveth virtue to be better, then worldly riches.  

THe gold that first within the ground doth grow,  
doth come to stand on top of pillars high:  
The precious Pearl that likewise lies full low,  
the Prince accounts a jewel for his eye,  
What gem so rare that ever yet was found,  
but that at first did grow out of the ground.   

Then when you see your palace trimly decked,  
strait call to mind from whence that decking came:  
And to the ground have presently respect,  
who by God's help did first bring forth the same.  
And think the gem, that makes the bravest show:  
full rough at first, within the ground did grow.   

The man whose mind is full and wholly bend,  
to virtues throne to tread the ready way:  
And meets mishap, ere half his journey spent,  
to loathsome vice to lead him out astray.  
Where is the fault, but in a froward will:  
who goes without the guide of wisdoms skill.   

But what if wit be ruled by sage advise,  
and then do chance to meet with naked need:  
It boots alas, but little to be wise,  
if wealth do want, to help to do the deed.  
Yet wealthy wise, who walks to virtues school:  
when he comes there, shall see himself a fool.   

How should the mind, then seek out virtues throne,  
or else what mind, is best to seek the same:  
The seat is strange, and standeth all alone,  
and virtue she, is thought a heavenly dame.  
Which makes me think, it is some heavenly place:  
which heavenly mind, must game by heavenly grace.   

Which heavenly guide, God grant my willing mind,  
with wisdoms skill, to seek out virtues school:  
That though wealth want, yet wit may wisely find.  
how long, too long, that I have lived a fool.  
And I may see from virtues heavenly way:  
what wanton toys have led my mind astray.    

The lover being overcome, is compelled of necessity ●o sing of sorrow.  

Feign would I write some pretty pleasant toy  
to put away fond fancies out of mind,  
But secret spite so chokes me with annoy,  
as wearied wits can little pleasure find,  
So that I see if aught at all I writ  
my song must be of sorrow and despite.   

And sorrows song, who would desire to sing  
that doleful dump doth lend but small delight,  
And yet the mind which wretched woes do wring  
can sing no song but smacks of some despite,  
For if of mirth it doth the more disease  
and solemn songs do little pain appease:   

Then sad and sweet since that no song I see  
which may delight of cheer the heavy heart,  
I can but ●igh let others sing for me,  
no music mirth can ease my secret smart,  
Therefore I deem as I at first began  
I would be merry, but my mirth is done.    

The lover by froward hap enforced to forsake love, enforceth himself by travel to seek out the fort of fame.  

THe world is changed, my wits are wound about,  
fancy is forced to leave her fond desire,  
From vain delights dame Virtue drives me out,  
and wisdom will what reason doth require.  
My wanton wits are warned by sacred I kill  
to fly the follies of 〈◊〉 will.  
I now must leave to write of lovers toys  
in Cupid's Court I must no longer keep,   

Nor sport myself in wanton pleasures lays,  
nor longer lie in fancy's lap a sleep  
I now must wake and set myself to school,  
to see how long that I have lived a fool.   

And I must now some time in travel spend,  
to seek in time the gallant fort of fame.  
That when (alas) my loathed life doth end,  
my works may leave remembrance of my name.  
And I may show though long I went astray,  
I found at last dame virtues heavenly way.    

The lover forsaken craveth speedy death.  

A Wretched case it is to sit and cry,  
where none are near to help the harmed heart:  
A greater grief where present aid is nigh,  
and yet by spite is only kept a part.  
But yet most grief, when help is hard at call,  
and yet (alas) can do no good at all.   

In such a case lo cursed wretch I stand,  
my heavy heart full sore for comfort cries:  
Yet none can get, yet some is hard at hand,  
which in despite accursed hap denies.  
And some I have, which would somewhat content,  
but doth in deed my sorrows more augment.   

The secret cause alas for shame I hide,  
since folly first was worker of my woe:  
By want of wit, which wisdom hath descried:  
and I do now by secret sorrow show.  
Therefore consumed, come kill me death I cry,  
in deed resolved, and well content to die.    

A Comparison between thraldom, and liberty.  

THe little bird that close in kage is penned,  
which ladies love to sit and whistle by:  
Some say doth sing but lays of deep lament,  
and cheerless chirpes for loss of liberty,  
Esteeming more her mates abroad in field,  
then courtly toys that chiefest pleasure yield.   

But contrary, oh happy bird think I,  
so luckily to light in fowler's snare:  
As to be brought to stand in pallas high,  
and eke in court to feed on princely fare.  
And shortly there in favour so to stand.  
as to be fed at fairest ladies hand.   

Would God I were a bird in prison penned,  
so I might still behold my heavenly Queen:  
If that I sing one note of deep lament:  
that day when I my Prince's grace have seen,  
Wring of my neck, or fling me out of door,  
as worthy then to keep in court no more.    

A warning to all estates.  

The gallant mind, when store of coin is spent,  
by rare exploits, must seek to purchase praise.  
Though honour fall to some by due descent,  
good hap doth hit a thousand sundry ways,  
Yet oftentimes in seeking high renown,  
the haughty heart, hard Fortune flingeth down.   

The soldier thinks by sword to win his wish,  
when oft is seen the sword doth cut him short.  
The sea man seeks in deepest floods to fish,  
when drowning proves a cold unpleasant sport.  
The merchant means to win the world by wares,  
when oft his cost doth yield him nought but cares.   

Now some again build castles in the air,  
which many times fall tumbling on their necks,  
And some will seem to sit in stately chair,  
which are sometime set down with deadly checks.  
In s●●e I find the bravest mind o● all  
is highest set, but ha●d before a fall.    

The misery of love.  

BEwrapt in woe, 〈…〉 with wretched will,  
o'ercome with ●ares, deep drenched in distress,  
Pining in pain, alive, but dying still,  
crying for help, but finding no redress.  
A life I lead the Lord of heaven doth know,  
much worse than death to mourn in sorrow so.   

But what avails when fates and fortune frown,  
when moon and stars are now become my foes,  
When from delight, despite doth keep me down,  
and cares my corpses do round about enclose.  
Abide I must as destinies ordain,  
thus like a wretch to 〈◊〉 away in pain,   

Or loathed life that wretched thus I lead,  
ten times 〈◊〉 such cursed hap to know,  
Or cruel 〈◊〉 co●e cut a two the thread  
that draweth forth my days in sorrow so,  
Oh sorrow 〈◊〉 thy soaking sighs dospill me,  
all dole adieu come you good death and kill me.   

Or else good God who from above dost see  
the secret cause of all my cutting care,  
And knows and haste what thing will comfort me  
vouchsafe some drop of mercy me to spare,  
That so my heart, that long hath bid in grief,  
may praise thy name for tending my relief.   

In wanton youth, my fancy thought a while,  
there was no state nor life so sweet as love,  
But now I find how well did wit beguile,  
and I the pain of such a pleasure prove,  
I needs must say by true experience taught,  
I find in deed the state of love stark nought.   

For first the wise, love makes become a fool,  
the soldier stout, the rich not worth a groat,  
The learned clerk, it sets again to school  
to learn an art wherewith to cut his throat.  
It makes the man most free become a slave,  
and many times an honest man a knave.   

The Lord of love Cupid himself is blind,  
yet shoots by aim and oft unhappily hits.  
He hurts the heart, and quite doth dim the mind,  
and with vile ways doth overwhealme the wits?  
What shall I say, who knew so much as I  
would deem of love a woeful misery.    

A mean is best.  

WHen I sometime with grief enough beheld  
the gallant troop of braveness in their kind  
Some swim in silk, some silver pearl and gold,  
and I poor soul come meanly clad behind.  
Good Lord I think what kind of world is this  
when some so thrive, some fare so far amiss.   

But when again I see some lusty lad  
whom I myself have known in mean estate,  
And in respect, but silly simple swads,  
and none to keep so high and stately gate.  
Well, yet think I, this will not ever last:  
the tides do flow, but ebb again as fast.   

The proverb says, that pride will have a fall,  
who hath no lands, nor yet no rents, I see  
When money melts, and feathers give to fall,  
will be full glad, to come and follow me.  
Lo this is all, the sudden joy I have:  
when richly clad I see a rascal knave,    

An other.  

FRom leathed bed, my lustles limbs I lift,  
with heavy heart, with sorrow, not with sleep:  
But sigh and sob, I see no other shift,  
such careful thoughts, my mind in thraldom keeps,  
No Musics mirth, nor any sweet delight:  
may once revive my over dulled sprite.   

Yet can I sing: and how? but as the swan:  
a doleful dump, when death is hard at hand:  
And so perhaps, poor wretch, I think I can,  
sing such a note, as none shall understand.  
Which song perhaps, shall please but few that hear:  
and my poor heart (God knows) as little cheer.   

Then since you see my heart so ill at ease,  
leave of to crave a Christmas song of me:  
My doleful dump, were liker to displease  
each one I fear, then please but one of ye.  
But if some one would sit him down and cry:  
with sorrows, sobs, so, but for shame would I.    

The lover wearied, craveth ease.  

THough wearied long, yet home I come at last,  
and down I sit, in sorrows sorry seat:  
Dark dole draws on, delightful day is past,  
and fancy fair, must be my chiefest meat.  
I broke my fast, with dishes of despite:  
and now must sup, with sorrows sops at night.   

In coldest frosts, my fire is fury's flame,  
in whoatest heat, my cooling card is care:  
My pleasure pain, which fates and fortune frame,  
my music moan, to think how hard I far.  
My compame, a train of treachery:  
my loathed lodge, a den of misery.   

In such a house, what wretch would lay his head?  
from faithless friends, who would not seek to fly?  
Who pines in pain, were ten times better dead,  
such life lead I, which makes me thus to cry.  
Ah woeful wretch, whose heart so sore accursed:  
with swelling sobs, is hourly like to burst.    

The arraignment of a Lover,  

THe wretched wight, that wears away in woe.  
who draws his days, in dumps of dire despite  
Whom care consumes, but doth no comfort know,  
who dying lives, devoid of all delight.  
Let him with me come sing this sorrows song:  
the loathed life alas, doth last too long.   

In prime of years, first grew my deadly grief,  
and as my years, my corzies do increase:  
Rigour retains, the means of my relief,  
and spite still swears, my sorrows shall not cease.  
Envy so works, with sleights of false suspect:  
that witless rage, doth reason quite reject.   

Pride looks aloft, and pity shrinks aside,  
and dare not speak, hate is so hard at hand:  
Disdain, desert, hath due reward denied,  
and will, will let no case be rightly scanned.  
Lo thus I live, in danger of distress:  
and right itself, can get me no redress.   

The cause at first of all this care, was love,  
who clapped me close, in fancies fetters fast:  
And so inforcd, a captives life to prove,  
in prison penned, my prime of years are past,  
And yet can make no means to set me free:  
till death himself, do make an end of me.   

At beauty's bar, I twice have been arraigned,  
and craft hath there, been my accursed still:  
Fowl hate was hard, and reason was restrained.  
and wicked wrong, had leave to say his will,  
A forged tale of false suspect, was troth:  
and troth itself, was thought a trifling oath.   

In judgement seat, by beauty sat disdain,  
before her lap, sat Cupid God of love.  
Self will sat next, and treason with his train,  
was witness called, my foul offence to prove.  
My cause, the Quest was panneld there to try:  
who me condemned (God knows) without cause why.   

But beauty yet, her judgement would not give,  
for why? (quoth she) the man may yet amend:  
His years are young, and he in time may live  
to do them good, that him do favour lend.  
Yea (quoth disdain) dame beauty will ye so,  
tush let him trudge, quoth Courtesy not so.   

Quoth Pride alas, it is a ●illy slave,  
what should he do? 'ttwere good for him to die▪  
(Quoth Pity) then let poor souls favour have,  
at least, extremity, proves open injury.  
(Quoth Cruelty) 'ttwere ill that he should live:  
(quoth Reason) than I will the man reprieve.    

Being overweary with misfortunes, he craveth death.  

MY weary wit, quite overworn with woe,  
my dulled brain, bewitched with wretched will▪  
By certain signs, do daily seem to show,  
that care in fine, my silly corpse will kill.  
Though hope a while, my loathed life prolong:  
sorrow at last, will sing the Signets song.   

For though sometime, I do dissemble dole,  
and Swan-like sing a song of sweet delight:  
Yet God he knows, my heart is far from hole,  
which pining pants, with pangs of bitter spite.  
The cause I sing, is hope that death is me:  
the song I sing, is death come let me die.   

This deadly song, in dole is my delight,  
and mournful mirth, to cheer a careful mind:  
Yet such sad sport, sometimes in deepest spite,  
is all the joy, that fortune lets me find.  
Yet thus content, with patience perforce:  
I sing, I die, come bear away my corpse.    

The lovers tongue tied, for being over- 〈◊〉.  

I May not speak, yet speak I must perforce;  
what boots to speak? you will not understand:  
I must confess in deed, my voice is hoarse,  
yet if my words were well and wisely skand,  
Then would you say, the man whose tongue is tied:  
must have his mind, by mysteries descried.   

So for myself, since I have silence sworn,  
till I have leave at large to say my mind:  
Plain speech, alas, must be of force forborn,  
until to speak, I do 〈◊〉 ●auour find.  
But had I leave to speak without offence,  
then would (I say she lies not long way hence.)   

This is one mean, whereby to know my mind,  
the second is, I rue her careful case:  
The third (sweet soul) she is of nature kind,  
the fourth, she is of favour like your face.  
The fift, she is a fair and courteous dame:  
the sixth and last, she bears our Lady's name.   

She is beside, the only Saint I serve,  
she is the sweet, whom I do most esteem:  
She is the dame, whom I do most deserve,  
yea it is she, whom I most dear do deem.  
And thus I end, I say no more but this,  
I cannot speak, judge what my meaning is.    

Another.  

I May not speak, yet silence works my woe,  
my speech I have, and yet I cannot speak:  
My tied tongue, doth tumble too and fro,  
my will would feign, but wits are all too weak.  
My heart doth heave my tongue to tell my mind:  
yet to my speech, a sudden stop I find.   

Yet, had I leave, to say but what I would,  
then would I 〈…〉 wits unto my will:  
My tied tongue should tell you as it could,  
the thing that yet, I must keep silent still.  
My heart would break, but it by signs should show:  
that which by speech, I may not let you know.   

Then speak 〈◊〉 first, and so my speech release,  
crave what I may my words shall grant your will:  
Speak you, hear me, but if you hold your peace,  
my tied tongue, must needs be silent still.  
And thus I end, my heart is like to break  
with grief▪ remit your will to let me speak.   

Say you but this, my words shall like your will,  
and you shall hear the 〈◊〉 of my heart:  
And if my wits do want such cunning skill,  
as well may paint my pangs in every part,  
Yet by my words, guess thou my inward grie●e:  
and by thy will grant me some sweet relieve.    

He craveth by virtue, and not by subtlety, to come to good fortune.  

WHat means this world? is nothing left but woe?  
are words but wind? is faith the court●●y fled?  
Can flattery seek to creep in credit so?  
is virtue gone? and all good dealing dead?  
Then let me seek▪ to do as others do:  
by subtle sleights, to creep in credit too.   

What have I said? shall I by subtle ●leight  
seek credit? no, my heart such dealing hates:  
My troth hath vowed, for to detest deceit,  
such means are best, for such ill meaning mates  
As credit seek, unto so vile an end:  
as wisdom finds, a foe of such a friend.   

And for myself, since that I know indeed,  
that virtue gains the greatest good that is:  
Although with some, it stand in little stead,  
yet with the best, it thriveth not amiss.  
I crave of God, though here my hap be hard:  
by virtue I, in heaven may have reward.    

love good and bad.  

Strange were the life, that every man would leek,  
more strange the state that should mislike each one  
Rare were the gem, that every one would seek,  
and little worth, that all would let alone.  
Sweet were the meat, that every one would choose:  
and sour the sauce, that all men would refuse.   

Yet such a life, and such a state there is,  
such gem, such joy, such meat, such sauce, and all:  
And if I do not take my marks amiss,  
by but one word, I could descry them all.  
Which only word, that shows them all by name:  
is this word (Love) that plainly shows the same.   

Who would not wish to lead his life in love?  
and who so mad, to seek to live in woe?  
Yet he that means, the joys of love to prove,  
is like perforce, most bitter pangs to know.  
In love such woes, with joys are joined together:  
take t'one, take both, or leave both, chose you whether.   

love right is rare, and worthy to be sought,  
but counterfeit, is but a foolish toy:  
Whose virtues rare, as rare effects have wrought,  
and which mista●e, hath wrought as great annoy.  
But right so rare, and hard is to be known:  
as who would seek, were better let alone.   

Fond fancies fruits, are all the food of love,  
whose sauce most sour, is sorrows sugared gall:  
Which mess of meat, doth in digestion prove,  
to yield both mind and body, comfort small.  
Yet see the spite, who of the fruit would eat:  
must sup th● sauce, or let alone the meat.    

Another.  

Eh cruel care, that calls to mind in vain,  
the thriftless time, that reachles youth hath spent:  
Hadst thou but waighd, in pleasures past the pain,  
that present now, I do too late repent,  
Then hadst thou saved me, from such sorrows smart:  
as now I see, do so consume my heart.   

But since at first, thou lettest me slip at large,  
to follow will, the worker of my woe:  
Too late (alas) thou tak'st me now in charge,  
with secret sorrows to consume me so.  
Then leave me, Care, or quickly lend me cure:  
lest loathed life, no longer do endure.   

What sayest thou Care? or canst thou make no way,  
to win the good, that wanton will hath lost:  
Oh then good death, do thou no more delay,  
to kill me, thus with careful troubles tossed.  
But must I live? then God who knows my grief:  
cut of my cares, and lend me some relief.   

Long have I walked, to tire my restless mind,  
yet tired am long since, with weary woes:  
And yet (though tired) no resting place can find,  
where I might once my restless mind repose:  
But tired thus, on, on, must travail still:  
till want of rest, my wearied carcase kill.   

Ah wretched walk, that hath such weary end,  
which end though long, would I could find it yet:  
But fates do frown, fortune is not my friend,  
and wretched woes have overworn my wit.  
So that in vain I seek, I see in fine:  
to set at rest, this weary mind of mine.   

I sought for love, but found out foul despite,  
(a way that was quite wide from that, I sought:)  
But since (alas) I followed folly quite,  
and left the way, that trusty reason taught,  
In weary ways, I now must wander still:  
to see the sorrows of my wretched will.   

But Ladies ye, that lead your lives at ease,  
and are not forced, to tread one step awry:  
Nor pass one foot, more than may pleasure please,  
with ruth respect, my woeful treachery.  
And when you fall into your tiring talk:  
with pity weigh, poor Bretons weary walk.    

Another.  
'tIs strange, Madam, to see you strange,  
that stood so much on terms of truth:  
From which so soon to see you change,  
doth show in you a trick of youth.  
A trick of youth to take a toy,  
to take a toy and turn away:  
And turn away from your sweet joy,  
from your sweet joy, that would not stray.  
From whom you once could say and swear,  
not death itself should make you start:  
But since you licked and liked else where,  
your vowed oath is laid a part.  
And let it lie a part for me,  
for I myself have vowed too:  
To fly as far, as fast from thee,  
as thou from me canst think to do.  
And so shall either be content,  
thou hast thy wish, and I my will:  
Whereof who first seems to repent,  
let them bite on the bridle still.   

Another.  

'tIs lust that leads your love awry,  
'tis change that makes you check your choice:  
'tis fancy makes your faith to fly,  
'tis folly makes you false your voice.  
But reckon what you get thereby:  
And put your winnings in your eye.   

'tis wanton words that wins your will,  
'tis wavering wit that makes you trip:  
'tis double dealing draws you still,  
'tis sorry meaning makes you slip.  
But reckon what you get thereby:  
and put your winnings in your eye.   

For lust with loathing once will reave,  
and change perchance your choice will choke:  
Fond fancy oft her fall doth weave,  
that puts on folly for her cloak.  
But reckon what you gain thereby:  
and put your winnings in your eye.   

When wanton words are turned to wind,  
and wavering wit, hath wrought your woe,  
Then double dealing you shall find  
and sorry meaning both your foe:  
And counting then your gain thereby,  
you may put winnings in your eye.    

The fruits of jealousy.  
DAme Procris, & Don Shafalus, old Ovid tells the tale  
were linked fast in loyal love, as married man & wife,  
And blissfully they lead their lives, devoid of any bale,  
till jealousy threw in a bone, the root of all their strife.  
He gave the first occasion, and subtly he sought,  
disfigured to prove her truth, corrupting her with gold:  
To undermined her chastity, this ●aight her love hath caught,  
for where the battery is so hot, weak women cannot hold.  
He blameth her inconstancy, she blusheth at her fall,  
and for to shroud herself fro shame, she frames herself to flight:  
Thus banished, she bides abroad, till wearied therewithal,  
he called her home, and reconciled, he doth forgive her quite.  
In proof of this atonement made, on him she doth bestow,  
a dog, a dart, of sundry sort, excelling in their kind:  
The dog he missed no chase in hunt, the dart it missed no blow,  
a man might seek the world for such, yet not their matches find  
In concord thus continuing, Don Shafalus doth use:  
to haunt the field with more delight, than ever he was wont:  
Dame Procris she that marked it well, beginneth now to muse,  
and thinks it but unlawful game, her husband went to hunt.  
See, see the fruits of jealousy, see on what ground they grow,  
on no soil else I warrant you, but such as hat● a stain:  
seld seeks the Sire his son in oven, but that he first did know  
himself full oft to have been there, this case is too too plain.   

Upon a sweet smile.  

Sweet are the smiles, in secret I receive,  
and secret sweet, is sweetest sweet of all:  
Would God (sweet wench) thou plainly didst perceive,  
how by thy smiles, I live devoid of thrall.  
Then (my sweet soul) I know to my delight:  
thou still wouldst use, sweet smiling in my sight.   

For if sweet hope, yield me such sweetness still,  
my fancy sweet, for food will never starve:  
I can but yield sweet thanks for sweet good will,  
and sweetly seek, such sweetness to deserve.  
And could my wish, once win my sweet desire,  
soon should I reap, the sweet I would require.   

Which sweet request, is to thy sweet content,  
by thy sweet will, to work my sweetest wish:  
Which wish so sweet, my sweet so sweetly meant,  
is by sweet bait, to catch so sweet a fish,  
Which bait so sweet, is love I lay for thee,  
and thou the fish, I seek to draw to me.   

Which sweetly let thy fancy feed upon,  
and thou shalt find so sweet a kind of bait:  
as by my hook of hope, I think anon,  
to draw thee up, by lines of sweet delight.  
And thus (my sweet) I sweetly angle still:  
till my sweet love, hath caught thy sweet good will.    

An invective against love.  

WIth we, that see my loyal heart:  
grant my desire, enjoy his due desert.  
That all the world, may well be warned by me,  
to shun such mischiefs, as themselves may see.   

Let Poets feign and tell what tales they list,  
the troth is this, love grows in deed of lust  
First look, then prate, and so forsooth they kissed,  
and then you know what further follow must.  
Which to obtain, yet better be without,  
how wits must work to bring this gear about.   

Love is in deed a natural instinct,  
which first doth grow but by view of the eye,  
Which moves desire to pass beyond precinct,  
and so doth breed a secret malady.  
So love is then a natural disease  
and doth in deed to nature little ease.   

The law of love instruckes no more but this,  
truly to serve the lady whom we love:  
To prove each mean to please a mistresses,  
whom every toy may to displeasure move.  
It is I find a flattering kind of art,  
which with deceit will fraught the truest heart.   

And if it be as learned fathers find,  
it is a fire that doth consume the heart:  
A welcome wound unto the wanton mind,  
a pleasant poison breeding deadly smart.  
And if in love be such a state to prove:  
happy is he that never falls in love.   

And for myself I solemnly protest  
See, see the fruits of jealousy, see on what groun● 〈…〉  
on no soil else I warrant you, but such as hath 〈…〉  
seld seeks the Sire his son in oven, but that he first did know  
himself full oft to have been there, this case is too too plain.  
Which since I do by true experience prove,  
I hate the nature, state, and law of love.    

He craveth speedy love, or speedy death.  

OH care leave of to tire my restless mind,  
come comfort, come, revive my dulled sprite:  
Fly fancy, fly, or else some favour find,  
cease sorrow, cease, love lend me some delight.  
Avaunt despair, oh help me hope in haste,  
hap help my hope, lest life no longer last.   

Draw near delight, cheer up my heavy heart,  
pack from me pain, away vile wretched woe:  
Sweet heavenly joy, come help my secret smart,  
oh ruth relieve the wretch that sorrows so.  
Grief get thee gone, let pleasure take thy place:  
hence ugly death, for I must live a space.   

Mistress dear, dame sweet, sovereign, my joy,  
the Saint I serve, the comfort of my care:  
My hope, my help, my mirth in all annoy,  
my love, my life, my joy of joys that are.  
Oh save my life, that thus on thee do cry:  
lend me thy love, or let me quickly die.   

My faith hath vowed to foil all false suspect,  
and will will work in spite of envies face:  
Troth is the oath which I cannot neglect,  
that love should find to gain his lady's grace.  
Oh Gods of love, that see my loyal heart:  
grant my desire, enjoy his due desert.    

He being tormented with many passions, craveth speedy remedy.  

whether will wit? or what? is reason fled?  
what wretched will hath now bewitched my brain  
What reckless rage keeps reags within my head?  
what frantic fit, hath vexed me in each vain.  
What mad conceit, doth thus my mind molest?  
that tumbling thoughts, will never let me rest.   

Work no more wit, till reason rule thy will,  
by sage advise, to stay thy busy brain:  
Suppress thy rage, by sacred wisdoms skill,  
and frantic fits will fly away again.  
Let madness march, into some other mind:  
and seek thyself, some quiet rest to find.   

For living thus, thy wit doth work thee woe,  
and brain bewitched, doth breed thee wilful bale:  
And rueful rage, in time will rancour so,  
that will cannot, give ear to wisoomes' tale.  
Therefore (good will) let wit in time take heed:  
lest reason lost, thou run stark mad indeed.   

Yet sit not still, for idleness is ill,  
but call to God, to grant thee heavenly grace:  
That willing wit, may work his heavenly will,  
and troubled mind, may find a heavenly place.  
About this work, go beat thy busy brain:  
both rest on earth, and heavenly joys to gain.    

That wight is bewitched, that is subject to beauty.  

THe grief is great, that never finds redress,  
hard is his hap, that finds no happy hour:  
Doleful his doom, that dieth in distress,  
bewitched the will, that waits on beauty's bower.  
Wretched his woes, that is bewrapt in love:  
such grief hap, doom, and wretched state I prove.   

For fancy now, hath reason put to flight,  
and witless will, doth wisdoms words disdain:  
Desire, acquaints himself with fond delight,  
and running wit, hath got a wanton vain.  
Self will hath sought, sage wisdom to beguile:  
and hath in deed, deceived himself the while.   

For fancies gain, is loss, unto my grief,  
and reason fled, what reckless race I run:  
My deep distress, despairing in relief,  
doth tell me plain, my pleasant days are done.  
My foul despite, doth show my mourning mind:  
the bitter fruits, of fond delight I find.   

Repentance rues sage wisdoms small regard,  
and wretched woes, do wanton toys bewail:  
And heavy heart, lamenteth hap so hard,  
and sorrow shows, that self wills sleights do fail,  
Which makes me sing, unto my dying hour:  
bewitched is he, that waits on beauty's bower.    

Seek, and find.  

THe proverb says, who seeks shall surely find,  
shall find? but what? not that he seeks I guess▪  
For why? myself have sought in sundry kind,  
unto my grief, to find some sweet redress.  
And sure I find, but what? for sweet delight:  
the bitter fruits of broil and dire despite.   

Then, who seeks so, were better not to seek,  
or if he seek, were better lose then find:  
For he that finds unto his most misléeke,  
will where he finds, his burden leave behind.  
And stand content, with labour spent in vain:  
rather than bear it to his further pain.   

Yet he that seeks to find out sweet delight,  
and seeking, seeks the surest way he may,  
'tis ten to one, but he shall meet despite▪  
which if he find, he needs must bear away,  
Or else despite will drive him too and fro:  
from all delight into a world of woe.   

So that which way so ere he go to work,  
to find the way that leads unto delight:  
Such envious hags shall find in secret lurk:  
as still will seek to drive him on despite.  
Yet what of this? in spite of all despite:  
my mind shall seek to find out my delight.    

The lover argueth between delight, and despite.  

WHen joys do fade, and all delight decays,  
and pinching pain, possesseth pleasures place:  
And wretched woe, in weary woeful ways,  
draws forth the life, in grief and great disgrace.  
Who then can choose, but in his heart to cry?  
adieu delight, I must in sorrow die.   

Adieu deligh▪ oh what a doleful song?  
why solemn songs serve best for silly souls:  
Then why shrink I? who dying, live too long,  
and daily hear the hourly careful knowles.  
The bell of bale rings out both day and night:  
to bid me die, and bid adieu delight.   

Yet minds will mourn, when mirth is changed to ●●ne,  
and hearts will yearn to bid delight adieu:  
The sourest life, seems sweet till latest groan,  
many repent, and yet repentance rue.  
The fancy likes, that breeds the heart's despite:  
which makes me sing, adieu to all delight.   

And yet God knows, it is a sighing song,  
and such a song as grieves me sore to sing:  
But since my Lute is lost, I played on long,  
and sorrow is my only Musics string.  
Which runs between the frets of foul despite:  
I am content to sing adieu delight.    

Oh miseri amanti.  

WHat greater woe can be then want of wish?  
and what such joy as to attain the same?  
A sour sauce, doth mar the daintiest dish▪  
no greater grief, then that which grows in game.  
What spite to that, which pleasant sport procures:  
what sorrow such, as man in mirth endures.   

This want of wish, which worketh deadly woe,  
and being gained doth breed as great a joy:  
This sour sauce, that marreth sweet meat so,  
this grief in game, this pleasure with annoy.  
This spiteful sport, and mournful 〈◊〉 to prove:  
is but to lead a luckless life in love.   

For see, the joys are woes of lovers wish,  
whose gain yealds loss, whose want breeds wailful woe:  
Whose sauce is sorrow, to his daintiest dish,  
whose grief in game, is doubt in yea or 〈◊〉.  
Whose spite in sport, is joy amiss conceived:  
whose mirth in moan, is death, the mind deceived.   

Oh 〈◊〉 wish which each way worketh woe,  
oh luckless love, which yields such sour sweet  
oh froward fates, that first ordained so,  
that moan with mirth should match so far unmeet:  
Oh wretch, aid me that thus am forced to prove,  
the grievous joys, by luckless lots of love.    

A Farewell to Fancy.  

FAncy farewell my doting days are done,  
my years are young but wit is waxed old  
Reason saith now my reckless rafe is run,  
and wisdom hath my wanton will controlled:  
And tells me plain that pleasures fruits are pain  
and worldly things are all and some but vain.   

Kingdoms breed cares, and treasure is but trash  
beauty bides not and favour fades away.  
Friendship breeds foes, love leaveth in the lash  
the fairest looks when liking doth decay  
Biting breeds lust, lust loss, loss little ease  
small ease, great grief, great grief no small disease.   

Disease breeds dole, dole breedeth doleful care,  
care doth consume, consumption day by day  
Doth feed on flesh, till bones be left so bare,  
that loathed life, must have his dying day.  
And worldly death, breeds life in heaven on high:  
to which good life, God grant that I may die.    

The Lover being kaught, craveth comfort.  

Sweet soul, or Saint, I know not which to say,  
whose heavenly power, or heavenly heart at least▪  
With only sight my senses doth dismay,  
as mind amazed, can take no hour of rest,  
To thee alas, unknown, this suit I move:  
comfort thy slave, whom thou hast caught in love.   

What have I said? alas, by only sight,  
and have thy looks then linked my heart in love?  
Yea in thy looks, I see such sweet delight,  
as to desire, divinest minds may move.  
Therefore thus caught, with only look I say:  
a look I love, and more too as I may.   

But since that may, rests only in thy will,  
by looks to show, my granted leave to live,  
Let me enjoy, such looks of liking still,  
that I may vow, my mind shall never move.  
But look and like, and love that only look:  
on which to look, such sweet delight I took.   

And thus I live, in hope to see the look,  
that by delight, may bid me seek to serve:  
Nor do I care, what toil I undertook,  
by thy command thy liking to deserve.  
So humbly thus, this earnest suit I move,  
do bid me serve, where I am bound to love.    

The Lover craveth either speedy release, or else speedy death.  

Driven by desire, to seek out sweet delight,  
I fast am caught in dungeon of distress:  
Where close clapped up, I lie in such despite,  
as reason shows no way to seek redress.  
But captive like, to sit alone and cry,  
adieu delight, I must in sorrow die.   

Too true I find, who follows on his eye,  
is seldom sure the high way right to hit:  
For many toys, do lead the mind awry,  
except that will, be guided on by wit.  
For mists do fall, to dim the clearest eyen,  
so fell a fog before these eyes of mine.   

I saw a dame, which did mine eye delight,  
but secret hurt of love I could not see:  
For why? her state was set on such a height,  
as oh, I find no climbing up for me.  
So to delight in love, I sought the way:  
in whose despite, I find mine own decay.   

Yet farewell sweet, the cause of all my care,  
I blame not thee, mine eye did work my woe,  
But since that love lends such unhappy share,  
the kindest heart, to kill with sorrow so,  
I am content, in this distress to lie:  
till love release, or death will let me die.    

A Lover voweth constancy to his Lady.  

IN little chests the greatest jewels lie,  
and smallest heads, are thought of greatest wit:  
Clearest the sight, that can by view of eye  
discern the mark, that hardest is to hit.  
And happy he, that bears his hand so right:  
as (having seen) is sure to hit the white.   

Your chest I find, the careful casket is,  
where now doth rest the gem of chief account:  
Your sight of sense, hath found by sure advice,  
the heavenly wight upon Diana's mount,  
And you by hap, have surely hit the mark,  
that how to find, may maze a cunning Clerk.   

But who could keep the key of such a chest,  
or had a head, might join with such a wit,  
Or could discern, where his desire doth rest,  
as heart doth wish with happy hand to hit.  
His hap were such, as I can never crave,  
but wish of God, my hapless heart might have.   

So (pretty soul) a solemn vow I swear,  
I would not seek for gems of greater joy,  
Nor should mine eye, be trolling here and there,  
to make a mark of any 'ticing toy.  
But where I once my level lay of love,  
my hand shall hold, and heart shall never move.    

The Lover forsaken, and almost dismayed, yet through hope taketh comfort.  

FLy fancy, fly, and let me love no more,  
what means my will? or are my wits bestraught?  
Die sweet desire, molest me not so sore,  
but seek to save, that thou in vain haste sought:  
For sorrow shows, the woe of wretched will,  
and force affirms, but froward fortune still.   

Where least I like, my love hath lent me loss,  
where most I love, my liking findeth lack:  
What boots my bark in waves of woe to toss?  
when sorrows sands, do threaten sore shipwreck,  
Such storms of strife, so rife in every coast  
as (but great hap) show life and labour lost.   

Yet (coward wretch) wilt thou go back again?  
and keep thy couch, and leave to seek delight?  
Make sure account, no pleasure without pain,  
the sweetest joys, are gained through sore despite.  
Then get thee forth, in hope go hoist up sail:  
the wind may turn, and work for thine avail.   

Let hardy hope, daunt fearful fond despair,  
prepare thyself to lead a soldiers life:  
Through thick and thin, by weather foul or fair,  
pass through the pikes, and dread no deadly strife.  
And though long first, yet when the worst is past:  
the best will yield, some wished joys at last.    

Another.  

I Shrink to speak, since yet I have no leave,  
and yet my heart, so heaves my tongue to speak,  
As that in deed, I plainly do perceive,  
with force of fame, my very heart strings break.  
Which force must be, with favour overpressed,  
or else my heart, will never sit at rest.   

forgive me wretch, if that my words offend,  
fancy hath forced, my silly mind to sue:  
Some liking, let good nature to me send,  
my mind hath sworn, our Lady service due.  
Then if thou lov'st our Lady, or her name:  
regard my suit, grant favour to the same,   

Which favour (lo) I only crave, is this,  
to grant me leave, to say but what I could:  
Say but my words, thou wilt not like amiss,  
and thou shalt hear my meaning, what I would.  
But till that time, as I have said before  
I must be dumb, and die in dole therefore.    

The lover in sorrow craveth death.  

HOw might I do, to weep and wail my fill,  
that doleful dumps, might soon dispatch my days,  
Since sorrow seeks, my carcase so to kill,  
oh doleful doom, that so my death delays,  
I see, selfewil hath wrought me such distress,  
as reason shows no hope to find redress.   

Yet die I must, I feel deaths deadly stroke,  
my carcase eke, is nigh consumed with care:  
Why live I then? since that my heart is broke,  
but living thus, like one half dead I far.  
Which makes me thus at point of death to cry:  
strike home thy dart, good death, and let me die.   

Patience prolongs the patiented in pain,  
comfort relieves, but rids not sorrow quite:  
Hope lingers forth, a loathed life in vain,  
fortune is false, and friends no wretched wight,  
The fates do groan, dole is my destiny:  
why live I then? good death come let me die.    

Hard to find a faithful friend.  

HE seeks unsure, that seeks to find a friend,  
for faith is fled, and friends are secret foes:  
A show of troth, tries treason in the end,  
and many pluck a canker for a rose.  
This wretched world, is full of wicked wiles:  
when simple geese, the subtle fox beguiles.   

For stinging snakes, lie hid in smoothest grass,  
and softest stream, doth show the deepest flood:  
No closer craft, then in the glozing glass,  
which flatters much, and shows no perfect good.  
I find in deed, no greater subtlety:  
then covered is with smooth simplicity.   

Then deem I best, each where to doubt the worst,  
to make account of each thing by desert:  
Or ere I choose, to make true trial first,  
by trial then, for to esteem in heart.  
Thus think I best, such trusty friends to find:  
as may content each faithful meaning mind.    

He craveth content, being overworn with love.  

OH Love, leave of to vex thy silly slave,  
to bide the broil, some fresher soldier seek:  
Thus worn with woes, some comfort let me ahue,  
that so thou mayst, my service better leek.  
For if that care do quite my carcase kill:  
how should I live, to do thee service still.   

Behold my face, my flesh is fallen away,  
see how mine eyes sink hollow in my head:  
My dumps declares, how my delights decay,  
deem if I seem more like alive or dead.  
Let liking love, some comfort me procure:  
lest loathed life, no longer do endure.   

Oh hear me Love, and lend me help in haste,  
the time is come that I must live or die:  
Stay not too long, lest all too late at last,  
in vain (alas) thou lend me remedy.  
I humbly crave, my humble suit regard,  
grant my desire may have his due reward.    

De contemptu mundi,  

IN deep despite of this vile world I writ,  
what is it? but a vale of misery:  
A cave of care, a dungeon of despite,  
a place of pain, a pen of penury,  
A sea of sorrows, and a gulf of grief,  
where wretched hearts do die without relief.   

The wise man writeth it is a poisoned bait,  
which doth with toys, the godly mind infect:  
A wanton these, which cloasly lies in weight,  
to rob the mind of every good effect.  
It is a ground, where only griefs do grow:  
and to conclude, a wilderness of woe.   

Now, why myself so ill thereof should deem  
some men may muse, that see my youthful years:  
Oh soft a while, though young of years I seem,  
my youth hath passed through many aged briars,  
But now that I am yet beyond the bushes,  
I do not care for all the world two rushes,   

Save that my Prince I honour, I protest,  
my Parents eke, and so I love my friend:  
Set these aside, and as for all the rest,  
of love and liking I must make an end.  
I hate the world, and all the toys therein:  
and long to see my joys in heaven begin.    

Maledisant Beuchampe.  

THe tender bud, that bravely gins to blow,  
while summer showers yields comfort to the root:  
If that unwares, there fall a sudden snow,  
no sunné can shine, that well may do it boot,  
Except it hold but for a day, and so  
It may have leave to make a lively show.   

Myself the slower, that flourished all too fast,  
while favour flung fair weather in my face,  
But now must die, my pleasures overpast,  
to see disdain, so drive me in disgrace.  
By due desert, whereon (ay me) to think:  
From sweet delight, my head gins to shrink.   

And cooled of care so nips my heart at root,  
as that except, you favour seem to show:  
No sun can shine, that well may do it boot,  
with frost of fear, it will be withered so.  
Wherefore dear dame, let favour save the flower:  
Whose life or death, lies only in your power.    

Oh che dolore.  

IF in the world, there be but only one,  
'gainst whose good hap, both heaven & earth are bend,  
Whom lot hath left in sorrows seat alone,  
her thriftless time, with fruitless travel spent  
To wail in vain, and mourning so to die,  
by heavens I think, that only wench am I.   

For nature's griefs, are cured by Physics art.  
and counsel, much doth comfort careful mind:  
But such a pang, doth pinch me at the heart,  
as Physic, friend, and all I frustrate find.  
So that I see, the heavens for me prepare,  
to live in thought, and pine away in care,   

Then sith such life, to some one is assigned,  
and I that one, on whom that lot doth fall,  
With crooked care, I will content my mind,  
till death desired, do make an end of all,  
Whose long delays, I do too long endure,  
and know not how, his comfort to procure.   

Oh strange disease, that nature never knew,  
than not to blame in leaving no redress:  
Oh cause accursed, whereof such sorrow grew,  
as soaks the heart that dieth in distress.  
Oh heart what help? but still in woes to waste:  
till death oft wished, do end my dole at last.    

The Lover casteth all mourning away.  

LAment that list, I can no longer mourn,  
the heavy thoughts that lay upon my heart:  
To happy joys the heavenly fates do turn,  
and sweet conceits, have cut of sorrows smart.  
The fear is fled, of heavenly favour lost,  
and hope attained, of that I wished most.   

My most desire, was service due reward,  
my greatest fear, was force of fortune's spite:  
My prayer yet, the heavenly powers have hard,  
that due desert, might once enjoy delight.  
Which I protest, since that I now possess:  
my grief no more, nor joy was ever less.   

Your favour was the thing my service sought,  
and your dislike, did make me doubt despite:  
But yet my heart, had still this happy thought,  
when rage was past, remorse would lend delight,  
Which true I find, and sing in heart therefore:  
lament that list, for I will mourn no more.    

The Lover compareth his ill luck, to Philomela's ill fortune.  

NOthing on earth remains, to show aright  
the pattern true of my increasing care:  
But Philomela with her song by night,  
whose rueful state to mine I may compare.  
With careful watch she preacheth in the tree,  
when creatures all into their nests do creep:  
So from mine eyes all sweet repos doth flee,  
when men are wont of course to take their sleep.  
She with a thorn, against her tender breast:  
I with the dart, of cruel loves unrest.   

This gentle bird, her yielding voice doth strain,  
to wail the wrongs, that Progne did endure:  
I hapless man, upon the wight complain,  
that causeless doth, to me these woes procure.  
And when she doth, a tune so doleful frame,  
as well might move, the heavens to moan her plight,  
(Oh grief of griefs) yet such as hear the same,  
rue not her song, but therein take delight,  
Likewise my plaints, which bring from me salt tears  
seem pleasant suits unto my mistress ears.    

An other.  

THe tender bud that bravely gins to blow,  
while sunny showers yields comfort to the root,  
If that unwares, there fall a sudden snow,  
no sun can serve, that well may do it boot,  
Except it hold but for a day, and so  
it may have leave, to make a lively show.   

Myself the flower, that flourish all too fast,  
while favour flung fair weather in my face:  
But now must die, my pleasures overpast,  
to see disdain, so drive me in disgrace  
By due desert, whereon (ay me) to think:  
From sweet delight, my head gins to shrink.   

And cooled of care so nips my heart at root,  
as that except, you favour seem to show:  
No sun can shine, that well may do it boot,  
with frost of fear, it will be withered so.  
Wherefore dear dame, let favour save the flower:  
Whose life or death, lies only in your power.    

Another.  
THe day of my delight is overcast,  
And clouds of care begin apace to rise:  
The sun doth go his course, midday is past,  
Night will ensue, my mistress shuts her eyes,  
The glistering beams whereof, gave me that light:  
Which others have, whilst I bewail the night.  
But should the sun stand always in one place▪  
Sure that contrary were unto her kind:  
The warm desires that grow by her good grace,  
Would burn, and so consume both heart and mind.  
The course we keep in middle sphere is best,  
Where rolling still, she seeks a place to rest.  
Disdain doth drive these clouds of my despair:  
And shades the sun from shining in the air.   

Another.  

THe shaft that Cupid's bow hath shot,  
hath Vulcan forged in my breast:  
The fire which made the iron hot,  
desire did blow and never rest,   

The cools of care which burnt was love,  
the steel was trust whereon he strikes:  
The hammers hope which always prove,  
to frame the shape which best he likes.   

Tears serve the turn to quench the fire,  
and fancy files the arrow head:  
pain pays the workmen for their hire,  
the wound is deep, which never bled.    

lenvoy.  

To heal this hurt, is readiest mean:  
To shoot his arrow back again.    

A Gentleman dallieth with his Lute.  

THou knowest (my Lute) if thou knowest aught,  
that Music still doth covet change:  
Stolen beaten stuff is counted nought,  
new from the stamp is counted strange.   

And strange devices still delight,  
such dainty wits as divers be:  
Dear bought is good in every plight,  
far fet, for Ladies, and for me.   

If Tigell bring us nothing else,  
but still do plead upon a song:  
And play us nought but Osnay bells,  
than Tigell doth the Cuckoo wrong.   

Lie down therefore, my little Lute,  
and give me leave a little while:  
From case to pluck my little Flute,  
the time a little to beguile.   

Thou knewst when I was well content,  
till midnight thee for to embrace:  
Another now will thee prevent,  
and seek to keep thy wont place.   

And I who thought it did suffice,  
with thee an hour or two to play:  
Must now assay in other wise,  
some sport to find till it be day.   

Content thee then and hold thee still,  
my Lute I pray thee do not fume:  
Although I seek against thy will,  
another instrument to tune.   

And when I have assayed my wits,  
that I can play both true and plain:  
Then will I visit thee by fits,  
and will return to thee again.    

The Lover showing his loyalty, and finding no favour, is contented to give over.  

I Marvel why you be so strange,  
when once you did profess such love:  
Or why seek you so sudden change,  
sith fault in me you cannot prove.   

My service hath been ready priest,  
at every beck to come at call:  
And I as faithful as the rest,  
or any one amongst them all.   

The day as yet hath loathsome been,  
in which my service hath been tried:  
The loyalty that I live in,  
and constant heart wherein I bide.   

The surging seas, the flashing floods,  
are here at bar my troth to prove:  
The craggy hills, the desert woods,  
if they could speak would show my love.   

My tongue, my pen, my hand, my heart,  
were ever bent to do your will:  
And I not minded for to start,  
but so for to continue still.   

Yet all this troth, which I do owe,  
you seem but little to regard:  
The faithful love which I did sow,  
doth yield disdain for my reward.   

But since my chance doth so befall,  
I must of force this love refrain:  
As good to leave as to lose all,  
if grief be all that I shall gain.   

Sith then, for that I long and sue,  
some others have for little cost:  
'tis time to leave and say adieu,  
shake hands with me and farewell frost.    

Another.  

I May and I may not,  
I would but I cannot,  
For making of strife.  
If I might as I may not,  
I would do as I do not,  
But if that I shall not,  
Then farewell my life.   

But yet I doubt not,  
Neither despair I not,  
If you deny not,  
My lawful request.  
While you dissemble not,  
Smile on and spare not,  
More pleasure I ask not,  
Then you to love best.    

A Lover forsaken, despaireth.  

MY senses are not yet so dull,  
as you (perhaps) suppose they be:  
For I can spy and mark at full,  
the crafty sleights you use with me.  
And time will come ere it be long:  
I may requite you of this wrong.   

For though I wink I am not blind,  
through little holes the day I spy:  
Your subtle secret I can find,  
wherewith you think to blear mine eye,  
And yet I seem to slumber still,  
when that I see against my will:   

I taste alas (the more my pain)  
the brackish tears as salt as brine,  
That trickling on my cheeks remain,  
distilling from my blubbered eyen.  
So much you feed me with this taste:  
that life and all therewith you waste.   

I hear and so do many more,  
your nipping frumppes and taunting toys:  
And where you blaze them well I know,  
among your youthful Courtly boys.  
Which when I hear, I would that death,  
would come and stop my gasping breath.   

I smell my loathsome carrion coarce,  
with carping cares turned now to dust:  
In thee remains yet no remorse,  
but beastly still, live as you lust.  
Like smelling hound, I vent thy trace:  
and can foot out thy vaulting place.   

I feel the privy grieping nips,  
wherewith you purpose me to kill:  
Who looks for aught at sour slips,  
but choakiug fruit, that soon will spill.  
I feel you tear and rend my heart:  
though undeserved for my part.   

I see that death his brows doth bend,  
I taste all pains that one may have,  
I hear the bell bids make an end,  
I smell the dampnes of my grave.  
I feel, and so I will conclude:  
that all my love you do delude.    

The praise of his Lady.  

WHat man can keep in silence long  
the beauty of so fair a dame:  
Or who can hold or stay his tongue,  
from blazing out her worthy fame?  
Though land and life thereon did lie:  
I tell you troth it is not I.   

Whose beauty when I seek to blaze.  
I see the dullness of my wit:  
Yet doth it nothing me amaze,  
good will enforceth so to it.  
And I am urged against my will:  
to show the bluntness of my skill.   

Her comely face who list to view,  
with all the features of the same:  
Must needs her term (if he say true)  
a Gods, and no earthly dame.  
For Helen she doth pass as far:  
as doah the sun the shining star,   

Behold her body strait as line.  
her arms so tirmme, so long, so smll:  
Her hands so neat, so white, so fine,  
her fingers long and strait withal.  
That you would easily judge with me:  
the like of her unborn to be.   

I needed not (if she were here)  
with pointed words to praise her grace:  
Nor to display her favour clear,  
with all the beauty of her face,  
I wish this room she did supply:  
then should you see if that I lie,   

If princocks Paris were alive,  
and choice of damsels had at will:  
Disposed once again to wive,  
his wits I know were not so ill,  
To leave unchoase this Princely piece:  
for all the passing girls of Greece.   

Not This be brave that was sometime  
a Lover unto Pyramus:  
Lucretia's favour for to find,  
wherewith she coyde Tarquimius.  
But she doth farther both excel:  
then I am able for to tell,   

In fine, if equally you would  
each part in her with judgement way:  
By true constraint confess you should,  
and thereof here my life I lay.  
It were not now in nature's might,  
to frame so fair and trim a wight.   

To all these graces, she hath store  
of mercy and of perfect love,  
No earthly wight I know hath more,  
as trial tells, when truth shall prove,  
I hard when nature said and swore,  
she was the jewel of her ware.   

For mad you might me then condemn,  
if I would think myself so wise:  
That I were able with my pen  
to set her out before your eyes▪  
Sith well I know, the like by birth;  
as yet did never live on earth.    

Another.  
Weigh Lady mine, I thee beseech with loyal loving heart:  
In equal balance my good will, & yield me my desert.  Lady. 
Lay forth in true unforged tale, the sum of all thy suit:  
Even as my ear shall like or leave, so look to reap thy fruit.  Lover. 
Let favour thine then furnish up, that fancy mine doth crave:  
Lend Lover true, for lieu of love, the guerdon he should have.  Lady. 
Truth lies not always in the show, that glisters in the eine:  
Trust asketh further trial still, and trial asketh time.  Lover. 
I cast my glove to him that dares, my loyalty disprove:  
A better proof in alder years, was never gi'en for love.  Lady. 
Young, hot, & lusty bloods seeks thus, their vowed troths defence:  
●old ladies crave for milder profess, of plighted friends pretence.  Lover. 
My dear, if boisterous words offend thy virgin's melting breast:  
Know here what proof my Lady loves, that likes her lover best  Lady. 
Experience though it never learned, my greenish years to love:  
Long since hath taught that tract of time, this trustiness doth prove.  Lover. 
Except I sue & serve thee then, while lungs shall lend me breath:  
Let all the ill that heart can think, procure 〈…〉 death.  Lady. 
Ask then and have, as thou deservest, so look for thy desire:  
N● shall my bitter nay deny, if justly you require.  Lover. 
I care not Lady for thy coin, I crave no junos' gold:  
Nor Pallas prudence do I seek, my Venus' love I would.  Lady. 

endeavour thy behests to keep, thou needs no longer sue:  
While lettuce lives, Will shall not want, if he continue true.   

Great thanks for this great grace I yield, & god in heaven thee give  
Expense of Nestor's years on earth, & then in heaven to live.    

Another.  

AS each man spics a time,  
his grief for to bewail:  
And doth pour out from baylefull breast,  
the woes that him annoy:  
So have I severde out this time  
in hope for mine avail.  
To show my friend my grivoues' pangs,  
and eke my blissful joy.   

The woeful plight which present now,  
I do in breast sustain:  
The pleasures eke which now are past,  
I will to mind them call:  
For too too long in secret breast,  
I have them kept with pain.  
With sighs that boils from out my breast,  
most bitter like to gall.   

There was a time when as I set  
my love upon a Lass,  
And lente my liking out to loan  
to lull my liking lust:  
Because she present in mine eye,  
me thought did all surpass.  
But sure within her secret breast  
did harbour then no trust.   

For after we had dwelled awhile,  
in pleasures sweet delight:  
And hushed our senses both asleep,  
as liked our persons best:  
Then crept there in this crop of care,  
which wrought me this despite.  
And took from me the loving Lass,  
and did disturb our rest.   

And now do I appeal to you,  
take pity if you may  
On him that is tormented still,  
with woes his life that wear:  
And for thou art a faithful friend,  
lo thus of thee I pray,  
Let not this froward hap of mine,  
my tender heart still fear.    

Another.  
COnsider well I pray, the lines that here I wright:  
Nought else but dole and doleful things, I proffer to thy sight.  
No cause at all I have, to write of any joy:  
My mind is whelmed in deep distress, and tumbled in annoy.  
My serses all do quake, to think upon my grief:  
For to bewail my woeful hap, that cannot find relief.  
What favour should he have, whom fortune hath defied:  
By rigour of the law 'tis hard, for any to be tried.  
By Law, why said I so? no Law there is I think:  
That bars true lovers from their joys, but he that still doth wink  
And blinking like a buzzard fool, can laugh to see our woes:  
And nothing for our help, will he seek out the Lord he knows  
Oh would it were in me poor soul, the waggish God to tame:  
If he then wrought us such despite, in me then were the blame.  
But why do I now wish, for things which pass my reach?  
It were as much for me to crave, fine Tully for to teach.  
Good Lady yet give ear a while, and hear my woeful plaint:  
Seek (I beseech) to search his wound, whom love doth sore attaint  
And do not still reject your thrall, when as he doth complain:  
And think not light the direful pangs, that I for you sustain.  
Ten thousand griefs a day I feel, & ten times ten more woes:  
And eke a thousand thousand sighs my pensive heart out throws  
I live a thousand times a day, I die ten thousand more:  
And yet I am as near of thee, as I have been of yore.  
Let pity once take place, and move thy loving mind,  
That I for all my torments past some favour once may find.   

Another.  
GOod Lordings give me leave a while,  
to beat my brains about a toy:  
The further that I wade therein,  
the deeper wade I in annoy.  
The less I think thereon in sooth,  
the greater bliss shall hap to me.  
The fewer times I hear thereof,  
the happier man sure shall I be.  
The less in sight the better luck,  
the furthest of, the most at ease:  
And yet this is the strangest case,  
for life I dare it not displease.  
For life and all thereon depend,  
what resteth then for to ensue?  
My Lady bars, I may not tell,  
therefore dear hearts, count you it true.  
For if I once knew what it mente:  
her should I have that me it sent,   

Philomela's fie.  

FIe flattering face in an unfaithful friend,  
Fie on mischance, where never was mistrust:  
Fie fond desire, that finds despiteful end,  
Fie, fie, that faith should ever prove unjust.  
Fie froward fate, which makes me singing cry:  
Fie fortune, fie, and falsehood, fie, fie, fie.   

But fie for shame, this song yields small delight,  
When every note doth run on fie, fie, fie:  
Oh weigh the cause, is her accursed spite,  
Which makes her thus lament her misery.  
It is her note so sweet, and not her song,  
Whereto we love to listen too so long.   

So may my note seem sweet, although my fie,  
May seem (perhaps) a most unpleasant word:  
Although I sing, in heart alas I cry,  
Fie pleasure fie, I must with this poor bird,  
Go shroud myself, as one with sorrow slain.  
Till merry May, may make me rise again.   

And then this Bird shall come and sing with me,  
Such heavenly notes, as may each ear delight:  
And every one that doth my sorrow see,  
Shall curse the cause of my accursed spite.  
And some all night, shall gladly leave their nest:  
To hear record, of our unquiet rest.    

Alta peto.  

THe haughty Lark, that fain would sit on high,  
And yet perforce, long time doth sit below:  
Will up at last, although he gain thereby  
To his decay, a deadly overthrow.  
Which makes my heart, that highly would aspire:  
Seek how to climb, to height of my desire.   

To prowl for pence, such gain yealds simple share,  
To fight for flies, the conquest were but small:  
To gain content, my mind shall only dare  
To venture death, in climbing though I fall.  
But careful hope, must hoist me up aloft:  
Lest footing fail, and then I fall not soft.   

And when I climb, the tree shallbe of life,  
The fruit of faith, the field the ground of grace:  
My ladder love, and care my cutting knife  
To prune such sprigs, as may annoy the place,  
Reason the ground, to stay me from a fall:  
And hope my hold, to touch the top of all.    

A Gentleman misliking of his Mistress, sent her at his departure, these six sour lines for a farewell.  

ALthough you count, your haven a sea of bliss.  
I nothing like, to anchor in your flood:  
I fear in faith, so sweet the water is,  
that over use, hath made the bottom mud:  
And south to say, I cannot well away,  
in common cockex, to put my bark in bay.   
Farewell foul, false, and filthy forger, P. I.   

The Mistress of this gentleman, having more cause to dislike of him, than he to misleeke of her, requiteth him with these six lines following.  
THe seas you seem to set so little by,  
no harbour is for every rotten bark:  
Let be the flood, and let the Anchor lie,  
It floats not here, you need not therefore cark.  
And sooth to say, the bay bears such a grace:  
uneaths it likes to harbour aught so base.  
Farewell fond, false, fleering, and fantastical fool. P. M.   

Verses out of Borbonius.  

MArcus avarus heri cum se suspendere vellet,  
sexque obulis misero, restis emenda foret:  
Territus hoc pretio, restim (inquit) non emo tanti,  
quinque obulis tandem, convenit atque perit.   

Mark Miser, yesterday I hard  
the hanging craft would try,  
And under three pence caitiff wretch,  
no halter could he by.  
I buy no ropes so dear (quoth he)  
the price amazed the elf:  
For two pence halfpenny he agreed  
at last, and hangs himself.    

Le home.  
THis gear bears prick and price my girl,  
of all that ere I see:   

Lafoy feme.  

The prick for me, sir, I cry first,  
the price I leave for thee.   

Corpus, opes, animam, formam, vim, lumina, scortum,  
Debilitat, perdit, necat, aufert, eripit, orbat.   

The body, wealth, the mind,  
form, face, and sight, a whore:  
Doth weaken, lose, kill, race, and steal,  
and eke depriveth sore.    

A Gentlewoman's poesy.  
YOung lust of love in hoary locks:  
on ladies loins lay lazy knocks.  
Old beldames than do you receive:  
the cripple knights young Ladies leave.   

Angels.  
MIne angels still they be so fledge, they fly,  
or else in ship they float with puffed sails:  
Or with their legs they leap and run awry.  
or driven away by Dragons with long tails.  
Legs, wings, and ships, the devil in dragons shins:  
To bear away mine angels never linnes.   

A Riddle.  

SC●lere vehor, materna carne vescor, quaero patrem meum●  
Matris meae virum, uxoris meae filium.   
Fowl is my fault, that feed my fill,  
and gorge on mother's bowels still.  
With busy care I seek my Sire:  
my mother's husband I require.  
And such a one that man must be:  
as is the son of wife to me.   

Money still restless.  
GOod money be demourant with me still,  
and then thou shalt be pendaunte in my purse:  
But if thou wilt be volant at thy will,  
or coorraunte else, thy harbore will be worse.  
Voussera still enclosed in my chest.  
whereas thou run'st abroad sans any rest.   

A fantastical passion.  
MY vain is done to write in prose or verse,  
For why? I see my wits begin to fail:  
Full feign I would a woeful tale rehearse,  
but sorrow so, my senses doth assail,  
That I am forced, to say and end in brief:  
I cannot wright, I am so full of grief.   

A bird to a birder.  
A Fowler snarlde a little bird, with limed bush of late,  
To whom for life & liberty, the pretty fowl doth prate  
She begs her ransom at a price, and promiseth for pay  
Three jewels rich, The birder then so bids her fly away:  
Escaped thus, now list (quoth she) Hereafter hold thine own:  
Trust not to much: nor take no care for that which hence is floer  
Henceforth if thou apply thyself, to rule thee by these three:  
No little fowl as I, shall make so great a fool of thee.   

The abuse of the world.  

THe mournful mind, the overwhelmed brain,  
the wits bewitched, that wearied are with woes:  
The pensive heart that pines away in pain,  
the troubled thoughts whom thousand cares enclose  
Doth still I see, consume my carcase so,  
as nought but death, can rid me of this woe.   

Long have I hoapde, too long I find in vain,  
and all in vain it is I find too late:  
That pity would procure some ease of pain,  
but pride is full, puffed up with deadly hate.  
Disdain is grown so great with beauty's grace:  
as humble suits are all thrust out of place.   

Humility is thought a silly slave,  
desert is deemed a peevish painful drudge:  
Truth thought deceit, and flattery no knave,  
craft credit gains, good dealing may go trudge.  
This all too late, to my despite I find:  
which makes me thus to wail and mourn in mind    

The Author troubled with hope and despair.  

TWo things there are that trouble much my mind,  
the one is hope, the other is despair:  
In hope, my heart doth heavenly comfort find,  
and peevish dread, my pleasures doth impair,  
Hope to good hap, doth give me up amain:  
Despair as fast, doth fling me down again.   

I hope the best and yet do dread the worst,  
which wretched dread says hope is all in vain:  
And hope bids me account that dread accursed,  
that lets my help, my heavenly wish to game.  
And hope assures that reason doth require:  
although despair deny me my desire.   

Therefore I hope, although withal I fear:  
because I hope my hope will banish dread:  
Which makes despair both day and night to bear  
my tossed brains within my troubled head.  
This passion strange, twixt hope and fear I find:  
is that which long, hath much perplexed my mind.    

The Author troubled with love and hate.  

TWo things there are that much torment my mind,  
the one is love, the other deadly hate:  
The force of love doth make affection blind,  
and blind desire doth set my wits at bate.  
They beat my brains to make what means they may  
I find in fine to work mine own decay.   

I like not love, again I love not hate,  
yet love or hate, I needs must take the one:  
The choice is hard which were the better state,  
and happy he could let them both alone.  
For he that knew them both as well as I:  
would loath his life, and gladly wish to die.   

Love oft breeds hate, whom luckless lots ensue,  
and foul despite doth sore consume the heart,  
Which seeks revenge that honest minds do rue,  
when conscience pricks, doth cause repentant smart.  
This for myself, as once before I said:  
hath made my mind and senses so dismayed.   

And yet alas, I cannot choose but love,  
yet hate myself to see my fond desire:  
But cannot get my fancy once remove,  
that in my heart hath kindled hateful fire.  
But must of force my wretched mind content:  
to live in grief until my days be spent.    

Another.  

THe longer life the more offence,  
the more offence, the greater pain:  
The greater pain, the less defence,  
the less defence, the loss of gain.  
The loss of gain, long life doth try:  
wherefore come death and let me die.   

The shorter life, less count I find  
the less account, the sooner made:  
The count soon made, the merrier mind,  
the merrier mind, doth thought evade,  
Short life well spent, the same doth try:  
wherefore come death and let me die.   

Come gentle death the ebb of care,  
the ebb of care, the flood of life:  
The flood of life, the joyful fare,  
the joyful fare, the end of strife.  
The end of strife, for that wish I  
wherefore come death and let me die.    

Another.  

MIstrust misdeemes amiss,  
whereby displeasure grows:  
And time delayed, finds friends afraid,  
their faith for to disclose.  
Suspect that breedeth thought,  
and thoughts to sighs convartes:  
And sighs have sought a flood of tears,  
where sobs do soak the heart.   

This heart that means no harm,  
must feed on sorrows all:  
Until such time in please the judge,  
the truth in question call.  
Though cause of great mistrust,  
before the judge appear:  
My truth and mercy of the judge  
I trust shall set me clear.   

Report thus runs at large,  
my truth for to detect:  
Yet truth in time shall try itself,  
and drive away suspect.  
Believe not every speech,  
nor speak not all you hear:  
For truth and mercy of the judge.  
I trust shall set me clear.    

Another.  

WHat watch, what woe, what want, what wrack,  
is due to those that toil the seas:  
Life led with loss, of pains no lack,  
in storms to win much restless ease.  
A bedlesse board at seas in rest:  
may chance to him that chanceth best.   

How sundry sounds with lead and lines,  
into the deep the shipman throws:  
No foot to spare he tries oft times  
no near, when ho, the master blows.  
If Neptune frown all be undone,  
straightway the ship the wrack hath won.   

Those dangers great do oft befall,  
on those that shores upon the sand:  
judge of their lives the best who shall,  
how vile it is few understand.  
Alack, who then may judge the game?  
not they which have not felt the same,   

But those that sail in storm and wind.  
and days and years have spent therein:  
Such well may judge, since proof they find  
in rage no rest, till calm again;  
No more may those that love do feign:  
give judgement of true lovers pain.    

Another.  

ARise o noble Sidney now,  
and hear the merry Robin sing:  
The birds on every bush and bough,  
with warbling make the woods to ring.  
Dame Flora fresh in mantle green,  
doth weight upon a maiden Queen.  
And out are gone by break of day:  
a world of Dames to bring in May.   

When Phoebus shines in lofty skies,  
and Luna yieldeth up her light:  
'tis time for waking wits to rise,  
and bid adieu the drowsy night.  
Great sleepers have but little health,  
the wise will walk and use his skill:  
The sluggard wants both wit and wealth,  
and lives in need, and scareslie still.  
Arise o noble Sidney etc.   

The labourer finds his feeding sweet,  
the idle heads have idle brains:  
The slothful sheep hath simple spirits,  
and much desires and little gains.  
The house but breeds great cares in breast,  
the field takes toys from troubled mind:  
As grief and sickness follow rest  
so health through labour must men find.  
Arise o noble Sidney etc.   

As bees seek honey out of flowers,  
and travails far for pleasures sake  
So man delights in summer bowers,  
and for sweet things some toil must take:  
For needful sleep the bed is good,  
whilst night be clips the world about:  
But in the day each lusty blood,  
on hills or dales are walking out.  
Arise o noble Sidney etc.   

Since may doth come so kindly in,  
and doth rejoice both man and boy:  
With mirth we do this May begin,  
in hope to end the year with joy.  
A soldier doth this daybell ring,  
who wisheth well to worthy wight,  
And we poor boys his farewell sing,  
to worthy Sidney noble knight.  
Arise o noble Sidney etc.    

A Riddle.  

A Thing there is a friend told me,  
that none can feel, nor hear, nor see:  
Which breedeth many deadly smart  
and eke with grief consumes the heart.  
For which is found none other ease,  
but one, the cause of the disease.  
Now this is my desire of thee:  
to be resolved what this may be.    

Answer:  

THe thing that breedeth such a grief,  
as but by it find no relief,  
Is strange, yet not so strange I trow:  
but one by study soon may know.  
And at a venture this I guess,  
'tis love.    

And why smile you.  

I Smile to see the world so full of toys,  
I smile to see that toys should so delight:  
I smile to show by signs such secret joys,  
as but for shame, would make me laugh outright.  
To show such mirth as manners do conceal:  
and smiles (in kind) can never half reveal.   

But for I see that laughing is too light,  
and smiling shows a modest merry mind:  
I will conceal my secret sweet delight,  
save by a smile you may my fancy find.  
Then why I smile, the cause be sure is this:  
somewhat is well, I say not what it is.   

I smile to think what what, that what may be.  
I smile again at pretty jests I find:  
And now I smile at secret smiles I see,  
I smile in sign to show a merry mind.  
And so I leave to write, but not to smile:  
mirth among friends may be alone awhile.    

And why sigh you?  

I Sigh to see the world so full of woes,  
I sigh, to think of secret misery:  
I sigh, to show that speech may not disclose,  
I sigh, and could, and but for shame would cry.  
That tears might tell such torments of the mind:  
as sighs nor sobs, can never show in kind.   

But for I see, that women use to weep,  
and gallant minds, their secret grief conceal:  
I will awhile, unseen my sorrows keep,  
least womanlike, I do my woes reveal.  
Then why I sigh, the cause, be sure, is this:  
(I say not what) but somewhat is amiss.   

I sigh to think, that somewhat is so much,  
as that in some, there cannot be much more:  
I sigh, to think my secret sorrow such,  
as makes my heart, to sigh and sob so sore,  
And so I leave to wright, but sighing still:  
to show by sighs, that sighing will me kill.    

Plus amour, que la vie.  

MY chance was good, who can say nay?  
my hap was hit that instant time:  
When I for solace seemed to go,  
to garden in the springing prime.  
Whereas me thought I saw did climb,  
Fair gallant girls, the one was such  
As to recount it grieves me much.   

They climbed, but whether? would you know?  
trust me, in truth I cannot tell:  
Mine eyes were dazzled with the show.  
of her which I did mark too well.  
For why? of troth, she did excel.  
And so surpaste the other train:  
That they but shadows seemed plain.   

The other three were Venus joys,  
in whom the Gods took delight:  
She keeps them from all dire annoys,  
if they complain, it makes her spite.  
She is their patrons by right.  
Wherefore in them she suits her shows:  
And nothing cares for mine God knows.   

But why should I grave at their gain,  
Minerva is the patron dear  
Which shields my lady from the pain,  
that Venus' brats feed for their cheer.  
These wantoness think they have no peer.  
Till sturdy Mars doth lay the bait:  
And then they cry Peccavi strait.   

The glistering glee, which they retain,  
the outward shows of Venus' joys:  
The curled hear, the faces plain,  
the fine proportion of her boys.  
My Lady counts them all as toys.  
And thinks that tricks her passing trim:  
Out of their waves of woe to swim.   

Well since (my Dear) thou hast begun,  
in Diane's sacred fields to walk:  
Where all the virtues still do won,  
and flowers crop from dainty stalk,  
There rest thou still, with them to walk.  
And let me languish still in woe:  
For that is all I crave, you know.    

Another.  

TO vaunt before the conquest got,  
to triumph still fore victory:  
Were too too diffamous a blot,  
if hap should hit the contrary.  
So that I said, it is the wisliest done:  
Never to vaunt, till victory be won.   

And then to vaunt, and double vaunt it too,  
to triumph then, it were to thee no blame:  
For so of right thou oughtest then to do,  
because thy foe of right doth bear the shame.  
Thy triumph then, doth merit nought but this:  
with Laurel bow, for to be crowned I wis.   

But what deem you him, worthy for to be?  
which triumphs still, before the conquest got,  
If then a judge you will allow of me,  
he sure deserves, no whit at all God wots.  
But as he is, so shift him to his mates:  
and let him seek, for conquest without gates.   

But pardon me, which meaner conquest seek,  
what conquest be't? would you so fain it know?  
No victor I, the vanquished is most leek,  
to conquer me, as plain I here will show.  
So that I count myself already quelled:  
and mean to yield before I be compelled.   

The Dame that hath, my conquering heart put down,  
and pulled allow, the stomach which I bore:  
With blows? no, no, it was done with a frown,  
which breeds to me, the terror of my care.  
Wherefore I mean, to yield me to thy grace:  
some lovely looks, thou wilt extend percace.   

Then since to you I yield, as vassal hear,  
and stand to crave for mercy at your hands  
Good Lady then, some pity let appear,  
and lose from me, the lewd and luckless bands.  
Which binds me still, to be to you a thrall:  
joy when I rise, rejoice not when I fall.    

Another.  

THree new years gifts, three ladies craved at once,  
and thrice renewed their triple suit to me:  
And three times thrice, I wished for the nonce,  
that I could sort, each Lady out her fee.  
As they deserved, so should it always be.  
which when I heard, than did I cast in mind:  
Chief what gifts for them I best might find.   

As gorgets brave, or shadows for the head;  
Or shoots of lawn, or net that finely shows:  
their glutted eyes with them be always fed,  
And for such toys, they nothing care, God knows.  
in meaner things their minds they do repose.  
And means to take, such gifts as he can give:  
whereby the giver, by the gift may live.   

Gloves say you then, be they the gifts you crave,  
To keep from sun, the whiteness of your hands:  
alas (good souls) the sun you feign would have,  
As weather serves, and state of year now stands  
to cool your lily white, you need no fans.  
The nipping frosts, and blustering winds do show:  
what like good will you unto summer owe.   

That like good will, I would you ought to me,  
Then like for gifts, I surely you should find:  
no gloves it is, that I crave of you three,  
But mere good will, which me to you will bind.  
for so be sure, I still do fix in mind.  
Not givers you, but I will weigh your gift:  
Cry not boe peep, 'tis but a simple shiste.    

Another.  

IN rage and grief, against the world I wright,  
in dole, deep drenched, in pain perplexed sore:  
Alive, as dead I seem, in each man's sight,  
out of the world exempted clean therefore.  
That out I cry, and crying, still will say:  
fie upon love, why breed'st thou my decay?   

Fie upon love, why do I thereof plain?  
nay rather fie upon my gazing eyes:  
That such a foil would let me to sustain.  
of one that doth both me and mine despise.  
Which makes me cry, and crying, still will say:  
th'Italian blood doth breed my dire decay.   

Th'Italian blood, fie, fie upon them all  
which craftily creeps out of Cressida's kind:  
They love to keep both man and mind in thrall:  
and in their woes, they joy still in their mind,  
Which makes me cry, and crying still to say:  
fie Italy, why breeds thou my decay?   

Fie Italy, why do I curse thee so?  
nay rather fie upon too forward will:  
Which sought too soon, to faun upon my foe,  
without the guide of sacred wisdoms skill.  
Which being spied, she made me strait to say:  
when you command (dear Mistress) I'll obey,   

Obey, but how? too soon to froward mind,  
which sought me clean to overwhelm in care:  
She scorned to see how glad she did me find,  
to feed on grief, which was my daily fare:  
For which good deeds of hers, I still will say:  
fie on thee wretch, why seek'st thou my decay?    

A Sonnet.  

WHat should I write? what should I say?  
what should I do to weep my fill?  
I crouch, I kneel, I still obey,  
and yet my heart she seeks to spill.  
So that with grief I grunt, and groan with care:  
which daily is my sustenance and fare.   

My meat is moan, my drink is dreadfulness,  
my solace sour, my music nought but woe:  
My mind is turned unto forgetfulness,  
and I lie wallowing in my sorrows so.  
That in the end I cry for morning grey  
and wish for night ten thousand times a day.   

Lo thus I live, and living thus, I die,  
but dying now, I hope to live again:  
For by experience lo, thus much I try,  
that dying well, we never feel more pain.  
When I am dead, quite gone, and laid in grave:  
for me again, no wisdom 'tis to crave.    

Another.  

Try ere thou trust, the proverb saith so true,  
and trust not thou, before thou well hast tried:  
For here to each I will set down in view  
what vile despite was hid ere I it spied  
In Lady fair, in whom I took delight,  
who at the length, wrought me this foul despite.   

I loved her dear, and she did like me well.  
as than I thought, that better could not be:  
In words, in show, in speech, lo thus I tell,  
the fault was hers, the foil was mine you see.  
And I poor soul, (thus flouted) went my way:  
and she did laugh, that wrought my dire decay.   

Bad was the best, that fell unto my share,  
and worse was hers, if she do weigh it well:  
For though to me it bring some carking care,  
that her disgraces vilely, I can tell.  
So that I see, my hap did fall out best:  
to leave a blackbird, close within her nest.    

Amor altus.  

Constrained by love, though half held back by fear.  
headlong I run, into the hands of hap:  
With mind amazed, I wend I wot not where,  
seeking no seat, but in dame Venus' lap.  
But down proud heart, do not presume so high:  
Lest fortune frown, I fall, and then I die.   

But live or die, affection doth enforce  
the haughty heart to climb, although it fall:  
Sweet pity seems to promise some remorse,  
and love will serve, the highest Saint of all.  
To servants, fall sometime a happy hire:  
for due desert, the some of their desire.   

To lie below, and see our joys aloft,  
what mind so base, but venture would a joint:  
What though I slip, and that I fall not soft,  
if life yet hold, I do not care a point.  
For hope of joys, will help my present pain:  
heart hold up head, hand help to climb again.   

Me thinks I see where Dame Diana sits,  
and Cupid cries, hold Hope, and ●lime by care,  
And Pallas by, who doth instruct my wits,  
by humble suit to win a happy share.  
And Venus smiles, what should I wish for more?  
up sure I will, and if I die therefore.    

Another Riddle.  
WHat thing on earth breeds greatest grief?  
Yet lends the heaviest heart relief.  
That is the cause of greatest joy:  
Yet thousand ways doth breed annoy.  
Both spoils and saves, sleas and revives:  
Prolongs, and shortens many lives.  
This thing is very strange I trow:  
Yet I of thee the same would know.   

Answer.  
WHat breeds delight, yet worketh pain?  
That hurteth sore, yet heals again?  
That is the cause of great despite:  
And yet doth purchase sweet delight▪  
That healeth some of deadly smart:  
And strikes some other dead at heart.  
It should be strange, what so it is:  
But sure if I judge not amiss:  
'tis all one with the same that I  
Propounded you, 'tis love perdie.   

Mors mihi vita.  

Consumed with cares, and overwhelmed with woes  
I bid adieu, to such as live in joy:  
Contented well, my loathed life to lose,  
as fortune still did follow with annoy,  
For as I feel, my death draw neare● on:  
I see the smart of all my sorrows gone.   

Whereby I see sweet death the end of dole,  
while life prolongs, the wretched soul in pain:  
The salve of death makes sickest hearts soon hole,  
when care is found a comfort all in vain.  
Yet dying thus, ere I be thoroughly dead:  
accept this counsel of a careful head.   

Love not to live, nor yet desire to die,  
but live to die, so dying look to live:  
Such dying life, such living death have I,  
which makes me thus, the world this comfort give.  
To dread no death, but count him for our friend:  
who brings us joys, and makes our sorrows end.    

The Nightingale's note.  

THe Nightingale that singes the sweetest note,  
of any bird that flieth in the air:  
Whose choice of sound with warble in the throat  
revives the heart that dieth in despair.  
In April first records, then sings in may:  
and that m●onth past, she singing goes away.   

Which heavenly note, might hold but half the year:  
the joy thereof would cloy our ears with sweet:  
Nothing so good, so rare, nor yet so dear,  
but change for worse, the foolish man thinks meet,  
So sweet and short is philomela's song:  
and nought esteemed, that lasteth once too long.   

But yet this song, that Philomela singes:  
of sorrow groans, although the sound delight  
Or hard mishap, whereof such mischief springs,  
she but records the sound of her despite.  
So with that bird, may I sing fie, fie, fie:  
while others joy in song to hear me cry.    

Nil nisi probatum.  

Among mishaps, which kill a careful heart,  
to find a foe of an assured friend:  
Is such a grief, as breeds that deadly smart,  
which until death can never take his end.  
Oh wretched world, where faith is so unjust:  
that surest friends are sometime hard to trust.   

But all too late I find the proverb true,  
that friends are found, as fortune scowls or smiles:  
But twice accursed that hollow hearted crew,  
whose flattering face, the simple mind begiles.  
And for myself, since friendship such I find:  
I will account of each one in his kind.   

Fair words shall stand for open flattery.  
till faithful deeds may merit no mistrust:  
And secret trains shall stand for treachery,  
till trial find her dealings not unjust,  
But where I find the troth at need, I cry:  
with such a friend I vow to live and die.    

The clog of care.  

THe clog of care that hangs on heavy heart,  
pulls down the head from lofty minds delight:  
The sighs that grow of sorrows secret smart.  
in time consumes the wretched carcase quite,  
But comfort yet may cut that clog away:  
the cause of dole, whereby delights decay.   

And then the heart will hold up head on high,  
and joy as much as it did mourn before:  
Oh comfort come, and cut of by and by,  
that cruel clog, that cuts my heart so sore.  
I have too long, to careful thoughts been tide:  
my mind cannot the burden long abide.   

But all in vain for comfort still I cry,  
my clog of care is such, I cannot go:  
I see too plain my doleful destiny,  
to waste my days, in worlds of careful woe.  
Which makes me thus to end my solemn song:  
the careful heart can never hold out long.    

Another.  
THe Ploughman sure are ye,  
and I the sandy field:  
Your harvest then must needs be gross,  
that such a earth doth shield.  
The gold I mean myself,  
the hutch my husbands heart:  
The Mart is done, put up your pipes,  
go whistle for your part.  
And let me live at rest,  
devoid of slanders blot:  
Contented with my faithful fear,  
whom fortune did aloft.  
For sure the Lechers love,  
comes ever out of time:  
I mean not to deface my fame,  
with such a covert crime.  
I am no Younckers pray,  
I skills am in 'scapes:  
I do detest the doting love  
of Roisters, and their rapes.  
I mean to run the race  
of these my posting days:  
In such a sort, that none shall check  
my youthful wanton ways.  
Leave then to ransack her,  
that careth for no change:  
Ne seek to false her faulcones faith.  
with haggard hawk to range.   

Upon two gentlewomen's names.  

MY fancy led me suddenly, as I did sit and sow:  
Amongst some other secret things, a secret cause to know.  
Remembering how the Poets use  
Good Gentlewomen to abuse  
All in their ditties when they choose  
Resounding fame to blow.  
Extolling in their Sonnets then  
The only praise of faithful men,  
They list not see, how we women  
Pass them, as I will show.   

Hark not what Poets prattle then, from reason they declined:  
In Plato's School, thou mayst it learn, how friendship is defined.  
Love liketh where is loyalty,  
Like loyalty in like degree;  
In women this is chief to see,  
Peruse and you shall find.  
So saith he that this friendliness,  
Only doth springe from humbleness,  
None barreth women gentleness,  
Except they bar their kind.   

Perhaps I could adjoin to this, where most affection dwells:  
How there the flower of friendliness, most pleasantly it smells.  
Enritching women's goodly grace,  
But here I need not in this place  
Experience proveth well this case  
Ask her I say nought else:  
Then sith it comes to us by kind,  
Keep not the secret cause to find,  
In Poetry that is so blind,  
No true tale once it tells.   

Sith loyalty, affection, and likeness of degree  
On perfect proof, from cradle up, hath linked thee to me,  
No treasure rich, nor golden mine  
Exchange shall make at any time  
For as I was, so am I thine  
Reposing trust in thee:  
Enduring so, I do pretend  
No change to make till life do end,  
Damon was never dearer friend  
So thou my Pythias be.    

A merry conceit.  

Our Wilkin now will wed,  
the goodliest girl I guess  
That ere this country bred,  
it is that bouncing Bess.  
That every jack for ale and cakes,  
At every game his Lady makes.  
He thinks his Lady bears the bell:  
Poor horechit Hob:  
And she belowtes the mome as well.  
And there a bob.   

How ere the world it wags,  
his Bess must needs be brave:  
Gog's vish these rotten rags,  
are vitter for a zlave.  
Then vor my Lady zweares our Wil:  
And therewithal he smacks his Gil.  
And she requites his buss again,  
He likes well that:  
He pays his Lady for her pain,  
That hits her part.   

To bear his flaunting port,  
our Wilkin wanteth wealth:  
He shames to yield the sport,  
and therefore seeks by stealth.  
To maintain this his jolly ruff,  
He striketh hands with Saunder snuff.  
So forth together they two trigge,  
To make a hand:  
The booty must be very big,  
That they two stand.   

Our gaffer Simkin sold  
his forty sheep at fair:  
And down the ruddocks told  
are paid him in his chair.  
Such payment round is good to tell,  
He likes his market very well.  
Our Wilkin well of this was ware:  
And gives a guess  
That Bess and he shall have a share  
Of Simkins mess.   

The Penyfather Post,  
his weson pipe to wet  
He calleth to his host,  
a half perth nail to fet.  
His ginger from his purse he draws,  
And on the cup he lays his claws.  
Upon bon voyage there he spends:  
Three half pence flat:  
On Madge, his mare, and on his friends,  
That with him sat.   

And homeward then he plods,  
with homely hobbing pace:  
At every step he nods,  
in comely courtly grace.  
But see the luck, amid the way  
Comes Will, and bids vaer Simkin stay.  
A yellow jaundize their he said:  
In Simkins purse:  
Which if it be not quickly staid.  
Will hurt them worse.   

Thy purse (quoth Will) doth surge,  
var Sim, an inch to low:  
The perfect pills to purge,  
my mates and I do know.  
Myself (says Will) will be thy léeche,  
Wherewith his purse slides to my breach,  
Old Graybeard now may wipe his nose:  
His gold is fludge:  
To Birchin Lane for silken hose,  
Doth Wilkin trudge.   

While Ruddocks yours be rife,  
our Girl must have her part:  
Else there begins the strife,  
twixt Bess, and her sweet heart.  
A kerchief now, atawdrie lace,  
A hat to hide her whorish face.  
The arrant woman spies her time,  
You may be bold:  
The stammel will be sold for fine  
Crusado gold.   

The pence are easily spent,  
that roll so easily in:  
How he that list forrent,  
will fear thee not a pin.  
Ten hundred shifts yet may be made  
A thousand crafts yet will be ●ad.  
Will and his girl will to the wine,  
to tipple square:  
While chinks hold out they may be sure  
Away the mare.   

At board to her he drinks,  
and turns it on the thumme:  
The wily wench she winks,  
with near a word but mum.  
With becks and decks his girl he woos,  
With necks and checks she doth re●use,  
A world to see our wooing Will.  
Along the street:  
How he doth square it with his Gill,  
When they two meet.   

The Cutter roystes it out,  
with tospotte swearing cap:  
As sturdy and as stout,  
as is the mouse in trap.  
And for his Lady will he fight,  
As long as no man is in sight.  
The Duckerell Darcies blow hath got:  
Oerthwarte the shanks:  
His pretty parnel spareth not,  
To play her pranks.   

A whelp of a good hear,  
she comes of gentle kind:  
An easy beast to bear,  
well spaste, and sure behind▪  
She never flings, but forward still,  
The resty ●ade hath near her fill.  
Of such a toward twig the fruit  
Is rotten ripe:  
The youths will dance with little suit  
T● every pipe.   

A couple fitly met,  
a brace of 〈◊〉 birds:  
Ere they at work will sweat,  
their hear shall through their hoods.  
Such scapeth 〈◊〉 litely fell their ware,  
And make their mat with Palmer's mare.  
If chance they twist not all one thread:  
They have good hap:  
At last I charge them beg their bread  
With dish and ●lappe.    

A Sonette made by Thomas howel.  
I Wish and crave the thing that works my woe,  
I see the snare, yet have no power to shun:  
I hold for friend, whom aye I held for foe,  
In flying fire, upon the flame I run.  
I pine in pain, when hist, no pleasure past,  
In seeking heaven, I lie in Kimbo lake:  
In blissful bathe, most bitter bane▪ I taste.  
And for the Eel, I grieping grasp the Snake.  
The mark I seek, I see doth pass my reach,  
Yet still I prick, and press, t'achieue the same:  
Desire condemns what wisdom would me teach.  
And folly fauns on grief in stead of game.  
What vaileth it the irksome hook to spy,  
That lurking lies in sweet and pleasant bait.  
When power doth want, the force thereof to fly.  
In bane is seen the hurtful 〈◊〉 deceit,  
Right thus in pleasure's path 〈◊〉 prison find,  
Yet headlong forth doth haste and hold the way:  
When Reason me, to r●le doth put in mind,  
My fancy saith go on, and make no stay.   

A. N. his answer to the same.  
Leave of to wish the thing that works thy woe,  
And thou shalt shun the snare that thou dost see:  
Hold him no frond whom the● dost find a foe,  
So thou from 〈◊〉 and 〈◊〉 shalt still be free.  
Pain is a grief, 〈…〉 pleasures gains:  
And Limbo● 〈…〉 sought out▪  
So 〈…〉  
Gripe Snake for 〈◊〉 and she will 〈◊〉 no doubt.  
He is oreboulde, that 〈◊〉 without his reach,  
Though still he pricks, 〈…〉 never hope him in:  
Drown the desire, so shall thee wisdom teach,  
That folly fauns, where griefs the game begin.  
It vaileth much the irksome hook to spy,  
That lurking lies, in sweet and pleasant 〈◊〉▪  
Witte will want force, where wisdom, wants to fly,  
That else in vain is seen the hid deceit.  
In pleasant path, no pleasure is to find,  
Though headlong forth thou haste, and hold thy way▪  
When reason rules put wisdom in thy mind,  
Let Fancy say; got on and make no stay▪   

The discommodities of marriage.  
 doubts 〈…〉  
Best hold● 〈…〉 still alone,  
For though you have 〈…〉:  
The praise of a maiden, as plain did appear.  
I will none by saint Mary, you make me to swear:  
The charge is too costly, the ware is to dear.  
I answer to you Sir, even after the rate:  
That presently pained yourself for to prate.  
To praise the stolen widow, with all her whole state,  
Be she old, be she young Sir, I like no such mate.  
But I will content me, as I did before:  
To love, and to look to myself and no more,  
For if that I marry, I must look for a store:  
And toil and trudge for it, till my bones be all sore.  
If I purpose to marry these chances ensue:  
I must get her apparrelle, and that must be new  
Lest shortly I prove the Proverb be true.  
You are welcome, be gone Sir, I am not for you.  
I must woe her, and win her with silver and gold:  
And other such jewels, as are to be sold.  
And yet she is ready for every 〈◊〉 ●olde:  
To leave and forsake me to let fly her hold.  
I must give her a purse, and eke a pin●ase:  
A whistle, a tablet, a tawdry lace.  
A thimble of silver, to cover her face:  
And all to obtain her favour and grace.  
I must dance her attendance by day and by night:  
Be pleasant and painful, all day in her sight.  
And yet peradventure, and that's too much spite:  
I shall gape for a Gudgeon, and fish for a Snight.  
If I chance to obtain her after this wise:  
Then double and ●reable, my costs will arise.  
I must then apparrelle her after the guise:  
And find her such trinkets, as she can devise.  
To household, we must have a hen and a cock:  
A distaff, a spindle, a wheel, and a rock.  
A cassock, a 〈◊〉, a gown and a smock.  
And for our Dame's 〈◊〉 a key and a lock.  
A bed, and a 〈◊〉, and other such 〈◊〉▪  
A fillet, a paste, a comb, and a glass.  
A pot, and a pan, with vessels, and brass:  
And twenty such toys, which here I let pass.  
And yet it doth chance most commonly after:  
God sends us a child, a boy or a daughter.  
Then must I provide, who so ever begat her:  
Some rags and some jags, to fold and to wrap her.  
A Nurse, and a midwife to hold up her back:  
Some spices, to make her a posset of sack,  
And other such trinkets as these young wives do lack:  
Which if that they have not, our love goes to wrack.  
A cradle, a swathbande, a pillow of down:  
A wastecote, a biggin, to wrap the child's crown.  
A wench for to rock it, with down a down, down.  
Or else 'tis time for me, to pack out a town.  
A possenette, and sugar, to make the child pap:  
A blanket of woollen, the child for to wrap.  
If this be not gotten, such fortune may hap:  
At her first uprising I bear her a clap.  
If I marry a widow, you bid me not care,  
She bringeth all this gear, and other such ware.  
Your stock and your treasure, thereby you may spare:  
Enritching your substance, to maintain your fare.  
But yet Sir, I pray you, remember well this:  
Not one shrew of twenty, among them there is.  
Whose children and kinsfolk, at any time miss  
To prowl or convey away, that thing or this.  
Now hath she a daughter, now hath she a son:  
Now hath she a Cousin the world hath begun.  
I must give them a ladle, a dish and a spoon:  
Which if I deny them, our friendship is done.  
And then Sir, withal, she will cloth her in yelowes:  
And fuming and ●●etting, she begins to be jealous.  
With scolding and brawling, she lets not to tell us:  
At stews and at taverns, als spent on good fellows.  
She sums and she frets, she foams like a boar:  
She swears she was never thus used before.  
Ere this time I might have bestowed my store:  
To give at my pleasure a little or more.  
If I 〈◊〉 you say Sir, she makes me good cheer,  
With caudles and possettes, and good double beer,  
For money at all times I can buy this gear,  
What need I to keep then, a wise all the year.  
What need I to find one meat, drink and array,  
To keep one at livery by night and by day.  
For when I would dally with sport and with play,  
I can meet with a sweeting, a snatch and away.  
If once I do marry, and take me a wife,  
To brawling and scolding I am bound all my life,  
To ●aunting and vaunting, to discord and strife,  
The practice of this thing, is commonly rife.  
I am bound for to tarry for her still at home,  
To toil and to moil for her all alone,  
Whilst she sits a feasting with old mother jone,  
I must be a drudging for her like a mome.  
All these things, with other that I could recite,  
From wooing and wiving drive me away quite,  
And I will bestow my sweetest delight,  
With sweet sleep to pass out the long drowsy night.  
These maids be so wanton, these widows so wood,  
That neither of both will do me any good.  
These widows be withered, they drink up my blood,  
These maids be so lusty, I'll none by the rood.  
And therefore I will, till you agree on the one:  
Thus hold me contented to live still alone.   

The commendation of hope.  

WHo hopeth much and feareth nought at all,  
doth show himself too desperate of mind:  
Who feareth much, and hath his hope but small,  
in such conceit, can little comfort find.  
Who stammering stands, half hoping, half in dread:  
assure himself, shall have a troubled head.   

Who hopes for nought, nor feareth aught at all,  
is rather mad, or not of humane kind:  
Who climbs by hope, and feareth every fall,  
doth doubtless bear, a most unquiet mind.  
Who dreads the worst, and all ways hopes the best:  
what ever hap, is ever best at rest.   

But he that hopes, upon so sure a ground,  
as sets the spite of foul despair apart:  
And to his hope, such heavenly hap hath found,  
as yields the thing, that most contents his heart.  
Let him not boast, but give God thanks for all:  
who helped him up, and saved him from a fall.   

For he it is that helps the honest heart,  
that gives the hope that never needs to fear:  
Which finds a salve to every sudden smart.  
and keeps the mind in quiet every where  
In him alone, mine only hope shall rest:  
this life once left, in heaven to live at rest.    

A warning to wanton Lovers.  

CEase sorrow now, for thou hast done the deed,  
for care hath now, consumed my carcase quite:  
No hope, no help, nor hap can stand in steed  
for doleful days doth cut of all delight.  
Yet while I hear the tolling of the bell,  
before I die, I wright this faint farewell.   

Who loves to lead his life in quiet rest,  
beware the worst, of what so may befall:  
Abandon Love, feed not on fancy's feast,  
least hungry heart, in vain for comfort call.  
And sorrow then, do so assail thy mind:  
the wit bewitched, a world of woes do find.   

And then comes care for to torment my heart,  
when nought avails to languish or lament:  
For long the heart, doth pine in secret smart,  
before the days be quite in sorrow spent.  
This find I true, and for good will I tell:  
beware wanton love, and so I say farewell.    

A fancy.  

I Would, yet will not, yes, yes, no, no? why,  
for that my will and would, do disagree:  
For why? to work my would contentedly,  
my wish to will doth want too far I see.  
Which makes me thus against my will to say:  
I would, yet nill, but will when so I may.   

I may? why now I may, yet may I not,  
for that my may is not such as I would:  
Yet what I may, full fain I would God wot,  
and more would wish, if so be that I could.  
Which more might I, then would I quickly say  
I would, and will, and glad in that I may,   

But oh, that will his wish cannot attain,  
and that delight, should so desire deny:  
That willing hearts, should labour all in vain,  
when will and words, do meet so contrary.  
Yet what of this, I hope to see the day:  
when that my would may find a willing may.    

A farewell to Fancy.  

Fancy farewell, that wroughtst my fond delight,  
delight adieu, that wroughtst my deep distress:  
Distress adieu, that wroughtst my deep despite,  
Despite adieu, for death doth lend redress.  
And death adieu, for though I thus be slain:  
in thy despite, I hope to live again.   

Fair Dames adieu, whose love hath wrought my woe,  
and farewell woe▪ that wearied hath my wits:  
And farewell wit, with will bewitched so,  
and farewell will, so full of frantic ●ittes.  
frenzy farewell, whose source I feel too sore,  
and farewell feeling, for I feel no more.   

And life adieu, that I have loved and loathed,  
and farewell love, that makes me loath my life▪  
Both love and 〈◊〉 farewell unto you both,  
twixt hope and fear, farewell all foolish strife.  
Follie farewell, which I have fancied so:  
and farewell fancy, that first wroughtst my woe.   

Adieu desire, for death is hard at hand,  
and yet again, I say adieu to death:  
Though loathed life do in deaths danger stand,  
yet faith assures, when body loseth breath,  
The soul in heaven shall live, and far right well:  
which makes me cry, come death, and life farewell.   

Both friends and foes, unto you all farewell,  
farewell my friends, for friendship I have found  
Farewell my foes, that truth in time may tell,  
when that ●y bones be buried in the ground.  
That with the world, I die in charity:  
and so adieu, the bell hath done, I die.   

And yet once more to death again adieu,  
for dying thus, me thinks, I live again:  
My certain hope shows joys that do ensue,  
and heart finds ease of former pinching pain.  
Which makes me thus by certain proof to tell  
faith fears no death, I dying, live, farewell.    

Counsel given to a friend.  

WHen gallant youth hath gone a while at will,  
and followed that which fancy doth affect:  
And sees in time by proof of sacred skill,  
What wisdom would that reason should respect.  
He than returns from former vanity,  
and treads the path to true felicity.   

When wit doth way the wanton toys of will,  
and will doth yield to follow wits advice:  
And willing wit doth learn by wisdoms skill,  
of perfect good to know the passing price.  
Then worldly toys are all had in despite,  
and Heavenly joys are all the hearts delight.   

When fancy leaves to follow fond desire,  
and wisdom doth dame fortunes force defy  
And nature doth but reasons will require,  
and conscience will conceal no treachery.  
Then if my mind do not mistake his marks,  
the sky will fall, and we shall want no larks.    

The secret suit of a lover.  

NOt what I would, yet would I what I wright,  
not what I mean, yet mean I what I say:  
Not what I mought, yet would I what I might,  
not what I can, yet will I what I may.  
My speech is dark, but you perceive much light,  
then mark my words, and guess my meaning right.   

For this you know, my tongue so fast is tied,  
as for my life I cannot yet speak plain:  
Yet do I seek to have my mind descried,  
thereby to speak, some liberty to gain.  
For if my tongue might tell my tale in kind,  
my heart would hope to have some ease of mind.   

But oh hard hap, my hope his help denies:  
and hope half past despair doth drown my mind:  
Yet reason shows, that thou in deed art wise,  
and ruth reports that I shall favour find,  
Which makes me thus in midst of my distress,  
in secret sort to sue for some redress.    

Of sweet contents.  

WHat a●le I wretch? or whereto was I borne?  
what means my mind my fancy so to set?  
The greatest gems I seem to have in scorn,  
and daily seek the thing I cannot get.  
The reason is, I seek a thing to crave,  
which will would wish, but hope can never have.   

What, is it wealth? no, many rich I see,  
as many seek but few or none can have:  
Beauty? oh no, fair ladies many be,  
and 'tis I say no common thing I crave.  
What, is it love? tush love is but a toy,  
yet faithful love is sure a heavenly joy.   

And therefore Love I cannot choose but leek,  
but liking looks, and lack breeds discontent,  
And they shall find, that do such sorrow seek,  
that loathed lack doth luckless love lament.  
What is it then whereof I am so feign?  
oh 'tis content I seek, but cannot gain.   

Oh sweet content, what one doth thee enjoy?  
who lives content? alas I least of all:  
Content doth breed delight without annoy,  
content mislikes no fortune that can fall.  
Content is that, which few or none can find:  
yet must I seek to set at rest my mind.    

One that had made his full choice.  

MY foolish days, and wanton lusts be past,  
in vain you seek 〈◊〉 me again:  
Let be your toys, my thoughts are fixed fast,  
Citheria should herself but lose her pain.   

Remember not to me wont delight,  
each sweet so past, is now but bitter gall:  
Darkness I 〈◊〉 that erst I counted light,  
my reason is redeemed from fancy's thrall.   

Apply yourselves to set some other snare,  
perhaps ye may speed better if ye do:  
Such woodcocks many in the world there are,  
that will be caught, I am no prey for you.   

One hath me fast, already hers am I:  
Ne will I be another's till I die.    

A Country Carrolle, translated out of Belaye.  

A Crown for Ceres will I make,  
of every kind of corn:  
With garlands made of fai●e 〈◊〉 boughs,  
I Bacchus will adorn.   

Two pots of milk to Pales, last  
I purpose to present:  
That they may hear my humble suit,  
and to my will a●ente.   

That Ceres may enforce the ground,  
a plenteous crop to yield:  
That Bacchus may the clustered grapes  
well prosper in the field.   

That Pales so her mantle spread,  
upon the pleasant soil:  
That grass and wholesome herbs may grow  
to quite my painful toil.    

The same in another sort.  

WIth fragrante flowers, with ears of corn,  
with leaves that largely grow:  
On every vine lets garlands make,  
our thankful minds to show.   

To Pales, Ceres, sacred dames,  
and Bacchus last of all:  
Who all our meadows, fields, and grounds,  
when we for grace did call,   

With grass, with grain, and grapes so filled,  
as they did deem it best:  
We feared no heat, no hail no cold,  
for they our labour blest.   

From all that might the grass, the ear,  
or tender branch offend.  
The cattle, birds, or greedy goat,  
that from the hills descend.   

In summer season in the springe,  
or Authume did not spoil:  
The grass, the ear, the sprouting bud,  
but fed on others soil.   

Let mowiers then make merry now,  
let Reapers all rejoice:  
Let vintners vaunt of their good hap,  
and all exalt their voice.   

To praise the meadows, fields, and ground,  
that gave so great increase:  
And laud their name that wrought this work,  
else will their goodness cease.   

Barns, garners, sellers, so are heapte,  
with hay, with corn and wine:  
That never erst the like was see●e.  
with any mortal eyine.    

An Epigram out of the same Author.  
THough false Aeneas now be dead, & Dido laid in grave  
yet others left they in their stead, that like conditions have.  
Who with the show of marriage rites, which is a holy thing:  
do hide their fleshly fond delights, that folly forth doth bring   

Verses translated out of the foresaid Poet.  
WIth love, with grace, and perfect worthiness,  
the powers divine were compassed round about  
The sky was clad and clothed in comely sort,  
with burning rays of happy heavenly hue:  
All things were full of beauty and of bliss,  
the sea was calm, the wind was meek and mild.  
When here below the Paragon was borne,  
whose fair white skin exceeds the Lily far,  
Whose hair like gold doth glister in the sun:  
whose lips do stain the perfect crimson die.  
From Phoebus' beams her shining eyes took shape,  
within her breast, the heavens themselves have sown.  
And through the Gods, her name immortal bides.   

Another.  
THe happy branch to Pallas consecrate.  
the branch of peace doth bear the name of her  
Who reaves my sense, and in her beauty shrouds  
such cruelty as most to Mars belongs.  
Leave then (thou wilful Dame) leave of I say  
this lovely name, or show thyself the like,  
That as thou dost, in a●l immortal seem,  
thy name may seem ordained by destiny,  
What from the heavens, hath been bestowed on thee.  
is nothing strange nor wonderful to me.  
Since thou in mind and heart art Sovereign,  
and that thine eyes from those that gaze on thee  
Their body, heart, mind, sense, and soul doth steal.   

Another.  
THe self same night wherein the powers divine  
From highest heavens beheld the earth below,  
Love bent his how to pierce my painful breast:  
And made me subject to his Deity,  
The sacred place, from such great cruelty,  
Nor yet the time itself could me redeem.  
This stroke to heart, did from her eyes descend,  
Whilst I too much her glorious face beheld,  
I thought at first that Love had leveled,  
At both alike, and that one only bond  
Had equally together joined us both:  
But Love; as blind, and ill advised therein,  
Hath let her go that was the greatest prey,  
Detaining me that 〈◊〉 of least account.   

Another.  
AS none may well with fixed eye behold  
The glistering beams of Phoebus' golden rays:  
So to survey thy 〈◊〉 passing 〈◊〉  
Would blear the eyes, and dimmy the clearest sight.  
And he that shall with fixed eye 〈◊〉,  
Thy glorious face; so shining as it ●oth,  
Shall find such clearness will increase his pain,  
And take front him the use of seeing quite:  
How can my tongue or 〈◊〉 be able then,  
To paint thy praise, or yield thy due desert,  
That have no power thy beauty to behold.  
Which if mine eyes were able to attain,  
I would presume to pass the noble bird,  
That unto jove is justly consecrate.   

My love shall last.  

THe Soldyars' wish draws on with wars delight,  
the Pilgrims sport lies in his present pain:  
Ships 〈◊〉 the port, and seeks for seas in sight,  
and I to smile in love, account it gay●e.  
Whom while I serve: wish, sport, and seas I find:  
with gallant war, with sport, sea room, and wind   

Sith now this hap is had, I joy to sing,  
what kind of sea, what mates, what ship was there:  
How happy chance, by lot ruled every thing,  
the main sail truth, each wave a friendly tear.  
The master, Love himself, sweet sighs the wind:  
joys road with Oars, the ship a merry mind.   

Fast hope at helm, did wind the boat about,  
and fixed faith stood up for middle mast:  
The cable hope, which servant twined throughout,  
held gladsome glee, with picked anchor fast,  
Beauty descried the rocks, till I was passed:  
and now beloved, I swear my love shall last.    

My love is paste.  

THe soldier worn with wars, delights in peace,  
the Pilgrim in his ease, when toils are past:  
The ship to gain the port, when storms do cease,  
and I to smile, now void of love at last.  
Whom while I served, peace, rest, and love I lost:  
with greevesome war, with toil, with seas betost.   

But now the brunt is past, I joy to sing,  
what kind of sea, what slaves, what ship was there:  
How foolish chance, by lot ruled every thing,  
how error was main sail, each wave a tear.  
The master, Love himself, deep sighs the wind:  
cares road with vows, the ship unmerry mind.   

False hope at helm, oft turned the boat about,  
and fickle faith stood up for middle mast:  
Despair the cable twisted round with doubt,  
held grieping grief the picked anchoare fast.  
Beauty was all the rocks, but I at last:  
am now twice free, and all my love is past.    

Love for virtue, of longest continuance.  
THe chiefest care we ought to have,  
is to adorn the mind:  
With beauty such as best beseems  
and most accords with kind.  
Of greater force this beauty is,  
a Lady's love to gain:  
Then that which foolish folk commends,  
and wise men count but vain,  
The love of virtue lasts for aye,  
which choice no chance can change:  
But love for lust, time turns to nought,  
and quickly makes it strange.  
When crooked age doth once creep in,  
brave beauty bids adieu:  
And then those fondlinges all too late,  
their former follies rue.  
But virtue bides in perfect plight:  
and to the virtuous brings delight.   

loves Epitath.  

HEre lies blind Love, here lies the bedlam boy:  
here lies the God, that all the Gods did fear:  
Here lies intoumbde, Cithenas' greatest joy,  
here lies the bow, that Love was wont to bear.  
Here lie the shafts, here lie the piercing darts:  
wherewith erewhile, he tamed the stoutest hearts.   

Now is he dead, now can he do no more,  
no sign appears that he shall live again:  
To plague poor souls as he hath done before,  
and pinch their hearts with strange tormenting pain  
Now is he dead, and who the cause but she,  
whose blazing beams, blind all the world I see.   

Oft did he prone and all to none effect,  
to force his fire to fasten in her breast▪  
Her frozen heart did still his flame reject,  
and made him muse to see his power suppressed.  
Deceived so, he knew not what to say:  
ne could he judge, the cause of his decay.   

To prove his fire, if it had force or no,  
unto his wings he put the burning brand,  
The fire took hold (for needs it must do so)  
than he too late (poor soul) did understand  
His fond conceit, and filled the air with cries:  
no plaints prevailed, he died, and here he lies.   

At latter gasp a grievous sigh he gave,  
and said, farewell ye faithful Lovers all:  
Now proof shows plain, what grievous pangs ye have  
what force my fire, what power to make you thrall.  
I find it now, that felt● it not before:  
but be content, it shall offend no more.   

If former faults did merit worthy blame,  
the blame is great, I have incurred thereby:  
My life must pay my ransom now with shame,  
A shameful death, I am at point to die.  
My glory gone, my branes consumed to dust:  
you have your will, abide it needs I must.    

In commendation of his Mistress.  

I Smile to think how fond conceit.  
deceives the finest wits:  
To feed them with a dainty bait,  
that chokes them all by bits.   

How fond some commend the face,  
and some the smoothie skin:  
And some prefer in highest place,  
the tender doubled chin.   

What should I stand to reckon up,  
their trash and trumpery:  
That drinks the dregs of every cup,  
and praise it to the sky.   

Let such go brag them in the crew,  
of base minded swains:  
They never came yet where it grow,  
nor paid more than their pains.   

But if my Mistress would vouchsafe,  
her beauty to discover:  
Then justly might they fret and chafe,  
that so they passed her over.   

He that triumphs in sweetest bliss,  
I know then would repine:  
No man that saw her, but would wish  
oh that she would be mine.   

But yet content ye with your choice,  
subscribe ye to my saint:  
Whose worthy praise no silver voice,  
nor pen can fully paint,    

lenvoy.  
Let it suffice I live to prove it here:  
In all respects she never had her peer.   

The despairing Lover.  

TO paint the passions of a pained heart,  
or show the pangs that foolish love constrains.  
When honest meaning lacks his due desert,  
the only mean to purchase greater pains.  
Alas I rue, because my reason fails.  
whilst fond desire, sets up her swiftest sails.   

Too swift in deed, to pass the dangerous seas,  
such dangerous seas, as can be hardly passed:  
Yet past all help, and hope to purchase ease,  
amidst the waves my erased bark I cast.  
And cast the best, although I count it vain:  
till fates accord to send relief again.    

A sorrowful Sonette.  

IF to the life that ever lasts,  
this life a moment be:  
If time consume our youthful years,  
which we no more shall see.   

If every thing that beareth breath,  
do waste and wear to nought:  
Why dreamest thou in prisoned sprite?  
why dost thou take such thought.   

Why dost thou so detest the day?  
and wish the darksome night.  
If to a safer place thou seek,  
to take thy speedy flight.   

There is the good that every soul  
ought chiefly to desire:  
There is the rest whereto eachone,  
would willingly aspire.   

There love doth lie, there pleasure dwells,  
there, there my soul I say  
Amidst the highest heavens thou mayst  
the image well survey   

Of her whose beauty here on earth.  
I have adorned from time of birth.    

The hurt that groweth by gold.  

SOme say the golden world is gone,  
but I suppose not so:  
Now reigns the glistering golden age,  
that greatly works our woe.   

For gold is now the God on earth,  
now gold doth govern all:  
Gold makes and mars, if gold we want,  
in vain for grace we call.   

Gold gives and takes from kings their crowns,  
gold maintains bloody war:  
Gold brings the greatest to their graves,  
and breedeth many a jar.   

Gold gives the jack a gentiles name,  
and gains him great account:  
No fault so foul, but gold afoordes,  
gold makes the meanest mount.   

Gold is the cause of all our care,  
since first this gold was found:  
No faith nor friendship hath been seen  
but fraud did most abound.   

Oh, wretched gold, would God thy name,  
had never here been known:  
Then should we not have known the harm,  
that by thy name hath grown.   

He should I now have cause to say  
so greatly to my grief:  
That want of thee, to win good will,  
doth make me want relief.    

The passions of a Lover.  
MY Mistress eyes augment my kindled flame,  
her golden locks have caught my captive heart,  
Her hurtful hand, my hapless fall doth frame.  
her words bewitch my mind, and breed my smart.  
Her glistering eyes disgrace the brightest star,  
her crisped hear surmounts the glorious sun:  
Her hands in whiteness, pass the ivory far  
her witty words immortal fame hath won.  
Her lovely eyes do much amaze my mind,  
her golden locks (alas) do link me fast:  
Behold my state, behold what hap I find,  
no other joy my pining ghost could taste.  
Since cruel Love, within my breast did shrine:  
her eyes, her hear, her hands, her speech divine.   

The folly of love.  
ALas I see no hope is left at all,  
by serving thee, to set my heart at rest:  
Yet from this folly can I never fall,  
nor leave thy love, that likes my fancy best.  
I am myself, mine own and only foe,  
I see the pit, and plunge myself therein,  
And though the means be found to ease my woe:  
fool that I am, I seek no ease to win.  
Though nothing hap, that may my hope advance,  
from serving thee yet can I not refrain:  
No not though death, or worse, if worse might chance,  
this is the good, that I by lot do gain.  
I see the best, and know the worst aswell:  
yet seek the worst, and bid the best farewell.   

To his unconstant friend.  

ROsetta reckless Dame,  
since thou hast changed thy mind:  
And in my absence to thy shame,  
hast showed thyself unkind.  
I have (as well I might)  
withdrawn my fond desire:  
From fancying one that is so light,  
to make such quick retire.  
Henceforth for beauty's blaze,  
where no desert is found:  
I will not set myself to gaze,  
so great good will to ground.  
This warning may suffice,  
to make me wise at last:  
Else greater dangers will arise,  
than those already past.  
But tell when thou hast tried,  
what good thou gaynste thereby:  
Thou wast the first that 'gan to slide,  
thy falsehood made me fly.   

Whilst I with store of tears,  
did wail the want of thee:  
Thou toavest abroad with ruffled hear,  
and hadst no mind of me.  
Forgetting my good will  
thou gavest thyself in charge  
To such as sought to spoil thee still,  
and leftest thy Love at large.  
As wavering as the wind,  
that altars every hour:  
So wavering is thy wandering mind,  
whereof thou hast no power,  
But tell etc.   

Where are thy solemn vows,  
at parting made to me?  
Where are the tears with bended brows,  
that then these eyes did see?  
Would any man suppose,  
such plaints should pass in vain?  
From one that only loves to gloze,  
and glory in her gain.  
O false perjured wight,  
accursed shall he be  
That in thy doings takes delight,  
or puts his trust in thee.  
But tell etc.   

The man that holds my place,  
and pleads to please the best:  
For all his fair dissembling face,  
may love thee with the least.  
But she whom now I serve,  
and honour with my heart:  
Above all dames doth best deserve,  
so prised by due desert.  
Keep thou thy new come friend,  
for I will stick to mine:  
We love, and when our likes shall end.  
one tomb our bones shall shrine.  
But tell when thou hast tried,  
what good thou 'gainst thereby:  
Thou wast the first that 'gan to slide,  
thy falsehood made me fly.    

The Lover overcome with sorrow▪ desireth death.  
THe more my knowledge grows,  
the more my power decays:  
To all mishaps my hapless life,  
is prone at all assays.  
My secret flame augmentes,  
amidst my flood of tears:  
Before one grief be fully gone,  
another strait appears.  
Both night and day my thoughts,  
are chiefly on my grave:  
In darkness is my most delight,  
no mirth my mind can have.  
The day dislykes me much,  
the ceaseless griefs I taste:  
At night when all things else take rest,  
my woeful heart doth waste.  
I never cease to weep,  
and yet I know not why:  
In this unconstant wavering world▪  
no truth at all I try.  
A monstrous sea it is,  
of sorrow, grief, and pain:  
Yet no where else can I find means  
how I may comfort gain.  
Come therefore gentle death,  
cut of my line of life:  
That by such death, a thousand deaths,  
may cease this secret strife▪   

A Lady lamenteth the death of her lover.  
WHy is my crazed corpse so strong against my will?  
that all the griefs I feel, cannot consume me quite  
Who holds my wretched soul, whereas it likes so ill,  
And will not let it pass to place of more delight.  
Alas since lovely Love, did by his power divine,  
Draw both our hearts to him, and make them all as one,  
Why have the heavens denied? why do they not incline?  
To make our deaths alike, for other men to moan.  
The worthy Amphihons' wife, whose heart was heaped with grief  
To see her children slain, became a senseless stone.  
And in that shape as yet, shedes tears without relief.  
But by my will this lot should not be hers alone.  
Myself would be the like, if safely so I might  
Be sure to shrine his bones, whose life was my delight.   

A Lover, whose constant mind nothing could alter.  
THe proud disdains of her unskilful age,  
that scoffs at Love, and scorns his Deity:  
The fond desires that do my mind enrage:  
and heap my heart with all impiety.  
My death then in her forehead fixed I find,  
my silly vessel priest to pass away:  
With broken mast, torn sail, and stormy wind:  
the grievous cares that threaten my decay.  
The quenchless fire that boileth in my breast,  
the little care she hath to cave my rest,  
The cureless grief her absence brings to me,  
all this (though great) yet can it not remove:  
My steadfast mind that joys in nought I see,  
save in her life that loathes my steadfast love.  
And makes her mirth, to see me so distressed:  
the loving mind turns all things to the best.   

A Dialogue between a forsaken lover and divers Shepherds.  
TEll me gentle shepherds, tell me I pray,  
as you desire the Dryads good grace:  
And seek to have God Pan your friend always,  
have ye not seen of late pass by this place  
A lusty youncker with a gallant Dame.  Shepherds. 
We saw such two, they posted hence apace.  Lover. 
How blessed are ye that bear a shepherds name,  
no vain desires may your delights deface.  
The force of love, ye fear it not at all,  
his piercing darts, do seldom breed your pain.  Shepherds. 
Seldom indeed, such haps do us befall,  
as cause requires, no constant course we make.  Lover. 
They follow you, from whom your flight you make,  
she flies from me, and seeks my blood to spill.  
Whom I pursue and honour with my heart:  
she loathes my love, I lack my due desert.   

A Lover that had his Mistress always present with him by conjecture.  

A Shadow thou, pursuest me every where,  
walk where I will, I have thee still in sight:  
If in the fields I range, I find thee there,  
if in the town, thou guydest my passage right.   

Awake, asleep, by sea, or else by land,  
where so I bide, thy shadow shroud I still  
Within my breast, that at thy mercy stand,  
and as thy slave commit me to thy will,   

But what said I? a shadow, see my wit,  
unseemly, is the smile I seem to make:  
To match the white with black, were far unfit,  
yet such a match I fond undertake.   

A shapeless thing, a shadow is we see,  
thou featly framed, well formed in every part:  
A shadow foul, and frail as frail may be,  
thou fair, and firm, so deemed by due desert.   

In thy sweet face, the perfect marks I find:  
of such good gifts, as guide thy modest mind.    

The Lover to his eyes.  

TOo soon (mine eyes) you did perform your part,  
too soon in deed, before my mind was armed:  
Or had the skill to fence my feeble heart,  
my feeble heart, that fancy's ●orte hath harmed.   

Extreme and strange, not able to be bid,  
so are my griefs, such as no tongue can tell,  
I seek, but see they cannot well be hid,  
nor quite suppressed, so deep in me they dwell.   

Great are my thoughts, the greater is my grief,  
on sandy soil, I build my fading bower:  
No help I have, nor hope to find relief,  
such things I seek, as far exceed my power,  
One is there yet▪ may salve this secret sore:  
none else but she that gave the hurt before.    

One in adversity, comforteth himself with the hope of God's mercy.  

WEll may I wail my fate,  
since fortune is my foe:  
Who bends her force against my Fort,  
and seeks to breed my woe.  
Her battery is so strong,  
so boisterous are her blows:  
That all my strength can scarce withstand,  
the rigour that she shows.   

The rampires that I raise,  
come tumbling to the ground:  
My strongest bulwarks battered sore,  
doth all my force confound.  
The roaring cannon shot,  
comes whirling by mine ears:  
And where it hits it hurteth much,  
whole houses down it bears,   

Environed as it were,  
with troops of warlike wights:  
My soldiers dare not sally out,  
to seek their chief delights,  
And yet within God wot,  
for want of needful food:  
They feel such grief, as better were,  
to lose both life and blood.   

In these extremes I stand,  
and still defence do make:  
Desiring rather honest death,  
then shameful life to take.  
For life is nothing worth,  
where honour is defaced:  
And death as dear to all such wights,  
as virtues lore embrace.   

Although my state be ill,  
the staff whereto I stay:  
Is God the Lord who governs all,  
whose will we must obey.  
His wisdom far surmounts  
the compass of our wit:  
He knows that we know nothing of  
and gives us that is fit.   

By sundry means he seeks,  
to win us to his will:  
And all he doth is for our good,  
although we deem it ill.  
What he will have preserved,  
shall never perish quite:  
Be hath a salve for every sore,  
and ruleth all by right.   

This is my only hope,  
this comforts all my care:  
This makes me think my chance will change,  
this doth my mind prepare:  
To bide the hardest brunts,  
and bear the greatest grief.  
That fortune's force or fiercest foes,  
or fond affections chief,   

Can lay upon my back,  
or bring to breed my smart.    

A Fancy.  
THe more I see, the more I seek,  
the more I seek, the less I find:  
The less I find, the more I leek.  
the more I like, the more unkind.  
The more unkind, the more my care,  
the more my care, the worse my cure:  
The worse my cure, the case more rare,  
the case more rare, the more unsure.  
The more unsure, the sooner lost,  
the sooner lost, the lesser stay:  
The lesser stay, the greater cost,  
the greater cost, the sweeter pray.  
The sweeter prey, the more account,  
the more account, the more I crave:  
The more I crave, the more I mount,  
the more I indunte, the less I have.  
Thus do I live in liking still:  
I love in vain, and lack my will.   

The Lover complaineth his state,  

THe grief that griepes my heart, & moves my troubled mind  
Hath peareed so through every part, that now no help I find.  
What, is it miser I, that sigh and sorrow still:  
In sooth I cannot well conceive, my case is grown so ill.   

All reason quite removed, no mean remains for me:  
To construe such a doubtful case, or judge of that I see.  
Then, am I dead in deed? of truth I know not, I:  
So void of soul and sense I am, as one at point to die.   

Alas what might it be, that doth inflame me so:  
Were it but fire, my streams of tears, had quenched it long ago.  
How may I rightly term, this strange tormenting grief:  
No fire, no life, no death it is, and yet it lacks relief.    

A dialogue between Reason and the heart of a Lover. Reason.  
ABide a while my heart, why dost thou haste away?  Harte. 
I go to seek the lovely eyes, that must my griefs allay.  Reason. 
I pray thee ●arke a while, my leisure will not serve:  Harte. 
A fervent fire pricks me forth, and will not let me swerver.  Reason. 
Alas poor heart, alas, how little is thy skill:  
Thou hast not yet the sense to see, the end of all thy ill.  
Those eyes that so thou seekest, will with a glance or twain:  
To ashes soon convert thee quite, that else mightst safe remain.  
These eyes they are thy foes, than should they succour thee?  Harte. 
They are my friends, no foes I find, that will so friendly be.  Reason. 
Oh this deceives me most, the subtle birder so  
With feigned notes deceives the birds, and seeks to breed their woe.  Harte. 
Thou much beguilest thyself, or enviest at my state:  
The case is not as thou conceivest, but as I said of late,  
The poor unhappy bird, unto her death doth fly:  
I go to seek those glorious eyes, to purchase life thereby.   

The contrarieties in love.  

TO me the night seems short, the day too long,  
I fly from love, but follow still his trace:  
Unto myself extreme, myself I wrong,  
And wronged so, return to thee for grace,  
Great are my pains, and yet they please me well,  
I see the best, and fond seek the worst:  
Desire draws on, despair doth hope expel,  
betwixt weal and woe thus is my case accursed.  
I prove to run, but prove my proof is vain,  
The light seems dark the dark seems light to me:  
Though free yet bond I willingly remain,  
Yours am I most, mine own I may not be.  
My will I wish, but dare not show my suit:  
Love bids me speak, and speaking makes me mute.    

The Lover to his bed,  

O Bed, o restless bed, and made for ease,  
why dost thou not perform thy part to me?  
To me a plague, why dost thou others please?  
and please him lest that most hath need of thee.  
I lay me down in hope to rest awhile,  
I prove to sleep, and so let slip my grief:  
But sour conceits my sweetest joys exile,  
and lets the rest that most should lend relief.  
The swelling seas, when storms and tempests rise  
move not so much as doth my troubled mind:  
Of this or that so still it doth devise,  
for every cause a new conceit to find.  
Amidst my care this comfort yet I have;  
that in my bed when restless I remain:  
I may be bold without offence, to crave,  
what likes me best, although I crave in vain,  
And when I crave, and craving want my will:  
May wail my want, and freely weep my fill.    

A Lover, whose lady said he was an unfortunate flatterer, writeth these verses for answer thereunto.  

IF ever words did wring me at the heart,  
My heart was grieved at that I heard of late:  
To let good will be bard for my desert,  
Desaruing love, to find disdainful hate,  
Such is my hap, such is my hapless fate.  
The heavens have wild, my will must needs obey:  
And hath no law, the proverb so doth say.   

Say what I can, it cannot help a whit,  
All that I do, I see is done in vain:  
In vain I work, in vain I waste my wit,  
In vain I prove to purchase ease with pain.  
A silly proof that brings such sort gain.  
Such sort gain, for gold that gives me dross,  
Hard is my hap that always live by loss.   

By loss I live, by life myself I lose,  
I lose myself and yet I live to love:  
I love to live, and live to like of those  
That fear my fraud, although my faith they prove,  
My secret sighs my sorrows cannot move.  
Her hardened heart, whose beauty binds me still:  
To sue, to serve, to seek, and like her will.   

Flatter alas, I would I could do so,  
So should my grief be shortly eased thereby:  
Truth is my trust, let truthless treason go,  
Words are but wind, where words no works do try.  
True dealing was my Sire, plain meaning, I,  
Plain as I am, can sing a plain song best:  
Best for my soul, small for my body's rest.   

Unfortunate, there did she fit me right,  
A righter name she never gave to none?  
Fortune my foe, death works me all despite,  
But let her spite, she spites not me alone.  
Besides myself, she spites at many a one▪  
One is there yet, which only one am I:  
That fear not fate but fortunes force defy.   

Like he that list her false dissembling looks,  
Seek who so will her fair enticing baits:  
In such sweet shows I see unsavoury hooks,  
Which warns my wit to shun her sweet conceits,  
Who hopes for hap unhappy wretch he weights.  
Her cursed cup that will his mind infect,  
And work his woe ere he the worst suspect.   

Suspect not yet though I suspend my chance,  
That any chance can change my constant mind:  
The hardest hap shall moste my hope advance,  
And make me hope although no hap I find.  
My heart hath vowed my vow her virtues bind:  
To bide her own and only hers to be,  
Whose sight lends light, whose light lends life to me.    

The tormented lover that durst not reveal his state.  
A Happy life I led and lived at ease,  
When pricked with love I would at large complain:  
And to the flame that fed my fond disease,  
give vent at will to help my present pain,  
But now (ay me) my wretched case is such,  
As seize I can permit a sigh to pass:  
To ease my heart that hath been charged too much,  
With change of griefs that wax a heavy mass:  
I love, and yet I dare not say I leek,  
Tormented still, I seem to live content,  
Consumed with care, I can no comfort seek,  
Such is my state, so is my fancy bent.  
But though I plain, my plaints are much the less,  
The less my grief, though little be my joy:  
Because I feel, and find this sour success,  
From sweet desire doth springe and spread annoy.  
Yet let me see, some comfort have I more,  
More than I thought, to comfort me withal:  
Amidst my griefs, that growing grieve me sore:  
This only grace, unto my lot doth fall,  
To write at night, the words I fear to tell:  
When wanting ink, salt tears do serve me well.   

A dialogue between the Lover and love. love.  Love. 
O Love, when wast thou borne? When every leafless tree  
And parched soil began to spring, a seemly sight to see.  Lover. 
Who brought thee forth at first?  Lo. 
The nurse of all annoy.  
Even idleness, the plague to man, and end of all his joy.  Lover. 
Who gave thee all this power, to war with worldly wights?  Love. 
An ardent hope, a cold despair, that lets your chief delights.  Lover. 
Where dost thou harbour most?  Lo. 
In young & tender hearts  
That tyrantlike, I still torment, with store of piercing darts.  Lover. 
Yet tell, who trained thee up?  Lo. 
Sweet beauty only she:  
To whom both youth and vanity, obedient servants be.  Lover. 
What is the chiefest food thou feedest thyself withal:  Love. 
A fair clear light which ledes me forth, & seldom lets me fall  Lover. 
Fearest thou the length of time, that altars all things quite?  
Or dost thou doubt the dint of death, that daunts the worthiest wight  Love. 
No, no, I Way then not, for though they change my state,  
I take my rest, and turn again, to that I was of late.   

The humble petition of a passionate Lover.  

MAke me to live, (sweet mistress) make me live,  
exchange my chance, make mirth of mourning cheer  
Exchange my death, a lasting life to give,  
so work my heart, so weak whilst thou art here  
That when my soul shall from my body fly:  
it may else where, a better place supply.   

Make me to live that at the instant hour,  
when thy sweet eyes I shall assay to touch  
Both sense and sight may want there wont power.  
that in thy arms whom I esteem so much  
My pining corpse may mildly pass away:  
and of my life make this the latest day.   

join both our souls, join both our souls in one,  
link both our hearts in bands of like good will:  
Make both our minds to match in mirth or moan,  
let ourself law lead our affections still,  
So let our thoughts, our words and works agree:  
as if I lived in thee, and thou in me.   

Forbidden me not thy lips that like me well,  
deny me not thy bosom for my due:  
Those lovely beams where love himself doth dwell  
those blazing beams, that scarce mine eyes can view,  
Vouchsafe (sweet heart) that sweetly I may kiss:  
and by such sweetness turn my bale to bliss.   

Nought that I have, can I account mine own,  
nought that thou hast, in right thou reckonest thine:  
Mine eyes are thine, as all my deeds have shown,  
even so thine eyes, they are or should be mine.  
My heart is thine, thy heart is due to me:  
so love allows, if so our liking be.   

Thou art my fire, and I thy kindled flame,  
I am thy soul, be thou my soul again:  
Embrace thine own, and so avoid the blame,  
thou mayst incur by showing proud disdain.  
Link fast our lips, that so with like delight:  
we may exchange our souls, our sense, and sight.   

So let us change, as by our change we may  
be more assured of that we most misdoubt:  
And not by changing, change that chance away,  
that might perchance, be better brought about.  
My seeking is that such exchange should make:  
our doubtful love, a deeper root to take.   

So is my wish, and so I hope it will,  
so may I live a most contented life:  
So shall I find to please my fancy still,  
so may my state be ever free from strife.  
So shall I think myself, the happiest man:  
that ever lived since first my life began.    

The changeable state of Lovers.  
Whom love hath made obedient to his law,  
doth every hour exchange his shape anew:  
I proved it well, that long have lived in awe,  
and often changed, the more my chance I rue,  
First to a heart, a woeful wounded heart,  
I was transformed then to a silly swan:  
That singing showed his death without desert,  
next to a flower whose colour soon waxed wan.  
At last alas, a Fountain was I made:  
as soon dried up, for from my blubbered eyes  
The water flowed, till all began to fade:  
and now the beast I am, in flame that fries,  
But yet ere long, I hope a voice to be:  
to vaunt of her, that makes no count of me.   

The vanity of Lovers.  

SInce griefs increase, since this my quenchless fire,  
Consumes me still, alas what boots it me  
To say and swear, I will with speed retire,  
And never loves, her lovely face to see.   

Since when I want (poor wretch) her wished sight,  
Her wished sight, the cause of all my care:  
New cares begins to cut of all delight,  
And break my vows, so snarlde in Cupid's snare.   

Who Tyrantlike (alas) the more my pain,  
Within her eyes hath pleasant poison placed:  
The sight whereof, doth search through every vain,  
And helpless quite, my fainting heart doth waste.   

Thus am I forced, though sore against my will:  
To seek and leek, the cause of all my ill.   
FINIS.