A pleasant Labyrinth called Churchyards Chance, framed on Fancies, uttered with verses, and written to give solace to every well disposed mind: wherein notwithstanding are many heavy Epitaphs, sad and sorrowful discourses and such a multitude of other honest pastimes for the season (and passages of wit) that the reader therein may think his time well bestowed. All which works for the pleasure of the world, and recreation of the worthy, are dedicated to the right honourable sir Thomas Bromley knight, lord Chancellor of Enlande.  
¶ Imprinted at London, by John Kyngston. 1580.   

  

¶ To the right honourable Sir Thomas Bromley Knight, Lord Chancellor of England, one of the queens majesties privy Council, Thomas churchyard wisheth great blessedness of life, continuance of virtue, and perfit felicity.  
AS custom and continuance of time, bredes a law in Nature, and converts man's mind to many a laudable excercise, so most honourable, the good will of men is never unoccupied, if either honest labour, or stdious diligence, may please those great personages, that affection and duty commands us to honour. And as it hath been (through time out of mind) an ancient manner in the beginning of a new year, to present unto friends (and such as we best favour) some sign of friendship by way of new years gifts: so I trust the manner so much commended among the wise, and so long used with all sorts of people, (for the purchasing of good liking) shall excuse my over great boldness, and make my simple gift accepted. For as I understand, and my betters far have reported, it is not the value of the presents, nor the ritchnesse of the jewels that makes our gifts welcome, and brings the giver in the good opinion of the worthies in this world: but it is the virtuous intent of the mind, that maketh free passage to that which is presented, and causeth as well little trifles to be esteemed, as great treasure to be made of. If otherwise the worthiness of things were to be judged, my trifling book might blush in my behalf: and the vain verses therein would rather argue my disgrace, then further my good fame. And therefore my good Lord, since every man's gift is received & weighed, according to the good will of the giver: I have this present new years day, presented unto your good Lordship good Chance, and so with this good Chance saluting your honour, (with all serviceable duties,) I honour your Lordships virtues, & proceed to the purpose of my matter. The people of this world (whose sundry wits and judgements, looks deeply into the devices of the writers in our age) if they would straightly and narrowly behold, how busy I have been in setting out books (and printing of pamfletts) might peradventure make a wonder of my wearisome works, for that many words hath been spent to little profit, either of my Country, or commodity to myself, because my small learning and capacity, could never reach to any great knowledge, nor search out the ground of any profound secret or science. But how so ever my works may be construed, my pen hath kept me from sloth and Idleness, and little hath been lost by my study and labours. For friends and favourers hath been gotten through diligence: and time hath been entertained in much contentation of mind. And though it was my Chance to light on a pleasant disposition in making of verses: (when others happened by Fortune's election on a multitude of benefits,) yet blessed is the Chance that breedeth merry thoughts, and unlodes the heart and head of a number of heavy cogitations. For though small ability & simple calling, bringeth no great reputation and credit: yet it sitteth free from the bitter blast of Fortune's tempests. When the minds of the mighty are shocked, and shaken with the blustering storms of worlds unstableness. And though my Chance was to travail abroad to seek after Fortune, whiles others at home found themselves happy: yet being so smally preferred by Chance every where, I am neither troubled with her mutability, nor driven to give her thanks, for any good turn she hath done me. And yet my Chance is indifferent, that both in wars and peace (possessing my little portion) I have seen thousands depart from this world, and suddenly taken from their abundance. My chance is to be in court well known, and much made of, though smally considered or advanced. My Chance is to live awhile and write Epitaphs, Sonnets and sedules on many a worthy parsonage: whiles my life and footsteps, draws the body to his long home, and leads the restless days to the quiet grave. And so as Chance hath fallen out, and allotted me by a bond of causes (through the original & ground of all goodness) the pleasure of pen and the pain of study, even so in like manner I gladly play out my part on the stage in this toilsome, and tragical pilgrimage, where nothing easeth our labours so much, as the sweet contentation of mind. But to what purpose trouble I your honourable judgement and gravity, with the rehearsal of trifles, or why doth rashness in so bold a manner, dedicate such a work (scarce worthy the looking on) to such a worthy Magistrate, whose wisdom may disdain the reading of so simple a discourse. The troth is my right good Lord, this present is offered as a piece of a mean, to pass away the time, amid great affairs, and weighty causes, which with light matters finds recreation, & by the invention of pretty devised sports: the study and care of commonweal, seemeth less tedius and troublesome. For the mind wearied with over long labours, and sad motions of the spirit (that through continuance, may dull the senses) is sharpened and made better at commandment, when change of pastimes, with some pleasant exercises hath eased the body, and refreshed the memory: My verses God wots, are void of such divine virtue. And I wanting the grace of Mercury, or Pipe of Apollo, presumeth to far to please the ears of Minerva, with the rash sound of rustical Music. But though the harmony be not so sweet and delicate, as is to be wished, the desire to do well, is the instrument only, that may bring such delight, which may for ever purchase good acceptation. And for that to the art of Music and harmony, belongeth several sorts of parts, to make good concordance, I have tuned all my notes and songs worthy the hearing, into one kind of voice and order. Meaning that where many a piece of descant is to be seen (and some jars may happen by misliking of discords) yet a number of parts sounding together, may cover the faults and imperfections of an ignorant Musician. And because in the sweet soil of Salop (in which parties your Lordship was nourished) which seat I honour of nature, and took some savour and taste of Science in, the gladder are my muses to reverence with verses, a special spark and spectacle of the country I was borne in, either with Musical melody, or Poetical pastimes and passages, delated for pleasure and delight, and dedicated where I desire my dutiful good will may be embraced. The matters I treat of, are written of such sundry humours and subjects, that they are more to be red for the variety of words, then for the goodness of the verses: and the cause why and wherefore I dedicate such a matter to your Lordship, is for that I would be sorry that my days and years should be spent, with the loss of time, and that my labour and study well meant, should be forgotten and cast in a corner, for want of the printing. The strange motions and manner of the writing shows nothing but the nature of man's fancies, that never continueth in one kinds of consait. The occasions of so many several discourses, rose but on the innumerable devices of the head, that ever in one point or other, by imagination is occupied. And the whole sum and substance of that which is written, is but to publish to the world, that ill is better to be meanly exercised in honest pastimes, then basely bend and given to barren sloth and Idleness. Thus trusting your good Lordship will take in good part, a part of the portion that from the heavens is given me: I present unto your hands this new year, some of mine old labours & studies, Printed all bound in one new volume, for such as pleases to buy them. And so as best becometh me (and duty commands) I remain a well willer to your honour during my life, most willingly at commandment.  
Thomas Churchyard.   

Churchyards Chance.  

My Lady of Lennoyes graces epitaph.  
YOU noble dames of greatest birth,  
whose fame to clouds would fly.  
On this cold cors with warm good will,  
bow down your judging eye.  
To see how flesh and blood must fall,  
to dust when race is run:  
And worldly brute, and honour's blast,  
shall end where it begun.  
If stately name, or high renown,  
might make her body live:  
Or Prince's blood, to life and breath, might here a patent give.  
This Lady had not tasted death, nor felt in sundry things:  
Such crossing chance, and froward fate, as to her grave she brings,  
Was never wight, with troubles toast, so sore and past them so:  
For in her breast from tender years, a gulf of grief did flow.  
Scan that which best, can skill of woe, her sorrows were so great:  
That when I way a dram thereof, my face and brows do sweat.  
But though she found her fortune hard, a stayed mind she bore:  
A worthy head where sober wit, by heaps lay hid in store.  
Her gesture showed from whence she came, her words most grave & wyes  
And honours beam, like burning Lamp, did blaze amid her eyes.  
A presence that could friends command, and hold her foes full mute:  
A noble heart where bounties buds, did bloom and bear good fruit.  
What needs more words to prove a troth, so rare her virtues were:  
That who presumes, to hit them right, may miss the mark I fere.  
As you that mourn, are clad with black, in white her soul doth shine:  
Transformed from flesh to angels kind, or sacred shape divine.  
Where fortunes threat, can do no harm, nor worldly foil she fears  
And each good ghost in glory great, doth make an end of tears.  
Her life my gain, her death my loss, her favour helped my state:  
Her last farewell leaves friends behind, to wail the loss too late.  
FINIS.   

¶ An epitaph of sir Nicholas Bacon Knight, late Lord Keeper.  
THE loadstar that good Pilotts liked,  
crept under cloud of late:  
A sudden storm hath knapped in two,  
a staff of public s●ate.  
Out of our goodly golden Ring, is fallen a precious stone:  
The land that such a jewel lacks, hath cause to morn and moan.  
The babes that seethe their parents die, of duty sheds some tears,  
But when a Pillar falleth down, that country's burden bears.  
The common wealth doth bide a shock, and joints in sunder shake:  
If not in stead of ancient prop, a new defence we make.  
A father to all forward wits, who fostered law and right:  
A Sun that shone through highest clouds, yet gave below great light.  
Who will not wail that knows the want: well England such a glass:  
Shall seldom shine in thee again, as worthy Bacon was.  
A flood of sense and sugared sap, came flowing from his brain:  
Ne Tulles tongue, nor Petracks pen, nor stout wise Cato's vain.  
May not surmount the philed phrase, and reach of Bacon's head:  
His voice was smooth as Organ pipe, and look what Bacon said.  
Was held for Law & judgement great, the sentence was so sweet:  
The words were of so deep a fetch, and sprung from such a spirit.  
He spent no speech nor words in waste, and where his promise past:  
Performance hasted out of hand, and followed on as fast.  
To God, to Prince, and justice rules, a great regard he took:  
Not on the man, but on the cause, and matter would he look.  
Disposed and bent to do much good, but namely unto those:  
To whom dame virtues learned lore, did gifts of grace disclose.  
His country's care cuts of his days, and brings them dim dark night:  
That wisely cannot way the weight, and worth of such a wight.  
He lives in laud and lantern like, he lasts with blazing fame:  
We die, & world wears out our praise, where shines his noble name.  
Most noble are those burning lamps, most clearest light they shoe:  
That leaves a torch which gives us light, when hence from us they go.  
FINIS.   

¶ Sir Hugh Pauletts epitaph.  
NO verse a veils, ne tears may serve,  
to wail the want at full:  
My wits are weak, my words but bare  
my pen but base and dull.  
To frame in form and stately style,  
the lines I ought to write:  
I find my muse o'ercome with cares,  
my reason banish quite.  
My head so fraught with cold conceits, of news I know full well:  
That I had rather cry and roar, and shrillie howl and yell.  
Then treat of dreadful death's despite, who daily doth devour:  
The noblest fruits of Nature's mould, and plucks the purest flower.  
Death neither looks on men's renown, nor who may best be spared:  
But like a Thief steals life away, and strikes without regard.  
Not taking those that virtue wants, and fills the world with vice:  
But snapps up such that people praise, & world holds most in price.  
As lo of late to well was seen, when Paulet left his life:  
Forsook his friends, desired the grave, and went from worthy wife:  
To live and lodge in lofty Skies, where blessed angels are:  
And good men's souls do surety find, and rest from worldly care.  
No marvel though our troubled spirits, do make a sweet exchange:  
And leaves this sour and bitter soil (and will some country strange.)  
To go where Gods in glory sits, and where our home must be:  
Yet in my mind such parting is, a wonder great to see.  
When men by toil and labour long, have purchased such a praise:  
Attained to wealth and honour both (through service sundry ways.)  
And on the sudden leave these pomps, and pleasures here possessed:  
As did this knight of whom I spoke, who bore about in breast.  
A noble heart a constant mind, a jolly courage great:  
A warm good will to common wealth, that never wanted heat.  
Brought up in arms and Martial feats, a master of that art:  
Which oft in field and countries cause, did play a manly part.  
As birth was good and noble sure, so all he went about:  
Was good and worthy every way, and noble still throughout.  
In office oft, and by his Prince, to credit called still:  
In matters grave and things of weight, of deep foresight and skill.  
No talker of good Fortune won, nor boster for vain bruit:  
A tree that seldom blossomde showed, & yet brought forth good fruit  
As calm and mild as Summer winds, that never water moves:  
And yet as stout to cruel Rites, as gentle with the Doves.  
A body apt to bear the brunt, of pains and labour long:  
A head that could conceive the best, and soon could put up wrong.  
A friend that used no feigned phrase, and surely one of those:  
That dealt with perfect plainness so, he never purchased foes.  
A settled rock a stayed troth, that no device could stain:  
A Paulet yea a pillar too, where Paulet did remain.  
An aid to such as wanted help, a father free and frank:  
To those that only for good tourns, but barely yielded thank.  
What resteth more in any man, than was in him I say:  
Thus Paulet won a noble brute, and bore the same away.  
Where virtue at the dreadful hour, when trumpet sounds a loud:  
(Among the chief and chosen Lambs,) shall sit in sacred cloud.  
FINIS.   

¶ Sir William Courtneis epitaph.  
BY death each life is known,  
as darkness tries out light,  
By life is man made like the Gods,  
where life is led a right.  
Whiles Courtneis' life did last,  
his glory hid remained:  
But now he hath such rare renown,  
as few or none attained.  
The world sets forth his fame, in such a lively sort:  
That to the angels ears above, is blown thereof report.  
Which news is lickte so well, the heavens hold them blessed:  
When God shall bid unlock the gates, embrace this new come gest.  
But though the heavens joy, the earth with tears is filled:  
And kind hath cause to curse herself, that such a tree hath spilled.  
By sickness sent in spite, to spoil the spraise and all:  
And made green leaves forsake their bows, ere fruit were ripe to fall.  
Me think I hear him say, would God had been my chance:  
To hit on death in open field, by charged of enemies Lance.  
Lament ye Courtlike Lords, a play fear lost you have:  
Send forth some sighs a long the seas, to sob upon his grave.  
That buried is at Hawne, with warlike pomp and shot:  
Which range his knell as is the gise, alas to soon God wot.  
Well, worthy go thy way, how many of thy name:  
Are left behind to tread thy steps, and win but half thy fame.  
How should such gifts be grafted, without some power divine:  
Such virtues dwell in one man's breast, as harboured were in thine.  
A Courtney by thy name, a Courtier kindly borne:  
A perfit piece not painted out, a coin unclippte or worn.  
One of so right a stamp, that straight did currant pass.  
In every place of his repair, where sundry golds were glass.  
His face bewrayed at first, what hope of him to have:  
His works performed that tongue brought forth, his hand full largely gave.  
A head that oft had paste, dame Prudens mustere books:  
A countenance as his courage was, no forced Lions looks.  
A heart, storehouse of troth, a mind no ire might move:  
An ear that watched for well couched words, a grace that gatt much love.  
His liberal Nature showed, full oft to each degree:  
Where bounty wants (set birth a side,) ye can not noble be.  
Now better kiss his steps, then at his praise to kick:  
Well may men rove about his mark, but none shall hit the prick.  
What mourning makes his wife, that such a husband lost:  
His babes, his men, his neighbours eke, and all the Western cost.  
Well geasts, your Host is gone, turn horse an other way:  
The shrine is robbde, the saint is fled, where ye were wont to stay.  
The sacred gods receive, among them where they are:  
With as much mirth as may be made) the spirit that Courtney bore.  
FINIS.   

Sir William Pickryngrs epitaph.  
MY senses slept in rest, the quiet couch I take:  
When worlds report with hurling brute,  
bad sluggish muse awake.  
And whet the blunted wits,  
on mourning matter new:  
(A heavy hap, a sudden chance,)  
that thousands ought to rue.  
What fortune is befallen, in world qd I of late:  
Is any branch or member hurt, that erst hath served the state.  
Or is some sprout decayed, or tree blown done by blast:  
That through man's skill & sweat of brows, might grow & stand full fast.  
There is qd Fame to me, a worthy wight gone hence:  
Now dead ' that late was quick and ripe, of judgement wit & sense.  
And Pickring was his name, whose mind was sure so great:  
The noble brows bare witness plain, where hammers still did beat.  
A man that credit won, by service sundry ways:  
A Tully both with pen and tongue, at proof most worthy praise.  
And surely from the Gods, the rarest gifts posseste:  
That ever in these drowsy days, did lodge in one man's breast.  
Look not I should rehearse, what all his virtues wear:  
But look amid these worldly haps, how he himself did bear.  
When Fortune turude her face, he smoothly let it slide:  
The want of will at no time could, in looks nor life be spied.  
If hap had fawned on him, he changed no cheer therefore:  
In equal balance stood the weight, of chances less or more.  
As wisdom clockte his cares, so stoutness stayed his mind:  
And custom taught him how to taste, the toils that here we find.  
In learned Plato's rules, good Pickring pleasure took:  
And shonde the world to sort himself, with gladsome golden book.  
Among a world of men, in deed few friends he chose:  
Yet with a manly modest mean, he could reclaim his foes.  
His port and presence such, he was for Court full fit:  
And for his grave and deep foresight, he might in council sit.  
The life that here he led, gives still sufficient light:  
For skilful heads and scanning minds, to wrest his manners right.  
Now hath he that he sought, and dwells above in bliss:  
Where good men's souls as world they leave, at length shall meet with his.  
When Fame had told her tale, I called for paper straight:  
And in such verse as here you read, I put these words of weight.  
FINIS.   

Master Hampdens epitaph.  
GOOd life is known through deaths despite,  
and when to grave we go:  
Good life steps forth of shrouding sheet,  
and doth our virtues show.  
The earth can claim but flesh and bones,  
and leave the rest to fame:  
The heavens looks, but for the soul,  
and world retains good name.  
So somewhat man doth leave behind, that shines like lantern clear  
Note well the same ye mourners all, that stands about this bear.  
And do but live as Hampden did, and get that garland gay:  
And livell but on that posy sweet, that Hampden boar away.  
What living man can make report, he harmed him any where:  
So upright was the heart in breast, that Hampdon still did bear.  
His heart was just, his hands were frank, his words were meek & mild:  
A presence that declared his mind, was harmless as a child.  
A gladsome countenance would he show, when sorrow searched him throw:  
Though Fortune frounde, she could not change, his cheerful merry brow.  
A pleasant friend, clean void of fraud, both honest true and wise:  
In court so loud that now the tears, runs gushing from their eyes.  
When they but speak of Hampdens' name, an offcer liked so well:  
Shall never sure from country come, in Court again to dwell.  
O happy is that Prince that hath, such servants at the need:  
And blessed is that land and soil, that doth such subjects breed.  
Thrice happy is the wife I trow, that such a husband finds:  
And perfect honest is that man, that Hampdens' virtue minds.  
Good birth and ancient blood doth breed, in noble nature still:  
Good manners & good life withal, which wins the world's good will.  
So Hampdens ways did well declare, from whence began his race:  
And told what mark he thought to hit, when death bid life give place  
Well friend the Goddess hath granted thee, that thou hast sought so long:  
A crown of glory for thy life, or else they do thee wrong.  
Here we be left in wicked world, and find but few like thee:  
Wherefore my spirit through clouldie skies, would after Hampdon flee.  
Though thou hast run thy race before, I follow on full fast:  
And hope above in Abraham's breast, our souls shall meet at last.  
FINIS.   

¶ My Lady Baggnalles epitaph who died at the Nuerie.  
Lo here a lady lies, whose life great glory won  
A morning Star, a Lamp of day:  
that shone as bright as Son.  
A goodly glass of Steel,  
that scorned to take a stain:  
A Mirror that did lively show,  
a perfect picture plain.  
An aid to strangers still, that staid within her gates:  
As noble a Nurse to neighbours all, as friendly to estates.  
A spring of largesse streams, a well of wifely ways:  
A virtuous dame, that vice subdued, a pearl of peerless praise.  
A fountain full of faith, her plaiefeere found the same:  
In every point that did adorn, a comely sober dame.  
From native soil she brought, fair lands and friends great store:  
And matched with Nicklas Baggnall knight, to whom fair babes she bore.  
O Nuerie thou wast once, of this sweet saint the shrine:  
And now the soil of sighs and sobs, and woeful weeping eyen.  
For thou hast lately lost, by loathsome Death's disgrace:  
The Lantern gay, and loving Lamp, that beautified that place.  
Hark world how Fame reports, (and Echo doth resound:)  
The hidden heaps of heavenly gifts, that did in her abound.  
A happy housewife known, the joy of husband's breast:  
A wise and worthy warrant both, to cheer each honest jest.  
And as she did present, dame Beauty thoroughly still:  
So nothing might compare to reach, beyond her frank good will.  
To poor a present help, to rich her house was free:  
A foe to none, her nature such, she honoured each degree.  
Beloved of great and small, as one were blest from bitthe:  
No hurder up of heavy gabs, (the drowsy dross of earth.)  
But made her treasure house, in clouds and heavens high:  
Where souls do hug, and spirits of men, in Abraham's breast doth lie  
Yea all on earth she did, was done to that intent:  
And sure no sooner left she life, but thither strait she went.  
So now I leave her there, escaped from worldly blast:  
Whiles of her fame, all Ireland rings, and shall whites world doth last.  
Finis.   

¶ An epitaph of one masters Blunt, The Lady Pauletts sister.  
YOU worthy wives that virtue seeks,  
and blotlesse lives do lead:  
With bitter tears be dew your cheeks,  
when you these verses read.  
And look you mourn as matrons do,  
whose modest manners may:  
By outward woe and heavy looks,  
their hidden harms be wraie.  
Black gounes & blazing torches bog, doth bring her to the grave  
To whom the Gods when she had life, great gifts of glory gave.  
Her husband houlls and wryngs his hands, as after corpse he goes:  
And neighbours' love bursts out in sighs, & world such sorrow shoes.  
As crop and root of woman kind, were lost and laid full lo:  
A gracious life is geste and known, when hence the ghost doth go.  
Then Blount bedecked with blessed brute, pass on to heavens hie:  
And leave thy friends and children all, behind to wail and cry.  
The loss of such a jewel rare, more rich than pearl or gold:  
More meet to dwell in breast of man, then lodge in ashes cold.  
Unfit for worm O wifely dame! the world hath seldom bred:  
A wife of such a worthy fame, and such a noble head.  
As meek as Lamb of looks or words, of council ripe and sound:  
Of heart most mild where humble thoughts, & bounty did abound.  
A Nurse of Nurture every way, to child and household both:  
A Mirror to the simple sort, and fountain full of troth.  
The husband's joy, the friends delight, the neighbour's comfort too:  
A willing mind, and ready hand, when she good turn might do.  
That feels she now where angels sing, and good men's souls do rest  
And where we cease from worldly toil, I mean in Abraham's breast.  
Where lo I leave her till we meet, full fast our date draws on:  
And we the self same steps must tread, that she before hath gone.  
Finis.   

¶ Master Walter Archer his epitaph, an ancient Borgis of Kilkenie  
IN beaten Brass, or graven Gold,  
a good man's Fame should shine:  
Or written fair, with lukewarm blood,  
I wish were every line.  
Of man's renown, for sure to base,  
is ink and paper here:  
Or all our art, and skill of pen, to paint their praises clear.  
That well deserved whose worthy lives, did show there was small odds:  
Between the doings of the just, and manner of the gods.  
Great is the grace, of them that gaze, on high with stayed look:  
And ●ars not so their honest names, be written in the book.  
Of life good Lord, yea threefold blest, are those that lives upright:  
And holds their heads to heaven gates, with deep and secret sight.  
Then press in place, good Archer now, thy blotlesse life is such:  
No verse hath grace, nor style may reach, to give thee laud to much  
Thy country rings of thy great praise, thy ways were found so wise:  
That from the grave, unto the clouds, thy ripe renown doth rise.  
Most clean and upright thoughts did dwell, amid thy manly mind  
Of tried troth, thy soil throughout, did all thy doings find.  
Both Solon and Lycurgus laws, thy Civil manner shoes:  
Each word of thine a sentence was, like stood that freashly flows.  
A well of wit, sprung from thy head, a tongue of temperance right:  
A grace to win, and purchase friends, at view and present sight.  
A Toby to his children all, yea job for happy state:  
A father grave, that well bestowed, the worldly goods he gate.  
A jewel to Kilkenie sure, when town besieged was:  
A worthy Burges stout of heart, that could through perils pass.  
Of stature mean, of manner mild, and sure as I have hard:  
A very shadow of a saint, so shaped in some regard.  
His end did show, what life he led, his neighbours do record:  
He was a plant of special grace, and member of the Lord.  
Wherefore dear friends, that reads these lines, be sure his soul is well:  
And he through Christ doth triumph still, on dreadful death and hell.  
And sits as safe in Abraham's breast, as babe in mother's lap:  
Most glad are Adam's offspring all, that meets such blessed hap.  
FINIS.   

¶ The Lord Braies epitaph.  
Cry out thou world and Court,  
and say that lost ye have:  
A better jewel for his days,  
than your deserts do crave.  
But small ye way the loss,  
of him and others eke:  
Of whose good nature when ye need,  
ye are full far to seek.  
Which makes your plague the more, though lest ye think thereon:  
When oft ye wish them here again, that long are dead and gone.  
As Gold from Lead is known, such difference is in deed:  
In men, and more unlike they are, than flower is unto weed.  
Lord Braie declares the same, who was so clear a Lamp:  
That few or none my judgement gives, are left us of that stamp.  
So currant for the Court, so comely in the field:  
So right a spark of Nature's mould, hath here been seen but seld.  
His face did full present, a manly worthy mind:  
His words set forth a further skill, than all men's heads could find.  
His life could none mislike, his Nature (thoroughly good:)  
His hand more freely gave away, then world well understood.  
A heart where honour dwelled, a corpse full trimly knit:  
A shape as kind had breathed him out, a head where lacked no wit.  
O Bray thou borest away, the banner of renown:  
Let none think scorn to follow thee, in field in court nor town.  
I take a heavy leave, of thee and so I cease:  
And leave thee flikering in the air, before the God of peace.  
FINIS.   

Sir John Constables epitaph.  
IN looking through these worldly haps,  
(so walking where I would:)  
And weighing well with equal pays,  
the weight of earthly mould.  
I heard a sad, and privy voice,  
as though some fearful spirit:  
(In hollow Cave, or vault of stone)  
had spoke from shrouding sheet.  
It bad me look to true report, that times chief daughter is:  
And set a side all fond affects, which leads the pen amiss.  
Thou hast qd he for favours sake, praised some thou didst not know:  
I was thy friend, wherefore in verse, my course of life do show.  
These words pronouncst, he silence kept, and vanished so away:  
His soul to Skies, his fame to world, his corpse to clotts of clay.  
Then to my Muse, I 'gan repair, with heart as cold as stone:  
And so with doleful verse bewaield, the death of good sir Ihon.  
Who led his life in great renown, and neighbours love with all:  
And served the state on his own charge, when prince did please to call  
By Northern broils that bred much bale, and subjects troths were tried  
His great good will to duties bounds, & loyal faith was spied.  
He always stood to rightful things, and would not sway a wry:  
To any point, wherein reproach, or loss of name did lie.  
A friend that was not lightly lost, and did good turns bestow:  
Where cause required & librall heart, through bounties springs should flow.  
A house he kept of great expense, and daily at his door:  
(With that good store that God him blest,) he helped to feed the poor.  
He married twice in noble race, and kept a noble train:  
And freely gave good servants Farms, to recompense their pain.  
He bore to friends such perfit love, that to the hour of death:  
He never failed any one, as long as he had breath.  
He had great suits and troubles too, that many sorrows brings:  
Yet ere he died with worship great, he ended all those things.  
He gave good lands, for Scholars weal (as was the ancient gies)  
And made an Alms house for the poor, in Halsham where he lies.  
All holderness that knew him well, doth miss his presence now:  
So just and worthy every way, were all his doings throw.  
But when the fruit of tree is ripe, or men be at the best:  
Down do they drop, & at the length, in earth with worms they rest.  
Yet good men's ghosts, do climb the clouds, & draws where God in throne.  
Brings chosen lambs, to endless joy, from worldly care & moan  
FINIS.   

The fantastical monarch epitaph.  

THough Da●t be dead, and Marrot lies in grave,  
And Petrarks spirit, be mounted past our view:  
Yet some do live, (that Poet's humours have,)  
To keep old course, with veins of verses new.  
Whose pens are priest, to paint out people plain,  
That else a sleep, in silence should remain:  
Come poor old man, that boar the monarchs name,  
Thine epitaph, shall here set forth thy fame.   

Thy climbing mind, aspierd beyond the Stars,  
Thy lofty style, no earthly title boar:  
Thy wits would seem, to see through peace and wars,  
Thy tauntyng tongue, was pleasant sharp and sore.  
And though thy Pride, and pomp was somewhat vain,  
The Monarch had, a deep discoursing brain:  
A lone with friend, he could of wonders treat,  
In public place, pronounce a sentence great.   

No match for fools, if wisemen were in place,  
No mate at meal, to sit with common sort:  
Both grave of looks, and fatherlike of face,  
Of judgement quick, of comely form and port.  
Most bend to words, on high and solemn days,  
Of diet fine, and dainty diverse ways:  
And well disposed, if Prince did pleasure take,  
At any mirth, that he poor man could make.   

On gallant robes, his greatest glory stood,  
Yet garments bare, could never daunt his mind:  
He feared no state, nor ●aerd for worldly good,  
Held each thing light, as feathers in the wind.  
And still he said, the strong thursts weak to wall,  
When sword bore sway, the Monarch should have all:  
The man of might, at length shall Monarch be,  
And greatest strength, shall make the feeble flee.   

When strangers came, in presence any where,  
Strange was the talk, the Monarch uttered than:  
He had a voice, could thunder through your ear,  
And speak much like, a merry Christmas man.  
But sure small mirth, his matter harped on,  
His form of life, who lists to look upon:  
Did show some wit, though folly fed his will,  
The man is dead, yet Monarch liveth still.   
FINIS.   

Epitaphs already printed, or out of my hands.  
THe epitaph of King Henry the eight. 
1  The Earl of Surries epitaph. 
2  The Lord Cromwell's epitaph. 
3  The Lady Wentworthes epitaph. 
4  The Lord Graies of Wilt on his epitaph. 
5  The Lord Poinynges epitaph. 
6  Master Audleis the great Soldiers epitaph. 
7  The worthy captain randal epitaph. 
8  Sir Edmond Peckains epitaph. 
9  Sir james Wilfordes epitaph. 
10  Sir John Walloppes epitaph. 
11  Sir George Peckams' first wives epitaph. 
12  The Earl of Penbrokes epitaph. 
13  The Counties of Penbrokes epitaph. 
14  The Lord Henry Dudleis epitaph. 
15  Sir John Pollardes epitaph. 
16  The Lord of Deluins epitaph. 
17  The epitaph of Mistress Pens daghter, called Mistress Gifforde. 
18   
And many other gentlemen and gentilwomens' Epitaphs, that presently I neither can remember, nor get into my hands again.   

¶ Of the fickle faith of men.  

THE thoughts of men, do daily change,  
As fancies breeds within their breasts:  
And now their natuers are so strange,  
That fewer can find, where friendship rests  
For double dealing bears such sway:  
That honest meaning doth decay.   

The steadfast faith that friends profeste,  
Is fled from them, or little used:  
Who hath a perfaite friend possessed,  
In whom he never was abused.  
Where one is found a friend in deed:  
A score there be, that fails at need.   

A friend in words, where deeds are dead,  
Is like a spring, that water wants:  
And they that with, fair words are fed,  
Do hope for fruit, on withered plants.  
But who can judge by view of eye:  
Where deeds are dead, and troth doth lie.   

For barren Trees, will blossoms bear,  
As well as these, that fruit shall yield:  
Whose bark and branches seems as fear,  
As any Tree, within the field.  
As simply looks the subtle man,  
As he that of, no falsehood can.   

The surest way, that I can find,  
Is first to prove, and then to trust:  
Wherein affection is not blind,  
For proof will soon, spy out the just.  
And trial knows, who means desaite,  
And bids the blout, beware the bait.   

Without good proof, be not to bold,  
If you my council lists to take:  
In painted words, there is no hold,  
They are but leave's, that wind doth shake.  
But where that words, and deeds agree,  
Accept that friend, and credit me:  
For he that gives, this council here,  
Hath bought his wit, and friendship dear.   
FINIS.   

Of a Flatterer and a Backbiter.  
THe tamest foul, and wildest beast,  
that every man may know:  
Is sure a subtle flattering friend,  
and slandering tongue I trow.  
The one bits sore behind, thy back,  
the other blears thine eyes:  
And still deceiu's thee to thy face,  
with nought but feigned lies.  
The Dove is meek and tame of kind, but yet a Flattrar fine:  
More tamer is, and shows more art, than all the Muses nine.  
For he can so transform himself, you shall not see him right:  
Though through stone walls like Linx ye lock, or could have Argos sight.  
And he that bit's unto the bones, is wild as Buck in chase:  
And hides his head most monster like, that dare not show his face.  
The Colt that skipps before the dame, is not so light as he:  
Malboche hath such a forked tongue, it stingeth worse than Bee.  
Malboche, doth lodge the shameless clap, that goes as fast as Mill:  
Malboche is like a common scold, that must be chatting still.  
Malboche can creep in credit's grace, and Court it too some time:  
And make a stolen and snare to catch, the simple soul in lime.  
The mighty Mastiff brought to Bear, bit's not like scolding tongue  
A Alarm all the country cries, where that loud bell is rung.  
And when it hath begun a brawl, away in haste it goes:  
And will abide by nothing sure, for fear of bobbs and blows.  
But though Malbouche do breed much strife, the Flattrar passeth all:  
For he lies lulling in the lap, and like a painted wall.  
Full fair and smooth he shoes to sight, when lo a rotten post:  
He prou's yet seems a holy saint, and is a cursed ghost.  
Well two they are, the wild & tame, that works this world much woe.  
The wild he hinders honest name, the tame no friend but foe.  
But how to spy these monsters out, in deed I can not tell:  
Except with wisdoms judging head, ye mark them both so well.  
That when they speak and babble much, they mean to lay abaite:  
To take and trap the harmless heart, in nets of mere decaite.  
Now here is taught you how to find, these twain by outward view:  
Though both of them begiles this world, with charms & nifles new.  
FINIS.   

¶ A good description of a friend.  
THe Bee doth travel long, and wonders pain doth take,  
From herb to flower, from flower to weed, a honey comb to make  
The Ant with no less art, in season due doth toil,  
And learns us how to help ourselves, in this uncertain soil.  
So man that knowledge hath, to work with wit and sense,  
Provides for harms that may befall, a buckler of defence:  
That neither want nor woe, shall quail the noble mind,  
Nor cast through care, and froward hap, the forward heart behind.  
And sure the surest stay, that any wight may get,  
Is friendship if in sureties ground, the graff thereof be set:  
Yea so it serves the turn, and salves each sore and grief,  
As Honey comb in time of need, is only Bees relief.  
And such provision bare, as Ant doth make I guess,  
At great extremes in every point, true friendship doth express:  
When all these worldlings fail, and faith on earth doth faint,  
(And pride with poisoned serpents tougs, like Parats prate & paint.)  
To friendship may we come, as to a fountain sweet:  
That yields fresh water many ways, to quench the thirsty spirit.  
And there we may be bold, to drink or draw our fill,  
For where the moistness feeds the flood's, the springs are ronning stilk  
Among the bruitest beasts, and wildest birds that be,  
An inward liking flatly fixed, of friendship shall you see.  
Should we then make it strange, that feeling hath to know,  
The law and league of blameless love, and judge the friend from foe:  
No sure our glory grows, most gay on friendships ground.  
And sugar sweet, are all those fruits, that springs on judgement sound  
When favour makes the way, and let's deserts come in,  
And modest manners mild of mode, doth wisdoms credit win:  
The friendship virtuous is, and like full long to last,  
And as a rock against each storm, it standeth firm and fast.  
This freedship first was bred, amongs the Gods above,  
And fostered since in fleshly breasts, and fed with friendly love:  
And so it was embraced, of worthy skilful brains,  
Who to this day with care of mind, this friendship still retains.  
And more it bears the bruit, beyond all earthly things,  
And flees as far as any fame, hath power to spread her wings:  
And friendship triumph makes, on Fortune in despite,  
And marcheth full amid her face, and so subdues her quite.  
No sorrow nor mishap, no grief nor torment strange,  
May frame by force, or froward mean, true friendships mind too change:  
For pains with equal weight, do friends impart and deal,  
As though within two private wills, there were a commonweal.  
And look what one doth taste, the other feels in deed,  
And each of them with helping hand, supplies the others need:  
In mind they meet and match, and talk together still,  
When distance of the time and place, denies them of their will.  
When furthest of they seem, they join in joy and bliss,  
And every smart that absence breeds, a present pleasure is.  
The fraud and finesse now, and tickle troth in man,  
Makes faith and friendship thrice as sweet, as when it first began.  
In these dissembling days, who finds a friend I trow,  
Hath found a second Phoenix sure, and needs no further go:  
Shrine up that saint in gold, lock up that jewel rich,  
Ye cannot in no measures mean, of friendship make too mitche.  
FINIS.   

A warning from Court.  

Look not for deeds, when words driu's of the time,  
They reap but weeds, that sows on barren ground,  
Trust not to age, when youth is passed his prime:  
Show not plain face, where fineness doth abound,  
Hope not for grace, where Flattery fauns like whelp,  
But haunt the place, where hope hath ready help.   

Spend little wealth, where wit and time is lost,  
Creep from cold Court, where freendshipps fire goes out:  
Match not with Pride, nor lean to painted post,  
Seek rather Death, then live in daily doubt.  
Where Envy liu's, and Love is turned to lust:  
Good minds do die, and world is not to trust.   

The Sirens song, deceiu's the simple ear,  
The hissing Snake, gives warning ear he sting:  
Great pits are hid, in water smooth and fear,  
The hollow bell, doth make the sweetest ring.  
Thus danger dwells, where least the doubt appeers:  
And pleasant fields, do yield most scratching Breers.   

The plainest folk, are in the roughest soil,  
The subtlest heads, to golden howls repair:  
Who shuns gay shows, shall scape from Fortune's foil,  
Fowl weather hangs, in Cloudy smiling air.  
I can no more, but bid the wise beware:  
Of gallant Court, that wears vain glory bare.   
FINIS.   

Of a Courtier's life, and how the worst sort finds best Furtune.  

THis parshall world, prefarres the feigned face,  
And beats him back, that bears the blotlesse brow:  
As one might say, they stand in Fortune's grace,  
That worst deserves, and best can flatter now,  
He reaps no Corn, that helps to hold the Plough.  
His gain is small, that labours till he groans,  
He bears the load, that hath the weakest bones.   

The wiely head, hath wit to watch his hours,  
Like Fox and Wolf, that serves them selu's you see:  
The idle hands, that never planted flowers,  
Takes Honey sweet, from silly labouring Bee.  
Though Fauken fair, for Duck or Partridge flee,  
He feeds on Beef, or other base meat:  
Thus are they served, that oft do toil and sweat.   

Some rouns full swift, yet still the wager loes,  
Men have such sleight, to trip their fellows down:  
We know not how, the wheel of Fortune goes,  
Nor wherein rests, our wealth or right renown.  
The tromp of Fame, gives such uncertain sown,  
That bad are good, and good have but bad luck:  
In happy things, or gain of worldly muck.   

Next walking jaads, and whipping horses heels,  
Is soldiers craft, and waiting Courtiers trade:  
The one in field, both cold and hunger feels,  
The other here, at home a drudge is made.  
Well all is one, to sit in Son or shade,  
If hap give all, no matter who doth sow:  
He reaps most Corn, whose scythe shall furthest go.   
FINIS.   

Of words spoken by a great parsonage.  
I Live that dieth every hour, my glass is near hand roime,  
I fall away as doth a flower, that withers in the Son:  
O death dispatch my doleful days, defar no time here in,  
Good Lachis make thou no delays, my fatal thread to spin.  
Thou Clerk I say, that for thy fee, doth ring the careful knell,  
Now let me have some help of thee, to tolle my passing bell.  
If by the way I may provoke, to shorten now my life,  
This hand of mine shall strike the stroke, that soon shall stint my strife:  
I muse why God did me create, and breathed life in my breast,  
And brought me up to this estate, that near enjoyed no rest.  
Why was I fed with milk so oft, and pampered up so long,  
Why was I rocked and laid so soft, and lullde with many a song:  
Why was not I untimely borne, when Nature had me wrought,  
That liveth thus as man forlorn, and still consumes with thought.  
The Midwife might have cased all this, if strangled had I been,  
Then had my soul been safe in bliss, that now lies drowned in sin.  
But look what God assigned is done, what should I reason more,  
O Lord my God what hast thou won, in plaguing me so sore:  
What honour canst thou have by me, what glory canst thou have,  
What service can I do to thee, that wisheth thus my grave.  
And in this plight to die thou knowest, so far from quiet frame,  
Before I should yield up the ghost, I might blaspheme thy name:  
The world disdains to see my wealth, the heavens on me frown,  
The earth and air denies me health, and Fortune keeps me down.  
The day I drive away with care, the might I wail and weep,  
The sighs & sobs that comes unware, doth wake me in my sleep:  
The food that should my life sustain, I find therein small taste,  
My blood dries up in every vain, lo how I wear and waste.  
Thus every thing doth change his kind, to work my woe you see,  
And nothing serves me to my mind, I fall in such degree:  
Would God my grave, were ready found, my shrouding sheet & all,  
And dreadful Death were surely bound, to come when I do call.  
Finis.   

¶ A description of Desire.  

LEd by Desire, a thrall where freedom lies,  
Held back by wit, when fancy forward hales,  
My greedy will, begiles my gazing eyes:  
Called home from craft, yet caught in cunning stales,  
Drawn from myself, and made to others call,  
If danger come, Desire is cause of all.   

Prepared for flight, my wings are fast in lime,  
I swim in hope, and sink with deep conceit,  
Deceived by hap, yet learned by loss of time:  
To know the hook, and yet must miss the bait,  
But bound and led, a long by sweet Desire,  
I scorch or burn, before I feel the fire.   

Desire lacks sight, yet leads the senses blind,  
And wilful Will, waits hard at Dangers heels,  
Good speed full lean, comes lagging far behind:  
Close heart says nought, that all the sorrow feels,  
So thus the man, to Death like captive goes,  
Led by Desire, that knows not friends from foes.   

Our life declares, Desire can take no rest,  
In soundest sleeps, it keeps the mind awake,  
It is a spirit, that closely creeps in breast:  
A privy thought, that Wars and Peace doth make,  
And whom it leads, it either throws him down,  
Or lifts him up, by hap to great renown.   

The Soldier builds, his hope on great Desire,  
The Merchant gets, his gain and wealth thereby,  
The traveling wight, it pays with noble 〈◊〉  
It heals the heart, that in Despair doth lie,  
And though some sparks, of vice flee from that flame,  
A good Desire, maintains a virtuous name.   

Then blush I not, to yield where force doth fail,  
Desire doth daunt, the strong and stoutest mind,  
Where Fancy rules, no wisdom can prevail:  
Strive not with stream, nor sail against the wind,  
For when fine wit, hath done the best it may,  
Desire comes in, and leads the heart away.   
FINIS.   

¶ Of a vicious woman.  

AS every lake, and puddle seemeth sweet,  
To greedy throats, that daily drink do crave:  
So unto some, each water is full meet,  
To cool their mouths, when any thirst they have.  
The worst at hand, contents their geerie fit,  
The best far of, is not desired a whit.   

Good reason why, a pleasure near at call,  
Is better sure, then that we want at need:  
When thirst is paste, we wish no drink at all,  
When hunger comes, then gladly would we feed.  
The Hawk once fed, with any kind of meat:  
Her gorge is full, Gill will no partridge eat.   

Yet Beef is gross, and hard for to endue,  
And carrion Crows, with Pheasant is no match:  
Though all things serves, for hawks that keeps the mew,  
Yet those that flee, a better prey can watch.  
Who says each drink, they have too great a haste:  
For Crabs be Crabs, and have a bitter taste.   

Is Beer and Wine, a like in every case,  
Or fretting Salt, like Sugar any wheat:  
Is Pork at home, like Venison in the chase,  
Is Glass like Gold, or Brass yet half so fear.  
Are little titts, like Coursers finely made:  
No no in deed, a roil is but a jade.   

Are Nettle stalks, like roddie Roses leaves,  
May stinking Docks, with Gillaflowres compare:  
Is dusty Chaff, like goodly filled Sheaves,  
Is evil cheer, like pleasant sumptuous fare.  
A hungry bait, a cold repast they find,  
That fruit forsakes, and feedeth on the rind.   

Then if there be, of worthies many a one,  
That serves their will, with dross where gold is cheap:  
And for a Pearl, forsakes a precious stone,  
And takes the worst, where worthies are a heap.  
Now let them blush, or frown to hear my song:  
Theirs is the fault, and I have all the wrong.   
FINIS.   

Of unsound friends.  

THe root not pure, the branches are infect,  
The tree unsound, the fruit and leaves are nought:  
The ground not good, the root is in suspect,  
Of every grief, the cause must first be sought.  
For break the bows, and clean despoil the tree:  
The root left whole, a greater harm may be.   

A sore unsearched, is seldom salved well,  
As hatred hid, is hard to heal without:  
The Doctor seeks, where each disease doth dwell,  
And gropes the ground, and so a voids the doubt.  
First quench the cause, in flames that doth remain:  
The straw on fire, the smoke will rise again.   

To cut thy hand, when festered is thy foot,  
Or prick thy arm, when all thy head is sick:  
Ye be far of, ye come not near the root,  
Then this believe, ye are not near the quick.  
So though the sword, the simple putts to sack:  
The ship you have, and yet the stern you lack.   
FINIS.   

A matter of fond Cupid, and vain Venus.  
IN Peascod time when hound to horn, gives eat till Buck be killed  
And little lads with pipes of corn, sat keeping beasts a filled:  
I went to gather strawberries tho, by woods & groves full fair,  
And parchte my face with Phoebus so, in walking in the air.  
That down I laid me by a stream: with bows all over clad,  
And there I meat the strangest dream, that ever young man had:  
Me thought I saw each Christmas game: each revel all and some,  
And every thing that I can name, or may in fancy come.  
The substance of the sights I saw, in silence pass they shall,  
Because I lack the skill to draw, the order of them all:  
But Venus shall not pass my pen, whose maidens in disdain,  
Did feed upon the hearts of men, that Cupid's bow had slain.  
And that blind boy was all in blood, be bathed to the ears,  
And like a conqueror he stood, and scorned lovers tears:  
I have quod he more hearts at call, than Caesar could command,  
And like the Dear I make them fall, that runneth over the land:  
One drops down here, an other there, in bushes as they groan,  
I bend a scornful careless ear, to hear them make their move.  
●he sir quoth honest meaning then, thy boyely brags I hear,  
When thou hast wounded many a man, as hounts man doth the dear  
Becomes it thee to triumph so, thy mother will it not,  
For she had rather break thy bow, than thou shalt play the sot.  
What saucy Merchant speaketh now, said Venus in her rage,  
Art thou so blind, thou know'st not how, I govern every age:  
My son doth shoot no shaft in waste, to me the boy is bound,  
He never found a heart so chaste, but he had power to wound.  
Not so fair Gods quoth free-will, in me there is a choice,  
And cause I am of mine own ill, if I in thee rejoice:  
And when I yield myself a slave, to thee or to thy son,  
Such recompense I ought not have, if things be rightly done.  
Why fool step forth Delight & said, when thou art conquered thus  
Then lo dame Lust that wanton maid, thy mistress is iwus:  
And Lust is Cupid's darling dear, behold here where she goes,  
She crepes the milk warm flesh so near, she hides her under cloes  
Where many privy thoughts do dwell, a heaven here on earth,  
For they have never mind of hell, they thinks so much ●n mirth:  
Be still good meaning quoth good Sport, let Cupid triumph make,  
For sure his kingdom shallbe short: if we no pleasure take.  
Fair Beauty and her play fears gay, the Uirgines' vestal too,  
Shall sit and with their fingers play, as Idle people do:  
If honest Meaning fall to frown, and I good Sport decay,  
Then Venus' glory will come down, and they will pine away:  
In deed quoth wit this your devise, with strangeness must be wrought  
And where you see these women niece, and looketh to be sought.  
With stalling brows their follies check, and so give them the fig,  
Let Fancy be no more at beck, when Beauty looks so big:  
When Venus heard how they conspired, to murder women so,  
Me thought in deed the house was fired, with storms & lightning tho:  
The thunderbolt through windows burst, & in their steps awight,  
Which seemed some soul or spirit a cursed, so ugly was the sight.  
I charge you Ladies all quoth he, look to yourselves in haste,  
For if that men so wilful be, and have their thoughts so chaste:  
And they can tread on Cupid's breast, and march on Venus' face,  
Then they shall sleep in quiet rest, when you shall wail your case.  
With that had Venus all in spite, stirred up the Dames to Ire,  
And Lust fell cold, and Beauty white, sat babbling with Desire:  
Whose muttering words, I might not mark, much whispering there a roes,  
The day did lower, the Son waxed dark, away each Lady goes.  
But whether went these angry flock, our Lord himself doth know,  
Wherewith full loudly crew the Cock, and I awaked so:  
A dream quod I, a Dog it is, I take thereon no keep,  
I gauge my head, such toys as this, doth spring for lack of sleep.  
FINIS.   

This shows the vanity of some hopes.  

WHo liu's in hope, doth die in deep despair,  
He lacks that looks, how lucky lots do light:  
They feel foul storms, that hopes for weather fair,  
And want clear day, that waits to scape the night.  
Hope hates his state, and present fit he feels,  
And gropes for chance, at churlish Fortune's heels.   

He shows some grief, that after medson seeks,  
And pleadeth pain, that prouls for pleasure sweet:  
Who hopes for food, doth go with hungry cheeks,  
And hangs down head, as one that wanteth spirit.  
Although Despair, is neighbour next the worst,  
Who holds by Hope, is more than half a cursed.   

Full long the bird, in cage on hope may feed,  
The Galley slave, the self same case may plead:  
Hope comes to late, to such as stand in need,  
The hapless hath, a Labyrinth to tread.  
In dangers grace, they stand amid the flood,  
Full far from help, when hope can do no good.   

If haste make waste, and fall on point of knife,  
Or sword through heart, unto the hilts dorth run:  
In such extremes, what hope is left of life,  
Or where in deed, for harms should help be won.  
The banks broke down, the stream and flood flies out,  
And nothing stays, behind for hope nor doubt.   

The prisoner may, that is condempde to die,  
For pardon hope, and yet to hanging go:  
A mischief comes, whiles men for mercy cry,  
As horse doth starve, whiles that the gross doth grow.  
Hope serves you know, to heave up hearts on height,  
That flat on floer, may Fortune strike them straight.   
Finis.   

The meeting of two noble knights of the Garter (si Henry Sidney, and the Earl of Essex) in Ireland, two miles beyond Dradath the xxj, of September, and 17. year in the reign of our sovereign lady Queen Elizabeth.  
AS order is the stay of states, a bliss to every age,  
A knot of love, a band of peace, a rule that governs rage:  
So order drew, two noble wights, that of the order are,  
To meet by order as it fell, a sight full strange and rare.  
For said is seen, in Irish soil, where order doth but glance  
That ij. which doth the garter were, do meet by such a chance  
The one an Earl, a Mars more like, that God of battle is:  
The other such a Mirror known, as Ireland may not mis.  
The one hath lighted such a Lamp, where on the rest may gaze,  
Yea all the torches in the land, wax dim where this doth blaze:  
The other hath through modest means, and Martial manners both,  
Plucked from warm breast, the people's hearts, that bears good will to troth  
The bruit of these, are blown so far, their names thereby are known  
These are no Gems of foreign mines, but jewels of our own.  
The more that Envy hides their praise, the bigger do they shine,  
As clear renown, were shrouded safe, by secret power divine.  
In loving league, of well won laud, these lords their liu's do lead,  
And through this thankless thwarting world, the steps of honour tread  
Both bend to serve, & fit therefore, their ventures claims the same,  
And both for greatness of their minds, do merit equal fame:  
A joy to see such jewels join, so thought the lookers on,  
A pearl of price, in any place, agrees with precious stone.  
The Gods them selu's, did make this match, through ordering things a right.  
The heavens cast of cloudy cloaks, and clapped on mantells' light.  
To show how glad the Planets were, in meeting nobles twain,  
When one the other fetched to town, with such a troop and train:  
The season sweet, and Phoebus shone, so clear from crystal Sky,  
As world were willing to bestow, on them a welcome eye.  
The Prince that hath such members here, is happy sundry ways,  
The soldiers that shall serve them both, shall win immortal praise.  
The people that by outward signs, an inward meaning knew,  
Bade sluggish Muses whet their skill, on matter worthy view:  
Then took I pen, and put in verse, these things which great post hast  
In larger volume look for more, if this be well embraced.  
FINIS.   

Of my Lord chief Baron that was.  
THe Sittern sweet whose silver sound,  
(the sloggards wits awakes:)  
Through change and choice, of notes new found,  
a pleasant Music makes.  
The Lute that best is liked of all, a solemn 'noys doth yield,  
And most delights the cunning heads, that in that art are skilled:  
The Harp whose twang and stroke is strange, is used every where,  
His many strings and warbling sound, so much delights the ear.  
The mild Recorder hath a place, where sweet Concordance is,  
The Cornet and the Howboys both, may match and sound with this  
The Uirginall with quiet 'noys, must matched be I trow,  
The sliller that the Music is, the better doth it show:  
But some had rather hear for change, a cheerful ring of bells,  
Who feigns the noys doth pierce the air, and thunder crack expels.  
In elder days when storms arose, and tempests rough did roar,  
They loudly rang the halloude bell, for cause I told before.  
In towns of war where watch & ward, is kept with worthy guard  
The Alarm bell that warning gives, in deed may ill be spared:  
When Prince removes the bells they ring, & at high feasts and times,  
In foreign land a noble noys, is made of bells and chimes.  
The blessed birth day of Kings and Queens, with bells is honoured still,  
In sign of Princes happy reigns, and Subjects great good will:  
A ring of bells is heard far of, and pleaseth many a mind,  
Now near they sound, then far they seem, as blows the gale of wind.  
But I delight in passing Bell, for that doth plainly shoe,  
As one from hence doth take his leave, so hence we all must go:  
A passing Bell then shall it be, that makes best Music here,  
It things and tolls what we are worth, and sounds in ear so clear.  
That each man knows the passing Bell, is best in these our days,  
Let Lute and Sutern then give place, and yield to Bell the prays.  
FINIS.   

¶ Of a noble parsonage.  
THe Son that shrouds, in lowering cloudy Skies,  
Shines clear and fair, when foggy Mists are gone:  
The morning Star, that sleeps long ere it rise,  
Awakes them all, that lists to look thereon.  
The hidden gold, in treasure house that lies,  
By show of foil, sets forth a precious stone:  
The grains of Corn, that deep in earth remains,  
Sprouts up at length, and quits the Ploughman's pains.  
So hearts oppressed, that heavy are a while.  
laughs grief to scorn, when Fortune makes them smile:  
The Bird in cage, must suffer for a space,  
Till freedom comes, and makes her prove her wings,  
The prisoners poor, may purchase Prince's grace:  
And quench their thirst, where pleasant fountain springs.  
The mourning mind, may show a cheerful face,  
When merry cause, a present comfort brings:  
No hap so hard, no grief so great I trow,  
But may through time, convert to joy from woe.  
Then sigh no more, O pensive troubled breast,  
Who sows in care, is sure to reap in rest.  
FINIS.   

A letter in May, sent to Master Henry Knowles house at Gobbyns.  
YOur healthful house that holds me here,  
with heaps of sweet delight,  
(Where Courtlike far not country cheer,  
I find, and thereof write:  
Makes me forget the dompishe days,  
that hateful soils did yield,  
And feeds my fancy many ways,  
with pleasures of the field.  
For here the birds do chure and charm, as bells of Osney rung,  
Or else the pretty boys of Paul's, amid the clapper song:  
methinks the trees do tremble still, and that the earth should shake  
When Nightyngalls in Morning grey, their merry Music make.  
For through their throats they thrust their notes, as Organ pipes did sound  
Te deum and faburthen sweet, the Quere had chanted round  
Here is no noys of churlish Choughs, nor peevish chattering Pie,  
Nor screking Owl the post of Death, that makes a fearful cry.  
Nor prating Paret dare not press, in compass of this place,  
Nor no proud Peacock cometh here, for all his stately grace:  
This soil doth breed no scornful bird, in whom disdain doth dwell  
This is a heaven of itself, that stands so far from hell.  
No devilish mind may nestle here, for fear they scowl and lower,  
This is a pleasant plot of ground, where Gods have bilt their bower  
Who made a law on pain of death, that none approach the seat,  
Except his sweet conceited speech, provoketh laughter great:  
Those hoggish heads and lompishe lobbs, that muse on mischief still  
Are banished from this fruitful vale, to dig at Maworne hill.  
And yet the dullest dolt that is, may hap to mend his spirit,  
If when his grossest humour comes, he taste the nectar sweet:  
That I have found, for lo here dwells, a noble nurse in deed,  
Who for the weakness of men's brains, she hath so fine a seed.  
It heals the headache and the cough, and comforts so the wits,  
That man upon the present help, forgetts his former fits:  
This merry medson works in me, a mass of matter good,  
It makes me walk, yea eat and sleep, and gather so much blood.  
That now great gobbins gins to grow, upon my Lenten cheeks,  
And legs are filled with fat and flesh, that was as lean as leeks:  
Which you shall see and well percive, if long you walk in Paul's,  
And so I say in taking leave, Adieu good master Knowles.  
FINIS.   

Of the want of will.  

THe days delay, doth breed my night's unrest,  
My wished joys, makes heart to taste of woe:  
The want of will, torments my troubled breast,  
Look what I seek, of force I must forego.  
Held up by hope, thrown down by hateful hap,  
I scape a storm, yet slain through thunder clap.   

tween two extremes, my life in balance lies,  
I feed far of, yet near the food I crave:  
My footing fails, and yet my mind doth ryes,  
I lack no hope, and yet no hap I have.  
Thus striving still, against the stream of strife,  
I feed the heart, and wear away the life.   

Who weau's his web, like Spider on the spraie,  
May wait for Flies, or spend his time in waste:  
Who dwells in doubt, and rests upon decay,  
Stays for good luck, where Fortune makes no haste.  
He gropes for smoke, and looks to catch the wind,  
That serves in hope, and hateful hap doth find.   
Finis.   

Of two virtuous sisters.  
WHen youth was in his prime,  
and Peacocks plumes were gay,  
(And lo amid my laughing eyen,  
two pretty babes did play:)  
I spoke of merry sports,  
that fed my fancy than,  
But tracked of time hath taught me now,  
to be a graver man.  
And judge by just regard, of worldly things the weight,  
And learn the wit and sense to see, the deepness and the height:  
Of each thing under Son, so that in aged days,  
I neither lean to lewd delights, nor stoop to wanton ways.  
If sweet desires are dead, and lust hath taken leave▪  
And follies freaks are thoroughly fled, that did vain youth deceive  
My speech may credit claim, of all that hears the same,  
And I may freely give them laud, by verse that merits Fame.  
Then press in place two Nymphs, that I at Ipswitche saw,  
Possess such praise as virtue yields, by sentence of her law:  
And for your manners mild, (a beauty to good life,)  
I wish that each of you in deed, may prove a worthy wife.  
And live to parent's joy, and reap renown therefore,  
And if unto your own content, my heart could wish you more:  
You should not have bare lines, at this my last a due,  
But thundering blast of endless Fame, with praise should honour you.  
FINIS.   

¶ Translated out of Latin.  
TRue wedlock is, true bondage triple fold,  
A double grief, of feeble flesh and spirit:  
So man is drawn, as Ox in market sold,  
That he may be, for endless labour meet.  
Who takes a wife, is led in yoke to draw,  
And feeling pain, to pain he yields from birth,  
Taking, is caught, and brings himself in awe:  
And serving still, is made a drudge on earth,  
The text shows here, who best by marriage wins,  
In weary Lome, a web of woe he spinns.  
Finis.   

¶ A description of the goodness that grows in Cicilia.  
WHiles ranging youth did run about,  
as rage's of humour roes,  
A reckless race I rowsled on,  
as water ebbs and flows:  
And though through toil my time consumed,  
yet trial taught me well,  
Here is a place (for all our pomp)  
where pilgrims ought to dwell.  
But wildness edged me forward fast, to see these worldly joys,  
And greedy mind of glory vain, (that poffes men up with toys)  
Bad wanton will run all on head, and never look behind:  
Till age on youth had clapped his cloaks, by cruel course of kind,  
Thus haled through the haven mouth, where heaps of hazards are,  
Full under sail through swelling seas, my ship and I did far:  
And passing so to sundry soils, I sought some surety still,  
But that was past my compass clean, and far beyond my skill.  
For such as seeks in Silla's seas, a safety for his Bark,  
May drive a mid Charibdes cliu's, and miss the full sea mark:  
Well, as my ship found wind at will, so did I make my sail,  
And landing took in sundry soils, when sea room seemed to fail.  
So France and Flaunders saw I through, and other lands a score,  
Where vessels in the road might ride, and none might go on shore:  
But barely was I vittailde still, and seldom void of want,  
(And never found good gale of wind,) as weather were so scant.  
It had no will to serve my turn, in all my journeys great.  
Until I cast a better course, and found a noble seat:  
That men do call Cicillya, where lo sweet Cyprus grows,  
And many other precious things, more sweet than Musky roes.  
No sooner sought I secure there, but strait ways had I aid,  
As though that Destiny did decree, my Bark should there be stayed  
O fruitful soil full fraught with grace, the dew of heaven fall,  
Both day and night like silver showers, upon thy virtues all:  
Come wandering wights that seeks for hap, in wild deep streams & floods  
And see with feeling sense what gifts, in Cicill grows & buds  
I prays the name and bless the plot, and kiss such perfect ground,  
That yields such fruit and doth in deed, in blessed things abound:  
If tongue had art to show at full, the fullness of this soil,  
The tongue should work and pen should cease, or serve in place of foil.  
To set forth fame of land unknown, yet known to skilful men,  
And known again to God's themselves, that rules both tongue & pen.  
Finis.   

A matter of repulce, going to the Sea.  
WHen will and wind do jar,  
and Neptune proves a foe,  
A man may venture far, yet have no power to go:  
Admit that jove do smile,  
if other Gods do lower,  
We must abide a while, and watch the happy hour.  
For every God in Skies, a several nature have,  
And sure great quarrels rise, by suits that men do crave:  
Of Gods whose sundry moods, a mass of matter shows,  
Some are the Gods of goods, and where that Fortune flows.  
They follow tied and time, and some are Gods of game,  
And some in clouds do climb, and flies as fast as Fame:  
Some always like the seas, and some the land embrace,  
Some love's to take their ease, and quaff's and bibbs a pace:  
Some are the Gods of grain, and flowers and fruits likewise,  
So now to break my brain, about these Gods in Skies.  
It were but labour lost, yet how should people sail,  
Or ride to any cost, when hope of Gods do fail:  
First prove a courage bold, and go to field and fright,  
If Mars his love wax cold, ye shallbe conquered straight.  
Where Venus frowns make love, and see what luck ye find,  
If Oelus list not move, in vain ye look for wind:  
So many things by name, are ruled through Gods in air,  
And Gods good luck do frame, in weather foul or fair.  
But Gods do dwell so high, and I so low remain,  
I know not where to cry, nor yet to whom complain:  
A greater grief I feel, a fortune somewhat strange,  
So swift tourns Fortune's wheel, that still the wind doth change.  
When I to ship would go, no sooner turn I back,  
But straight a gale doth blow, where I the wind did ●icke:  
This prou's like every suit, that I do take in hand,  
For others catch the fruit, when at reward I stand.  
My Destiny is enrolled, (O master of Roulls I fear,)  
Where wind doth blow so cold, there comes no Summer there:  
And though that Son do shine, it gives but little heat,  
Some say worse luck is mine, and my mishap is great.  
Thus here in verse I show, what wind doth me a rest,  
In hope before I go, the wind mill bloweth at West:  
Till than my pen shall walk, where I do find good will,  
To make my friends to talk, on Churchyards fortune still.  
FINIS.   

Of one that for virtues sake honoured a friend.  
AS friendship is a league of Love,  
and shows the heart within,  
So some affection is the ground, whereon it doth begin  
And reason offereth causes why,  
such friendship breeds in thought,  
Thus reason is the kindly cause, that all these things hath wrought.  
Some hold opinion fancy works, by secret motions sweet,  
A mean to make the honest mind, and faithful friendship meet:  
Deserts dare claim no place hereof, for where good turns have passed  
Small favour comes, and world forgetts, the plain good will at last.  
Then reason from affection brought, must needs the cause persuade,  
Wherewith the fancy works the web, and so is friendship made:  
When man and woman is in frame, and shaped as I have said,  
Their hearts prepars a perfit place, where friendship may be stayed.  
We see ear pleasures are possessed, or any profit rise,  
A choice or liking knitts the knot, of friendship with the wise:  
The judgement doth election make, when all affects are blind,  
And friendship triumphs in no where, but in a noble mind.  
It scorns to dwell with dainty freaks, that flickers here and there,  
And flits as feathers do with wind, and rests no certain where:  
The worthy wights that wisely ways, that weight of mere good will,  
Are chiefest mansion house and seat, for worthy friendship still.  
But lo a question now doth rise, I do demand to know,  
Of friendships rule or reason's lore, which may the furthest go:  
First friendship marcheth foremost man, and leave's behind the rest,  
Then reason comes in second rank, and seeks to do his best.  
Yet friendship is not greater sure, than reason in degree,  
For friendship is but very bare, where reason wants you see:  
When wit hath well conceived a cause, by rule and reasons great,  
Then friendship shows this force at full, as fire by flame shoes heat  
I know not well which ruleth most, the reason that I have,  
Or else the friendship that I bear, where faith doth friendship crave:  
Good reason leads my fancy forth, affection yields thereto,  
And friendship follows on as fast▪ as friendship ought to do.  
Thus lo my reason and my sense, in friendships league is bound:  
Which bondage is but free consent, for friendly favour found.  
FINIS.   

¶ Written from the Country twenty year ago, to one that poorly remains at the Court yet.  
WHo spends his time, in Court God knows,  
May hap to win, and sure to lose:  
For loss is liker there to fall,  
Then any happy chance at all.  
Yet some cold Courtiers daily think,  
That at the spring a man may drink:  
The well head may be stopped you see,  
Then empty must the Bocketts be.  
Where many draw, and press is great,  
Or thousands do the Market beat:  
There things are scant, and ware is deart,  
The more the geasts, the barer cheer.  
The Court is like, a Mearmaids' song,  
That flattereth many people long:  
And payeth them with a privy nip,  
First bravery brings a begerly whip:  
And next vain hope, doth lead the blind,  
To look for that, they never find.  
Some set for birds, and catch a Gnatt,  
And some doth lose, both lean and fat▪  
I muse how men, bewitched are,  
To sit in Court, to gaze and stare.  
Each one upon an others face,  
May herein resteth all the grace:  
The Peacock prides him in his plume,  
And doth both time and wealth consume.  
In piking of his feathers gay,  
The Cousloppe not so brave in May:  
Is Courtier is that clapps on all,  
Who hopes for Larks when sky doth fall.  
Some draws to Court, when all is gone,  
And those are called hangers on:  
That neither wagies have ne fee,  
But thither come to hear and see.  
And rub out time with licking crumbs  
That droppeth out of hungry thommes.  
That saves a crust for Kate at home,  
And some there be that use to roam:  
And prouleth for a pittance bare,  
Where often empty dishes are.  
Some thrusteth all into the poke,  
And hideth Manchetts under cloak:  
And many other morsels sweet,  
The alms which poor, should have in street.  
Is montcht in corners by such mean,  
It is no shame to carry clean:  
They say that lives by this devise,  
I far as one that flings the Dice.  
And cast each chance such is my freak,  
Yet mind I but of Court to speak:  
The Court is place of such repair,  
There must be needs Dick shifters air.  
Of every sort both good and bad,  
At some one time may there be had:  
The fauner and the frowning brow,  
The stately stalks that will not bow.  
The hollow looks, the haughty mind,  
The scornful face, the Bayard blind:  
The whisperer and the whining Pig,  
The subtle sheep that looks full big.  
The counterfeit that seemeth gold,  
The coward and the countenance bold:  
The grave, the wise, and worthy both,  
All kind of sorts, I tell thee troth.  
Is found in Court, but worst in deed,  
So many haunteth there for need.  
Thou were as good go hold the Plough,  
As in the Court seek Fortune now:  
A thousand gapes for one man's gain,  
And fifteen hundredth lose their pain.  
Scarce one is helped by good hap,  
The fruitful tree, hath lost his sap:  
There springs but blossoms from the stock,  
Each thing is under double lock.  
And bounty is so straightly laest,  
That frankness now is clean defaest:  
He that can learn us how to spare,  
Is our white son, thus runs the Hare.  
The dogs may pinch, but seldom bite,  
All science of hope are banish quite:  
The largeness that in Court hath dwelled,  
Can neither now be seen nor felt.  
Each river runs into the sea,  
And there the floods consume away:  
And nought returns to us again.  
But little streams and drops of rain.  
I fear the world is at an end,  
Then think not thou the Court shall mend:  
As world decay, so Court doth wear,  
Yet every thing should flourish there.  
Thou fool trust not to nods and becks,  
Nor words that are as dry as kecks:  
In Court such things full plenty are,  
When Cloak and Hat, and all is hare.  
And to the bones thou shalt be worn,  
The Court shall give thee but a scorn:  
A proper weed to keep thee warm,  
God shield my friend from such a charm.  
Let them in Court, go wait and pry,  
That have good cause, and lives thereby:  
Look to the country that thou draw,  
And live in compass of the law.  
And love thy Prince, and fear his sword,  
And from my house, I send thee word:  
It is as vain in Court to hope,  
As seek a blessing of the Pope.  
Come let us ride abroad this Spring,  
As merry a heart as any king:  
A poor man hath that is content,  
God knows who lives an other Lent.  
Thou seest how quickly men be gone,  
So thus farewell, mine own good John:  
From Court dispatch thee if thou may,  
That we may meet ere Easter day.  
FINIS.   

Of an injury by sauning friends.  
I Sail with shaken Ship,  
through swelling seas to saffeties shore,  
And scape the scornful whip,  
that lies in wait to scourge me sore:  
And having wind at will,  
in stalling clouds, I leave disdain,  
Yea more by hap then skill,  
I beat the bellowe back again.  
That would o'erwhelm my Bark, and swallow up, the silly boat,  
Ere that the full sea mark, had set the tossed ship a float:  
In deed the gale is good, and God that gides, the stern and all,  
At ebb hath sent a flood, where tide was never thought to fall.  
Pack hence ye Pirates proud, the fleet is gone, ye get no pries,  
When ship as swift as cloud, from weltering wau's a loft doth rise  
And cuts the waters wild, like scythe that shares, both grass & corn,  
In sooth you are begide, to lurk in creeks, and fish for scorn.  
When hoffing sails are hoiste, and shipman hath, escaped the race,  
Great folly for a Foist, through floods to follow on the chase:  
Your painted Galleys gay, till caulmes do come, dare stir no ore,  
Then creep close under bay, and hide your heads, when seas do roar.  
O busy bablars all, your tattling turns, to trifles still,  
And though you breed a brawl, the world may see, ye want your will:  
I have out sailed you clean, and placed myself in Prince's train,  
And keeps a merry mean, when you in discord beats your brain.  
Wherefore your jarring parts, doth sho from whence your notes doth ryes,  
Ye want the cunning arts, to blind my wits, or blear mine eyes.  
The more you strain your voice, to bring good Music out of frame,  
The less you may rejoice, to see how I have found the same:  
And so with smiling songs, I laugh and leave, you more and less,  
And put up many wrongs, that time and Fortune may redress.  
FINIS.   

¶ Of the quietness that plain Country bringeth.  
Among the rusty rocks,  
both rough and hard by kind,  
Where weather beats, and storms are brim,  
for each small blast of wind:  
Where springs no foreign fruits,  
nor dainties are not sought,  
Where common pleasures made for man,  
are not in Marketts bought.  
Where grows no grapes of wine, to glad the gripped breast,  
Nor stands no bowers to banquet in, young wantoness for to feast:  
Where people are not fine, nor yet no fools I trow,  
But plain as in the two picked staff, and plainly do they go.  
I settled am to live, and likes my lot as well,  
As they that have a richer home, or with great Princes dwell:  
Now find I each thing sweet, that sour I thought before,  
That in times paste did please me most, now me delights no more.  
The town and stony streets, I weary am to tread,  
The field but asks a Motley cote, as homely folks are clead:  
Now Frese and Kendal green, may serve in stead of Silk,  
And I that fed on Courtly fare, may learn to feed on Milk.  
And take such country cheer, as easily is maintained,  
No dish of gift but such in deed, as sweat of brows have gained.  
No platters full of bribes, these mountains forth do bring,  
A quiet morsel there is called, a bankett for a king:  
To eat and sleep in rest, to laugh and speak from fear,  
To be an honest neighbour named, is all that men seek there:  
No hollowness of hearts, no haughty ways are liked,  
No painted sheaths, no Peacocks proud, that have their feather pikte.  
Are seen upon these hills, nor in the dale likewise,  
Where those that dwell in cottage poor, do princely halls despise:  
A cruse of cold sour whey, the Sugared cup doth pass,  
In gilted bowls doth poison lurk, that spied is in the glass.  
The poor man tastes himself, the Prince dare not do so,  
Then better is the sured life, then doubtful days I trow:  
Did not Diogenes, set more store by his ton,  
Then of the worldly kingdoms all, that Alexander won.  
Did not that might prince, these words with tongue express,  
If Alexander were I not, make me Diogenes:  
Since kings would change their states, & holds the mean life best,  
Then blame not me where I do like, I seek to find some rest.  
FINIS.   

Of a fearful Dream.  

IF dreams be true, or tokens from above,  
Of things to come, by hap that shall a rise:  
Or if the Gods, have power men's thoughts to move:  
By course of stars, or Planets in the Skies,  
Or fearful sleeps, be warnyngs to the wise.  
Of sudden haps, that shall betide and fall:  
Then sure my dream, no fancy is at all.   

At midnight last, when Cocks began to crow,  
Within my bed, I started as I slept,  
Not well awake, in slumber as I trow:  
I saw a wight, whose face was all be wept,  
Which softly spoke, but boldly to me stepped.  
Who said thou man, these tears I spill for thee,  
That lov'st thy foes, and forcest not on me.   

But since thy tongue, can knit and then untwined,  
And trapp thy friends, whose trust is in thy troth,  
And seekest change, with such a greedy mind:  
And so forgetts, thy vow and solemn oath,  
Thou madest to me, when we consented both:  
To join in one, since thou from that dost flee,  
The Gods grant, I shall revenged be.   

But sure thy plague, I pity very sore,  
Thy conscience shall, condemn thee every where,  
And like as Cain, his life did here abore:  
And where he went, he lived still in fear,  
Yea so shallbe, the scourge that that thou shalt bear.  
And then at length, when none shall rid thy pain,  
Shalt kill thyself, lo so thou shalt be slain.   

These words so said, she flung out of the door,  
With brows ibent, and angry visage red,  
Wherewith I rose, and leapt upon the flore:  
And smote my breast, and hanged down the head,  
And yet with pain, I crept into the bed.  
And gave a sigh, and waked even so,  
And then my dream, I rolled to and fro.   

And as I weighed, how clear yet stood my care,  
And saw how dreams, prou's oft too true God knows,  
I said no word, but still I lay a space:  
Till one came in, and fell to brush my close,  
Then so from bed, a heavy man I rose.  
Misdoubting still, though yet full clear I was,  
Lest some ill chance, might bring my dream to pass.   
FINIS.   

Of a hard world.  
Hardness is headstrong, and will not be hampered,  
Largesse strait laced, and Pride to much pampered:  
Spend all with sparing, is so well acquainted,  
That librall free hearts, in shrine may be sainted.  
Holdfast will give nought, wealth seemeth needy,  
Well head is stopped, full mouths are greedy:  
Lean flies are feeding, that long hath been pined,  
None may be looked too, till hunger hath dined.  
Standbacke saith stoutness, let friends be first placed,  
Flattrars are faured, and troth still defaced:  
Mean well the harmless, is ever kept fasting,  
Do wrong dreeds nothing, the death everlasting.  
Fear nought speeds better, then doubt of offending,  
Mar all that michar, thinks near of a mending:  
Conscience can catch all, yet talk much of jesus,  
Need help who listeth, ye find few that ease you.  
high office forgetteth, lo friends that near failed,  
Time paste nothing thought on, when some wept and wailed:  
Seek praise can promise, and swiftly reputes him,  
When ye call on him, full close he absents him.  
New sleights unsaury, is now the ring leader,  
Old troth small set by, that was the true treader:  
Virtue abused, the world over floweth,  
What this will come to, at length the Lord knoweth.  
Mischief thus Master, men bend to such madness,  
May change ere we ween, our mirth to great sadness.  
FINIS.   

Made against Idle and vain Rhymes.  
A Pen employed to virtues things,  
a crown of glory gains,  
But idle verse small profit brings,  
the ink but paper stains:  
And fills the world with folly great,  
that springs on fancy's fits,  
Which blotts good name, and dulls the mind,  
and doth abuse the wits.  
The wanton rhyme for reckless youth, a pleasant babble is,  
Or else a Lantern void of light, that leads poor Lambs a mis:  
What shame is this to here how men, hath lost their sense for love,  
And daily die in lewd desires, that doth much mischief move.  
What fondness can be more than that, when lovers say lo here,  
The Gods of my life and death, and ground of gladsome cheer:  
What blasphemy is it to call, a creature by that name,  
Which God himself of right should bear, and best deserves the same.  
Put up your pens you Poets vain, that peevish rhymes do make,  
For shame leave of your Venus songs, that keepeth vice awake:  
Fling all your Fables in the fire, and follow virtues lore,  
That plants the perfit fear of God, where vire was grafted before.  
His fear keeps kings & kingdoms up, and sendeth subjects peace,  
For bless he but the barren soil, there each thing doth increase:  
The fields do flourish full of corn, the Harvest is full great,  
The empty Barns may plenty cry, and hungry findeth meat.  
If men did way what wealth doth rise, by fear of God alone,  
(And what fair works true wisdoms frams, upon the corner stone)  
They would no other buildings make, nor run and gad so fast,  
To toys and trifles any where, whose blosomes may not last.  
Wherefore away with wanton trash, such ware is waxed stolen,  
Shut up your shops you Printers all, that sets vain Rhymes to sale:  
And look upon the book of life, and there your cunning show,  
For all the rest but shadows are, as worthy heads do know.  
FINIS.   

Of the vanity of youth.  
WHen I wanton beardless boy,  
became first Venus thrall,  
My cheeks were smooth, my brows full plain,  
and round as tennis ball:  
My face well filled with lively blood,  
as youth did paint me out,  
With curled hear much like the grass,  
that in the Spring doth sprout.  
With Spathauks eyes in forehead set, both grey and greedy eke,  
And every member furnished well, there was no thing to seek:  
With heart as merry as the bird, that syngs on every spraie,  
With body clad in divers hews, as fresh as flower in May.  
But all these beauties took their leave, from me a long time sense,  
And in their place is come a jest, I can not tell from whence:  
But lodge he doth within my bones, they call him Age I trow,  
A drooping snogg that on his back, hath fardels full of woe.  
Who nill I will I must I bear, and yet it lames me much,  
My shoulders may my fingers curse, when they the pack did touch:  
With slouping down to take it up, my youth I have let fall,  
And after youth went my delits, and body pleasures all.  
For furred garments now I call, that did in Girkin jest,  
And fire must keep me from the Frost, or else no warmth I get:  
The blood forsakes the outward parts, and paleness there remains,  
With fevers cold and cramping stitch, are shrunken up my veins.  
The skin lies flat on every joint, unseemly to your sight,  
And I unfit for Venus' sprats, by day or candle light:  
With eye delits I feed my lust, and coveting desire,  
But when I should maintain the flame, I give but smoke for fire.  
My hollow looks makes some to laugh, that hears my youthful tongue,  
When that for age and aching limbs, my knell might well be rung:  
I call my reckless years to count, whose reckoning fears my wits  
For he that may control the same, within my conscience sits.  
And saith my dallying days are done, as graver years increase,  
So should I leave my former vice, and all my folly cease:  
Whereat I way my short time here, my lewd life long abused,  
And to the glass I stepped to see, how youth hath me refused.  
As Peacock then lett's fall his tail, that his black feet hath seen,  
So cast I down my painted sheath, that once was gay and green.  
And welcome say I silver hears, your hoary colour white,  
Hath overcome my youthful years, and quenched my delight.  
FINIS.   

Written of a gentleman, whose name is in the verses.  
MY hap was good, to find a friend,  
of such ripe sense and skill,  
As could deserve by deep foresight,  
the weight of my good will:  
The welcome great, for small deserts,  
and friendly favour found,  
Hath shriend my heart in Lambeth house,  
and there my body bound.  
En roll my name, among those friends, of whom a count ye make  
Way well my words, and as you do, of works some trial take:  
Pays every promise passed my mouth, and you must look for then,  
A deeper draft and higher style, to come from Churchyards pen.  
Receive in gree, the offered gift, that New years day brings forth,  
(Keep these bare verses as a pledge, of matter much more worth)  
And you shall hear the hammers beat, & thompe out other news,  
Relief is come to heavy head, and comforts now my mews.  
Gon is the gréesly glouming day, that kept the Son in shade,  
Out steps my hope with sails a flaunt, that erst no triumph made:  
Despair hath drowned himself in seas, and as cold courage sailed,  
Good Pilotts came and stirred the stern, and so my Ship prevailed.  
If Silla and Charibdes cli●es, could threaten my decay,  
Vain were the brags of rusty rocks, and mountains all I say:  
Except the Gods do frown on me, the straits I mind to pass,  
Though ship be forced, to try the tides, where never ship man was:  
Hit glads me much, that I shall sail, with wind & weather both▪  
Enbarkt with those that order keeps, and holds by right and troth.  
Give sea room Lord in storms distress, if any tempestries,  
Return I will not till it seems, my bark shall touch the Skies:  
Aloufe ye mates, run from the shore, my voyage hold I on,  
Come from your cabbeus' soldiers all, ere that the tide be gone:  
Increase your wealth, and work a push, whiles others look upon.  
Finis.   

Non est fides super terram.  
THere is no faith, upon the earth,  
as faith was wont to be,  
For faith with fraud and fineness now,  
hath chopped and changed degree:  
Faith is a firm and fast belief,  
that first from virtue came,  
And fraud and fineness is a wolf,  
that looketh like a Lamme.  
Then where is fast belief my friends, that neither faints nor quails,  
But fineness is not far to seek, and fraud you know prevails:  
So as the Psalm affirms & shows, no faith on earth we find,  
This hollow world, & hateful days, shows nought but hollow mind:  
We stretch out words, as far as wit, and skill of man may reach,  
As though in deed a subtle Fox, before the Geese should preach:  
But of good works we are so spare, we lay them up in store,  
As though they should take leave of world, and should be seen no more.  
Thus faith is fled, or tree is dead, that should bear fruit ye know,  
Then trust no bow, that brings but leave's, and blossoms for a show:  
Believe no goodly painted posts, that rotten are within,  
Believe no fliring feigned face, nor sleek and smoothed skin:  
Believe no courtlike kissing hands, and bowing body down,  
Believe no false dissembling brows, that aught of Nature frown.  
Believe no oaths nor promise patched, and peeced with desaite,  
Believe not those that feeds thine eyes, with sweet & pleasant bait:  
Believe no tune that likes the ear, and doth displease thine heart,  
Believe not him, on stage that plays, the merry vises part.  
Believe no friend that fauns too fast, he means to make thee faule,  
Believe no sweet and sugared speech, for therein lies the Gaul:  
Believe no more then good is found, for bad is most in place,  
And goodness in this graceless time, the people least embrace:  
On earth there is no faith God wot, for closely under tongue,  
The snake doth lodge, the serpents creep, & there man's heart is stung.  
I could show heaps of mischeeu's great, that follows man from birth,  
But to the wise, let this suffice, there is no faith on earth.  
Finis.   

Of a disdainful person.  

Disdain in thee doth spot thee much,  
Whose blot I see, within thy brow,  
No nother fault, in thee I touch:  
Of virtues all, thou hast enough,  
Then let no branch, of vice in thee,  
In foot the fruit of such a tree.   

For swelling hate, doth purches foes,  
And frets the mind, with gnawing thought,  
And harmless looks, embraceth those:  
Whose love for gold, can not be bought,  
And courteous speech, doth friendship stay,  
That froward words, doth cast away.   

Thou seest the fire, consumes his heat,  
With raging flames, that soon are gone,  
The green wood smocks, away with sweat:  
And warms them not, that lays it on,  
So thou with scorn, of anger's mood,  
But sins thyself, and doth no good.   

Thou seest also, the cankered knife,  
With rust and filth, defaced clean,  
What bale begins, and breeds through strife:  
Thou seest and know'st, now what I mean,  
By this thou seest, which is most meet,  
The bitter gall, or Sugar sweet.   

When wrath is spent, with over long spite,  
And no revenge, thou haste thereby,  
Then shalt thou lose, my friendship quite:  
A faster friend, then shall I try,  
Now whiles thou haste, the choice of two,  
Do knit the knot, or else undo.   
Finis.   

A letter to master Cressie.  
WHere first I footing found,  
and fancy favour sought,  
And offered faith with great estates,  
a free access had wrought:  
I mean among the rocks,  
both rough and hard by kind.  
Where storms do strive and weather beats,  
for every blast of wind.  
Where grows no Grapes for wine, to glad the gripped breast,  
Nor dainty heads ne weary bones, finds beds of Down to rest:  
I once again do stay, and lo such harbour have,  
As wandering years and tossed days, amid great tempests crave.  
Full long before this time, as Court did me deceive,  
In country close among sharp shrubs, I shaped by bones to leave:  
But dazzled dumb delights, did draw my body thence,  
And clean bewitched wild wandering wits, where I have wished me sense:  
Yet as with peevish pomp, did Pilgrim weary wax,  
And knowledge saw the cutting curbs, of cunning courtly knacks.  
I judged what difference was, between the mountains high,  
And carpets fine where flatterers flock, & deep disdain doth lie:  
And smoothly mischief smiles, yet leaves on Lady's laps,  
And at rebound ere ball come down, can snatch up worldly haps:  
The massy mountain great, that mossy mantel wears,  
Breeds no such goats nor grinning kids, nor fostereth no such fears.  
For there poor people plain, in ragged garments go,  
And loves the blunt and blotlesse life, and hates the painted show:  
And feeds as they do live, not farest with falshodd fine,  
Nor pampered up with French conceits, & mighty Spanish wine:  
No craft nor cautel creeps, in cups of cold sour whey,  
For gilded goblet hides the harms, that glass will soon bewray.  
So said I long ere this, so swear I now withal,  
So some have found ere Caesar's days, in goodly golden hall:  
O welcome wit well bought, though dear I paid for thee,  
Thou bringst for loss of time at Court, in country gain to me.  
Where now mine aged limbs, must grace or grave abide,  
And Peacock gay let fall his plumes, for all his pomp and pride:  
And where a harbour good, I hope my Bark hath found,  
Where ship shall still find flood at will, when thousands are a ground.  
Finis.   

A special trifle on a fickle woman.  
WHen pleasure could no more desire, & will his wish had won,  
When fancy past the flaming fire, and love his race had ron:  
When every joy that heart would have, in gladsome breast was found  
And nothing lacked that love could crave, to salve a festered wound.  
When suits were hanged on the hedge, and plaints were out of place,  
And liking great gave faith in pledge, the pains should purches grace:  
Nay rather when the fruit was had, that grows on top of tree,  
And clasping hand took by good hap, the Honey from the Bee:  
And eight years troth was thoroughly tried, a proof not common sure,  
(That any hawk the perch would bide, or like so long on lure:)  
Then fickle freaks made Haggard soer, and shaked of bells in spite,  
And plainly meant to come no more, for Gill would play the Kite.  
Her friend but past the foaming seas, and hence a space remained,  
But Gill would needs to take her ease, for pleasure be retained:  
An other where, O judge my friends, what wrong I suffer here,  
And let the dealings of us both, before the world appear.  
FINIS.   

Verses written on the Muster that was made by the Pensioners before the Queen.  
AS Mars began to bend his brow,  
and Soldiers sought for war,  
And Vulcan made the armour shine,  
as bright as Venus' star:  
I listened to the Trumpet loud,  
that sounds a bloody blast,  
And so among the Martial men,  
an armed Pike I paste.  
Now whether goes this noble crew, qd I O lively boys,  
Leave of said wit such lewd demands, suffice to hear the noys:  
Of Drum and Trumpet in the field, and march without delay,  
Be pleased to serve when Prince doth call, content thee with thy pay.  
On went the clattering harness straight, and up to horse we mount,  
The Muster master and his clerk, came both to take a count:  
Of all the poulls that paste in rank (like Soldiers for the broil,)  
And paid them wages by the month, that else would live by spoil.  
It was an other world to see, the bands how trim they wear,  
And every one in colours gay, his own device did bear:  
Upon the barbs that serves for shock, when trumpet slaughter sounds,  
And Cannon shot like tennis balls, in soldiers laps rebounds:  
A goodly troop of armed men, did pass the Muster thoe,  
Which was to friend as glad a sight, as fearful to the foe.  
I saw a sacred Sibbell sage, (attired in mourning weeds,)  
Sit sadly in her Cotche the while, to see the foaming steeds:  
That played upon the pleasant Bit, and bore the head so brave,  
As though their looks to coward minds, a trembling terror gave.  
These Palfraies praunced o'er the plain, and on their backs did ride,  
In warlike sort a worthy band, that well the horse could guide:  
Some for devise in fiery flames, were painted finely then,  
And so about the smothering smoke, there was some art of pen.  
And some wear all imbrued in blood, a badge of war ye wot,  
That Soldiers for reward of toil, in field have often got:  
Some leaned unto pillars large, some lacked props to stay,  
Some lighted candles at a torch, whose Lamps did burn away.  
Some slew with wings as Cupid doth, some to the clouds would climb,  
Some headlong fell into the seas, thus lo as served the time:  
They drew in colours their device, the show was so set out,  
It me amazed and many more, that there did gaze about.  
But yet I marked a friend of mine, full richly trimmeth and clad,  
Who shone as bright as Phoebus doth, amid his golden bed:  
He sat all closed in a hope, and leaned on his arm,  
As though he feared some outward hap, or felt some inward harm.  
And to declare some odd conceit, of fancies fallen in thought,  
As he this time was decked in gold, and robes full finely wrought:  
The next day after came he in, as he some friend had lost,  
For horse and man was thoroughly turned, to black from gold embossed.  
I dreamt on that strange devise, when I came home at night,  
And rolled up and down in head, the noble warlike sight:  
That I had seen the day before, and in my sweven thoe,  
Me thought that Cupid with a dart, gave this black knight a blow.  
That pierced through his coat of steel, and struck him ded withal,  
Yet Venus stayed him in her hand, as he to ground did fall:  
O bloody boy what hast thou done, qd she to Cupid straight,  
Thou shalt no more be Venus' son, (by all the Gods on height.)  
I swear, a vaunt out of my sight, this man shall lieu again,  
Whereat the lukewarm blood began, to comfort every vain:  
And gasping wide a breath he took, and so recoured there,  
I cried a loud amid my sleep, and wakened with the fear.  
Lo what it is to run abroad, where Martial people be,  
It makes men dream of bugs and bears, & things that they did see:  
Yet sure well worth the looking on, the sight was that I saw,  
I tell you troth a few such bands, would keep our foes in awe.  
And beautify both court and field, and win our land much fame,  
In happy hour the Pensionars here, did first begin their name:  
In happy time the Prince did place, such props about the state,  
I say no more in every case, God give them happy fate.  
FINIS.   

Written of the Queen, when her highness was in trouble.  
MIstrust not troth, that truly means,  
for every gellows freak,  
Instead of wrong condemn not right,  
no hidden wrath to wreak:  
Look on the light of faultless life,  
how bright her virtues shine,  
And measure out her steps each one,  
by level and by line.  
Deem each desert by upright guess, whereby your praise shall live,  
If malice would be matched with might, let hate no judgement give:  
Enforce no fear with wresting wits, in quiet consciens breast,  
Lean not your ears to busy tongues, which breedeth much unrest:  
In doubtful drifts wade not to far, it wearies but your mind,  
Search not to know the secret heart, whose thoughts are hard to find.  
Avoid from you those hateful heads, which helps to heap mishaps,  
Be slow to hear the flattrars voice, who creepeth in your laps:  
Embrace their love's that wills you good, & sporne not at their praies  
Trust not to much unto yourselves, for tickle are your stays.  
How should your seat be settled sure, or stand on steadfast ground,  
So propped up with hollow hearts, whose surety is unsound:  
Give faith to those that fears for love, and not that love for fear,  
Regard not those that force compels, to please you every where:  
All this well weighed and borne away, 〈…〉 long your state,  
Continually, with perfect peace, in 〈…〉 hate.  
Finis.   

Verses given the queens highness at windsor.  
MY pen doth quake in trembling hand,  
as heart discouraged wert,  
My mews me fails, my senses blush,  
my skill creeps back for fear:  
To write the verse that duty crau's,  
O Lodestarre clear of light,  
Whose beauty dims the Son by day, & darks the Moon by night.  
Thou wretched man call home those works, the careless bore thy name  
And sift the purest of those lines, this verse of new to frame:  
You Poets all of this ripe age, who hath the cunning brains,  
Come moist my dry & dulled pen, with your sweet flowing veins.  
For I writ not of earthly mould, this is some spark divine,  
The self-same Gods as I guess, pleased Paris eyen:  
Yea Pallas wit, and juno's praise, this Venus leads away,  
Th'apple of gold she hath possessed, in scorn of who say nay.  
Praise not your ladies where she comes, ye courtiers for your lives,  
Boast not in little flowering Nymphs, in maids ne married wives:  
Except you mind to answer this, before high jove in Skies,  
Whose justice will give sentence sure, against your blinded eyes.  
A sacred Queen, a stately port, what need I cloak it more,  
Hath won the fame of beauties boast, when she lest looks therefore:  
And lest account of beauty makes, for lo full deep in breast,  
Her virtues bloom, her gifts do bud, her heavenly grace's rest.  
Which is the mark my pen shoots at, if wit may bring about,  
To spread her such eternal fame, as world shall near wipe out:  
A further gift shall time unfold, if this may favour find,  
As statelier style, and higher verse, shall serve the maker's mind.  
After this was delivered, all my devices and shows in prograses every where, attended to no other purpose, but for the honouring of her highness most excellent virtues.  
Finis.   

¶ A New years gift to the Earl of Ormond, given at Kilkennie, when the Earl of Essex was in Ireland.  
AN ancient gise hath been,  
this day for diverse drifts,  
(Among our friends to wish good year,)  
and give some New years gifts:  
Yea of the meanest man,  
the greatest Prince will take,  
And none that can conceive good will,  
do friendly gifts forsake.  
And sure this custom old, in Court full long I kept,  
Till close in bosom like a Snake, cold thankless hearts were crept:  
But when I saw them swell, and look for richer ware,  
(Yea gape for braver blossoms gay, than barren branch could spare)  
I held my talon dear, and set my pen a side,  
As one that scorned to sow good corn, and reap disdainful Pride:  
Perhaps some judged straight, this was a craving kind,  
And eager hawk for pleasant pray, did hover in the wind.  
I answer those conceits, let it be tried and found,  
That ever to the players hands, did any haul rebound:  
Or ever any wight, for twenty years device,  
Gave one good turn, or yielded thing, of any fame or price.  
Then let me bear the blame, of craver in this case,  
O my gone Lord, who blusheth not, before the niggards face:  
To show an empty bag, why all our country knows,  
That Carpet knights could never spare, the dropping of their nose.  
And Courtiers at receipt, do lie them selu's as near,  
As cunning dog that draws a suit, and pouleth done the dear:  
Then this must noted be, that all the pains I took,  
Of faithful mind must needs arise, and not of greedy look.  
Which mind awakes me now, to haules a noble wight,  
With welcome home, and cry all hail, Achilles' Martial knight:  
Yea mighty Mars himself, thy country can record,  
When oft from field thou hast retournde, a victor and a Lord,  
That land is threefold blest, that many such can show,  
That prince full safe shall sleep in rest, that can bid such men go:  
To serve, when need requires, though hate would hide the same,  
Who well deserves should well belikt, each man ought have his fame  
Each thing ought be esteemed, as lo the valour is.  
I know no other name for gold, but gold, then note well this,  
I flourish not with pen, to faun or flatter here:  
For if I find with base bruit, ye do begin this year:  
And noble nature change, and turn to other trade,  
another kind of nipping verse, be sure, there shallbe made.  
For virtues sake alone, I honour you in deed,  
So take the gift and way it well, and do these verses reed:  
And where the mind is fraught, with any spark of grace,  
Redouble that, so Churchyards verse, shall honour Ormonds' race.  
FINIS.   

¶ A touch stone to try an error from a troth.  
IF I may ask, and you may tell,  
I pray you let me know,  
Why are so few, preferred in Court,  
yet thither still we go:  
Why wanders world, where charge is great,  
and chance is hardly won,  
The rich and wise, exchange their wealth,  
for shadows in the Son.  
Why spend they heaps of weighty wealth, for toys and trifles light,  
Where times and hours do alter still, and day is turned to night:  
Good diet changed to basest cheer, good tourns to bad disgrace,  
Good words to taunts, good works to wiles, & plainness finds no place  
Come men to gaze, and not to get, to spend and not to spare,  
To rise with pomp● and fall in debt, and ruin ere they beware:  
That bag & bare reward can court, thee give to keep thou warm,  
But under that cold courtly knack, there lies a further harm.  
To country in thine youth or age, thou must return again,  
Where lands are sold, & rents are shrunk, in seams of garments vain:  
Then tell me what good hap in court, thou find or left behind,  
Nay thou hast brought a corzie thence, that near shall out of mind.  
For which the world shall point at thee, when scarce well worth a pin  
Young master is for all his pomp, and braury he was in:  
In court if Cock be turned from thee, the spring will run awry,  
Admit at Well thou wilt not draw, thou goest to please thine eye.  
What are the sports and pleasures there, is waiting such an ease,  
Is staring on the twinkling stars, a thing that may thee please:  
Is Flattery to be followed so, is Fineness sutthe a saint,  
That Plainness must from country go, and learn in court to paint.  
O blind belief, and boldness great, that thinks gay golden hall,  
The gladsome seat of sweet content, and worldly glories all:  
Who sails the Seas, and sees the waw's, and surges rise a fit,  
Will wish amid those striving streams, his feet on land full oft.  
But when big bouncing bellowe beats, against bare rotten bark,  
(And ship is tossed with tumbling tides, in Winter nights full dark:)  
Farewell fresh water soldier straight, thy heart or gall is broke,  
Thy body would be in a mood, at home by chimneys smoke.  
The Court to Sea I do compare, where calm appears long while,  
(And friends that tourns with fortunes wheel, in face will laugh & smile:)  
But let them once but see the lack, the calmy clouds will lower,  
And bravest speech, and sweetest words, will turn to bitter sour.  
He serves not one, but waits on all, that there would placed be,  
And bound he is at beck and call, to high and lo degree:  
Now trudge and trot at one man's heels, then to an other straight,  
Not that good hap is got with wit, and favour comes by sleight.  
But for one man, hath but one voice, and seldom speak he will,  
To do thee good except such speech, proceeds of deeper skill:  
But my demand is why dost thou, that mayest from court live well,  
Desire to change thy heavens bliss, to feel the pains of hell.  
First all thy sails must be a flaunt, that ship full wind may have,  
Is that no pain to clap on clouts, and make free mind a slave:  
Next must thou wait, & stand full still, or turn like wether cock,  
Where every thing that thou dost crave, is under double lock.  
Then for thy food thou must make shift, or thrust amid the throng,  
Where always those that best deserve, do suffer greatest wrong:  
On fasting days, thy purse is plaegde, when triumphs comes adieu,  
Avoid the press, the Court throughout, is filled with faces new.  
When strangers come, the people swarm, like Bees about the hive,  
Then mayest thou not in Court be bold, nor yet with stranger strive:  
To tabling houses high thee then, so purse doth never rest,  
And he is at no little charge, in Court that speedeth best.  
Then tell what brings thee thither thus, perharps fair goodly shose  
Whose beauties passeth as a flower, and withers like a Rose:  
Nay Tom will be a lusty boy, and known for credit sake,  
Among the best that of high hearts, a good a count may make.  
Why Court makes not but of a few, and those I say are they,  
That holds with Hare, and hunts with hound, & goes with game away  
If that but few in Court do thrive, why do such numbers flock,  
Where fortune borrows all they have, and pays them with a mock.  
If ten within one Prince's reign, the Court doth well advance,  
Ten score comes home by weeping cross, or finds but crooked chance:  
A year or two might well suffice, to try what grace will grow,  
A longer time but breeds an ebb, where Fortune's flood should flow.  
To tarry till our time runs out, that none can call again,  
Is loss of wealth, and spoil of wit, and break of sleep and brain:  
Some haply for thy shape or sense, in Court may make the stay,  
But bite not at those baited hooks, whose net fine fish betray.  
Some offers help that love's great trains, and would be waited on,  
Such feed themselves with new conceits, when old device is gone:  
And leads poor younglings like the lambs, that must go suck the ewes  
Seek not in Court for such fine friends, but shrine such saints for shreaus.  
Some neither tells what they will do, nor will do aught at all.  
Yet giveth hope to hapless men, and so lett's favour fall:  
Among them catch it who that can, as good take smoke from fire,  
(Or shadow from the shining Son,) as by that way aspire.  
Some are not to be spoken with, but those have cunning shifts,  
To drive out time, and lengthen suits, with long delays and drifts:  
Some speak thee fair to suck out sap, from goodly blouming tree,  
So traps the silly hungry Mouse, whose haste no harms can see.  
When thou hast spied these sorts of men, and found much labour lost,  
Why dost thou by thy courting thus, with such great charge & cos●:  
I ask where many are undone, why do the rest repair,  
For them that seeketh to be sold, it is no common fair:  
Nor common plot to feed upon, if nag be lean before,  
Court rather is a presious place, that still maintains the store.  
A private soil to fat a few, that hap hath hedged in,  
A ground for those that from their birth, hath always happy been:  
The greatest number have great skoupe, and roulm enough at will,  
Where they may grossly pike up crumbs, or feed on grass their fill.  
A dish and dainty of the Court, no meat for mowers is,  
Then why to court doth come such press, I pray you tell me this:  
Great numbers have been spoiled there, and few in deed preferred,  
But such as world thought best upon, and Gods themselves regard.  
Full forty years by turn and times, the Court I haunted have,  
And still in hope of doing well, I thought deserts should crave:  
Now wrote I Rhymes, than made I books, than song before the best  
Made plays in peace, and for the wars, a soldier ready priest.  
In every Prograsse near the Prince, with some new odd device,  
A merry Christmas man at home, not stately, strange, nor nice:  
But glad to please and purchase friends, and yet for all these things,  
My bells are of, and I abroad, may fly if I had wings:  
O gallants gay when your rich robes, gins to change their hue,  
The Court will hang the head a side, and bid you all adieu.  
Youth lasts not long, age soon decay, and goes like candle out,  
To fall of leaf each fruit shall yield, that erst in spring did sprout:  
But as new parts and players still, steps up upon the stage,  
So gallants to the Court will come, and did in every age.  
But I much muse, why people swarm, where surety is unsound,  
And few are helped, & thousadns have, much sharp misfortune found.  
FINIS.   

For the loss of a mighty and noble man's favour.  
IF tears may try my truth,  
that trickle down my cheeks,  
Or if good will by proof be known,  
in years, in days, or weeks:  
Then do I wrong receive,  
where friendship crave I most,  
And where in deed with every storm, my vessel hath been toast.  
And through the tempests all, my ship hath safely sailed,  
And yet no seas might hurt my Bark, my hope hath so prevailed:  
O help you Courtiers now, and Soldiers every chon,  
To wail my plague and present state, my Fortune fled and gone.  
And wail this woeful world, wherein most friends do faint,  
And namely such as tracked of time, hath taught by tongues to paint.  
And promesd more by words, then will or work performs,  
Such have the kernels eaten all, and are the greedy worms:  
That gnaws the hearts of men, in pieces every day,  
And such have led my ship alas, a weary wilsome way.  
From whence if I return, I shall but wander still,  
And find no seas to sail upon, that may content my will:  
Fie on my country soil, there is no surety found,  
A chancelesse race mine age must try, amid a doubtful ground.  
Here have I hoiste my sail, as high as wind can blow,  
Here had I friends whose nod or beck, a world may overthrow:  
And still my staying staff, did stand by one alone,  
Whose gentle heart is now become, as hard as Marble stone.  
To me the case is such, the mischief so is mine,  
When I am worn unto the bones, he lets me starve and pine:  
And lets me sink or swim, or shift by sleight of brain,  
As though my head so game some were, to set on every main.  
Thus friendship feeble grows, and men can causeless change,  
And will this day familiar be, and wax to morn full strange:  
I will go fish for Fate, through floods and salt sea foam,  
And rather die on wretched rocks, then perish here at home.  
Among my chiefest friends, amid my native soil,  
Where never erst in any point, I suffered blot or foil:  
Where all the world may see, I sucked up many a wrong,  
Where well away the rich may think, a poor man liu's to long:  
Where let my truth be tried, I claim no small reward,  
And where if fortune do me right, the prince ought me regard.  
FINIS.   

Verses that were given to the queens majesty.  
AS Thunder cracks with horling noys,  
ronns' rattling through the Skies,  
For fear whereof great flocks of Sheep,  
to Fold or covert flies:  
Or as the dreadful judges voice,  
of life sharp sentence gives,  
And causeth captives quake for fear,  
that under mercy liu's.  
So hearing from your highness mouth, a word of wonders weight,  
Like hound I clapped down my ears, & couched in kennel straight:  
And drooping in this world's disdain, that drounds each good desert,  
I sucked up sighs as sorrow shaped, to break a blistered heart.  
Yet gripping grief in groaning breast, bred no such swelling sore,  
But salve of sweet contented mind, had healed long before:  
Though near the dungeon of despair, in darkness did I dwell,  
And Charon came with careful boat, to row me down to hell.  
I held my hands to heaven high, where hope and help is had,  
And so apeald to him above, that heavy minds may glad:  
Fear not qd he of froward Fate, that fast on people fauls,  
Nor shone not (for a cottage poor) the princely golden hauls.  
In Court thou shalt thy credit seek, for she who sceptre bears,  
Shall show thee favour when I list, and look upon thy tears:  
Her judgement tries the gold from dross, & where doth virtues bud,  
She frankly speaks and freely gives, and flings forth worldly good.  
When he that rules the hearts of kings, had told this tale to me,  
To court I came for cause well known, and kneeling on my knee:  
At closet door where Prince doth pass, to prayer mildly than,  
I found by words and gracious looks, I was a happy man.  
O blessed be that cheerful brow, where Phoebus' beams did shine,  
And everlasting light remain, amid those blessed eyen:  
That like the stars or Lamp of day, that blazeth broad in Skies,  
Doth drive dark clouds & night away, when blostring blasts arise.  
And as there burns great gifts of grace, in her like candle clear,  
So God uphold her blessed face, among us many a year.  
Finis.   

¶ A rebuke to vain lovers.  

WHy art thou bound, that mayest be free,  
Shall reason yield, to raging will:  
Is thraldom like, to liberty,  
Wilt thou exchange, the good for ill.  
Then must thou learn, a childish play,  
And of each smart, to taste and prove,  
When lookers on, shall judge and say:  
Lo this is he, that ●●u's by love.   

Thy wits with thought, shall stand at stays,  
Thine head shall have, but heavy rest:  
Thine eyes shall watch, for wanton ways,  
Thy tongue shall show, thy heart's request.  
Thine ears shall hear, a thousand nays,  
Thine hand shall put thy pen to pain:  
But in the end, thou shalt dispraise,  
Thy life so spent, for such small gain.   

First cast the care, and count the cost,  
And way what fraud, in love is found:  
Then after come, and make thy boast,  
And show some cause, why thou art bound.  
When that the wine, hath run full low,  
Thou shalt be glad, to drink the lies:  
And basse the flesh, full oft I know,  
That hath been blown, with many flies.   

If love and lust, might never cope,  
And youth might run, in measures race,  
Or if long suit, might win sure hope,  
I would less blame, a lovers case.  
But love is great, with hot desire,  
And sweet delight, makes youth so fond:  
That little sparks, do prove great fire,  
And brings free hearts, to endless bond.   

We see where great devotion is,  
The people creep, and kiss the cross:  
Wherefore I find, less fault with this,  
though fondlyng gild, a bridells boss.  
The fool his babble will not change,  
Not for the sceptre of a king:  
A lovers life, is nothing strange,  
For young men seeks no other thing.   
FINIS.   

¶ Of feigned friendship.  
IN friends are found a heap of doubts,  
that double dealing use,  
A swarm of such I could find out,  
whose craft I could accuse:  
A face for love, a heart for hate,  
those fawning friends can bear,  
A tongue for troth, a head for while,  
to fraud the simple ear.  
In humble port is poison packed, that plainness can not spy,  
Who credits all and can not see, where stinging serpents lie:  
With hasty trust the harmless heart, is easily hampered in,  
And made believe it is good Gold, that is but Led and Tin.  
The first deceit that blears our eyes, is feigned faith professed,  
The second trap is grating talk, that gropes each stranger's breast:  
The third device is greeting words, with colours stretched out,  
Which bids suspect to fear no snares, nor dread no dangers doubt:  
The last and worst is long repair, that crepes in frendshipps lap,  
And daily haunt that under trust, deviseth many a trap:  
Lo how false friends can frame a fetch, to win their wills with wiles,  
And sauce their sleights with sugared sops, & shadoe hurt with smiles.  
To serve their lusts are sundry sorts, that practise diverse kinds,  
Some carry Honey in their mouths, & venom in their minds.  
Thus where that custom ●ou●leth men, in vice and foul abuse,  
No fear of God nor loss of name, there manners may reduce:  
Me think the stones within the street, should cry out at this case,  
And every one that should them meet, should shone their double face.  
FINIS.   

¶ Verses that wear given to a most mighty parsonage.  

O Peerless Prince, if pen had purchased praise,  
My part was played, long since on public stage:  
Sith Leaden world, disdains the golden days,  
With face of Brass, men must go through this age.  
Though Poets prate, like Parrot in a cage,  
Poor Tom may sit, like Crow upon a stone,  
And crack hard Nuts, for Almonds sure are gone.   

A Fig for verse, and filled gallant styles,  
Whose rambling 'noys, but thunders in the air:  
For pleasant words, procures but scorns and smiles,  
Or cloaks cold showers, in calmy weather fair.  
My spised terms, are drowned in deep despair,  
Young wits hath run, old Churchyard out of breath:  
And babbling books, hath ridden Rhyme to death.   

Both Prose and Rhyme, doth go a begging now,  
And Fineness fraes, so savours on the school:  
That learning leans, unto a rotten bow,  
And Science walks, but like a riding fool.  
Yea tongue and pen, are both to weak a tool,  
To work for gain, in greedy world God knows:  
Where Fortune's flood, to needless river goes.   

Some drinks their fill, yet makes the world believe  
Well head is dry, where water freely glides:  
When poor men weep, such laugh within their sleeve  
And smoothly look, yet wisely watch their tides.  
In brimmest storms, their Barks at Anchor rides,  
When fire would burn, so snatch the coals away:  
If favour were, in trial as it seems,  
The noble Court, alone were Churchardes stay,  
The fountain head, where bubbling springs do play,  
Is fittest place, for tree but newly cropped:  
If Cock would run, and Conduit were not stopped.   

Who stands below, and looks till Apples fall,  
(And hopes to eat, that others shaketh down:)  
Is like to catch, a shadow from a wall,  
Or watch a ball, that never gives reboune.  
Constrained to cry, to her that wears the crown,  
I wait mine hour, or foerst to part the land:  
Thus helpless man, seek's help at Caesar's hand.   
FINIS.   

¶ The lovers of the world.  

I See their sleights, and secret science,  
That sues to serve, and are out cast:  
I see those Dames, that draws the lines,  
That shuts the nets, when fish are fast.  
I see some stand, and crave a look,  
Like eager hawks, that watch their pray:  
For want of bait, they bite the hook,  
Like loving worms, they spend the day.   

I see some smile, that makes men smart,  
Which liu's unlearnde, in lovers laws:  
Yet with their wits, and wily art,  
With fondlyng food, they feed the Daws.  
Light trifling toys, will children please,  
As well as gold, or presious stones:  
The fawning whelpps, thinks them at ease,  
When flesh is gone, to gnaw the bones.   

I see thee still, and quiet sort,  
When such as I, the sturdy tempest tries:  
And yields to shocks, as swelling surges rise.   

More bold than wise, to trouble Caesar's cares,  
With bare devise, and dew of barren brain:  
But dangers doubt, and dread of further fears,  
Bids homely gest, be bold and ply the main.  
Through hazards great, a gobb of gold we gain,  
The Dice must run, and such as light on luck:  
May live from lack, and weald this worldly muck.   

The Merchant thriu's, through venturing ship and goods,  
(If vessel scape, a flaw or pirates sleight:)  
The soldiers gain, their fame by manly moods,  
And wins the field, where coward dare not fight.  
The suitor may, not sleep in things of weight,  
But watch and speak, and venture boldly throw:  
They come by fruit, that clims the highest bow.   

Blind Destiny deals, the dole when all is done,  
Toil reaps but tears, and troth hath empty hand:  
In vain the wise, about the world doth roune:  
For stay of state, that doth in Destiny stand.  
The hapless then, doth build his house on sand,  
No pen prevails, no service wins reward:  
Till labours long, by Fortune be preferred.   

Where Ladders lack, in vain the clouds he climbs,  
No cunning helps, nor courage can do good:  
At Cannon mouth, than lay down idle Rhymes,  
And win the rest, by death and loss of blood.  
Where seas are dry, in vain we fish the modd,  
Where neither suit, nor service getteth grace:  
Fly from the foil, and give fond Fortune place.   

It may be so, amid the most extremes,  
Which sits and marks, these jangling jays:  
Yet findeth game, and goodly sport,  
To see such birds, caught in the sprays.  
I see them laugh, when lovers lower,  
There doetting time, hath taught them wit:  
Who knows what means, both sweet and sour,  
Will fly the force, of fancy's fit.   

I see some sheep, but yet no fools,  
Which use to room, among the rout:  
Yea skilful scholars, of the schools,  
For they can choose, the fairest out,  
The Hunter knows, the fattest dear,  
Amid the herd, where game doth run:  
These men likewise, as doth appear,  
Among the Stars, finds out the Son.   

I see how craft, can cloak his care,  
And paint his plaints in paper plain:  
As Merchants do, set forth their ware,  
And lie full loud, for little gain.  
I see how troth, would tell his tail,  
And through he goes among the swarm:  
I see how beauty makes a stolen,  
To take young fry, that thinks no harm.   

Much more is seen, that escapes mine eyes,  
An Argoes were, full rare to find:  
This is a glass, to show the wise,  
That wilful love, is ever blind.  
It thinks it doth, itself so shroud,  
That none can see, his trade nor trace:  
How should he walk, with in a cloud,  
When love is written in his face.   
Finis.   

¶ Of a noble mind.  
THe noble mind that scorns to stoop,  
at base and wretched things,  
As quick as thought, mounts up the Skies,  
with swift aspiring wings:  
Not looking down, to dead delits,  
that drounds the wits in dross,  
(And carries weak and simple brains,  
about with muck and moss.)  
But bearing heart and head so high, as judgement well may go,  
The haughty spirit climbs through the clouds, & leave's vain world below  
I mean the manly courage great, that stoutly strives for state,  
Disdains the doltish dunghill Kites, and flies the Fancons great.  
And coming once to mountain top, from whence men see the vale,  
A fit it keeps like gallant Bark, that hath a bouncing gale:  
Then clap on clouts and sea room seek, adieu the doubtful shore,  
In shallow stream, or rivers small, we harbour ship no more.  
To lofty seas whose waves do work, with each small wind that blows  
Set course and Bark, that Pilots sage, may see how fortune goes:  
The mind is base that digs and delves, where Destiny scorns to dwell  
In highest soils are heavens sought, on earth is nought but hell.  
Who holds down head & hangs the groin, a coward's heart he bears,  
He dares not look on shining Son, that every shadow fears:  
His comb is cut his courage gone, that droops or takes disgrace,  
The medson for a great mischance, is merry cheerful face.  
The sweetest nuts and fairest fruits, from tops of trees we take,  
On highest rocks or stately bows, gay birds their nests they make  
And near the ground tame daws do breed, & simple doves you find,  
The carrain Crow flies here below, when hawk doth soer the wind,  
Wherefore let noble minds alone, their course doth pass our skill:  
Their hearts are filled with pleasant hops, that feeds their fancies still.  
FINIS.   

¶ Of doubtful hope.  

HIs hope is hard, that seeks for fire from frost,  
And feeds on flames, of eager fancy still:  
And sows in hope, and reaps but labour lost,  
And wisheth much, and wastes with want of will.  
Whose mounting mind, builds castles in the air,  
And heavy heart, lies drowned in deep despair.   

O restless race, that like the hour glass ronns,  
With grains of grief, and so begins again:  
O fearful Fate, that all good Fortune shuns,  
Oh torment strange, that hath no end of pain.  
O dreerie life, that death disires in deed,  
Whose twined state, untwistes like feeble thread.   
FINIS.   

Of the flaunting world.  
THis world is all a flaunt,  
like Ship full under sail,  
As swift to gather as the Ant,  
and slow to give as Snail:  
The Ant in Summer time,  
provides for Winter's food,  
The Snail as slowly doth he climb, so doth he little good.  
The one learns man to save, the other slowly glides,  
To bid men work as time they have, to walk & watch their tides,  
That lesson of the Snaill, is slowly looked unto,  
So that this silly creeping soul, full little good can do.  
And hourders up of wealth, are in the self-same plight,  
Yet doth the Ant for deep foresight, man's judgement more delight.  
But flaunting late came up, the gise is somewhat new,  
The Rainboes colours doth it bear, and yet it hath no hew:  
The glory of the same, ten thousand stains will take,  
And scarce the wisest men do know, of flaunting what to make.  
He plants with others flowers, she brau's in boroude weeds,  
But never none could reap good fruit, of such vain rotten seeds:  
This flaunting squares it out, and keeps a cruel coil,  
But in the end this new found toy, doth bring them all to spoil,  
On braury it begun, with beggary shall it end,  
This bow is shaped of such a wood, shall either break or bend,  
A flaunt a flaunt my boys, but flante to far farewell,  
Make much of world, ye neither come in heaven nor in hell.  
The saints disdain your pomp, the Devils fear your pride,  
Then purchase Purgatory now, and there let flaunting bide:  
So flounce and flaunt your fill good world should weary wax,  
Of strange devise that sturrs the state, to strife through new found knacks.  
Finis.   

Of a fantastical dream taken out of Petrarke.  

THe thing I liked in sleep, I found a dream untrue,  
What me misliked was true, I saw with open eyes:  
A sleep I dreamt and thought, my cheer had changed hue,  
A wake I felt and found, my former grief aryes.  
You wakened senses now, why hear you not and see,  
Those things I heard and saw, when dreams apperde to me:  
What foolish custom keeps, my wretched eyes accursed,  
In sleep to see the best, awake behold the worst.   

When pleasantly I sleep, a peace was promised me,  
When woefully I waked, my wars renewed again:  
When pleasantly I slept, in bliss I thought to be,  
When woefully I waked, of hell I felt the pain.  
If truth annoy me then, and falsehood please me best,  
With all my heart I wish, no truth in me may rest:  
Since waking works me woe, and sleep contents my will,  
God grant I never wake, but live by sleeping still.   

Thrice happy are the beasts, by slombring sleep that live,  
Six months in quiet rest, with eyes iclosed fast:  
I do not say such sleep, a shape of death doth give,  
Nor waking represent, the life that aye doth last.  
Contrary humours lo, possess my mased mind,  
In waking death I feel, in sleeping life I find:  
If sleep the figure be, of death as most men say,  
Come quickly death O death, and close mine eyes in clay.   
Finis.   

A fancy as an answer to that dream.  
SOme feel by dreams more joy,  
than any other way,  
And those do steal such sport by nights,  
they care not for the day:  
The sick as well as sound,  
hath such conceits in breast,  
By slombring sleeps, and swevons sweet,  
they dream they have some rest.  
The thirsty thinks by dream, he drinks and cools his heat,  
But that I call a cow devise, to quench a fever great:  
So love that liu's with dreams, on fancy's food may feed,  
Yet want as much a sleep or wake, as they that starve for need.  
If pleasure we conceive, through sight the same doth grow,  
Then waking is the chiefest friend, and sleep a mortal foe:  
The eye must first be fixed, ere senses feeling find,  
And so in sleep some watching spirit, awakes the drowsy mind.  
Though body seems to sleep, and takes his ease in bed,  
The vital veins are working still, and soul is never dead:  
Thus prove I that we wake, when sleep beclipps the ghost,  
And waking wits and stirring blood, doth comfort nature most.  
A dream more life doth show, than death or lompishe sleep,  
And by the motion of such dreams, our soul and life we keep:  
So grant I that our sleeps, a waking Nature have,  
For sleep itself is 'nough but death, as bed presents the grave.  
Though beast is praised for sleep, yet man hath better mood,  
To wake and seek through breathing breast, to live by angel's food:  
Then let lewd fancy sleep, with beast and if you please,  
It is the quick and waking muse, that most my sense doth ease.  
Finis.   

¶ A fantasy on fifteen words, ending all in one letter.  
IF friendship faint or Fortune fail,  
and flood forsakes to flow,  
Yet call for hope to hoist up sail,  
a gale of wind may blow:  
When sorrow comes and sighs increase,  
with wicked worldly woe,  
Believe the best of bad mischance,  
and ease thy burden so.  
The child that never felt the rod, may out of order go,  
The horse that can no bridle bide, no pace nor train will show:  
'tis better friend reform thy fauts, then take rebuke of foe,  
The wood that breaks when it should bend, will never make good bow.  
That heart is weak which for small grief, consums & melts like snow,  
The rose nor flower is near the worse, that doth near nettle grow:  
A man may suffer much in heart, though shoe do nipp his toe,  
A quiet man may live full long, that dwells in house with shrew.  
The Falcon flies a stately gate, in spite of carrion crow,  
Some makes a merry gladsome cheer, yet feels great care ye know  
Some have a sad and heavy mind, and walks as light as Do.  
Thus such as bear a patient breast, do conquer that they crave,  
And those that striu's against the stream, shall seldom pleasure have.  
Finis.   

¶ Of the strong and the weak.  
THe weakest goes to wall,  
who wanteth friends must fast,  
They say the strongest will have all,  
would God that world were passed:  
For feeble force I have,  
with world to tug and toil,  
And lacking tools to paul and shave, I yield me to the spoil.  
Of those that spares no sleight, nor wit to win their will,  
Who seems to make the crooked straight, yet liu's by fleecing still:  
The weak hath feeble knees, to climb the clouds ye know,  
The strong takes home from the Bees, and serves his fancy so.  
The strong and mighty flood, swéeps all before him clean,  
And tourns up dross both sand and mud, and keeps no kind of mean:  
A silly shallow stream, can do but little boot,  
It neither breaks down massy banks, nor tears up trees by root.  
The weak is vanquished still, the strong will victor be,  
The strong with weak, nor weak with strong, will never well agree:  
When sound and sick do like, and cold and heat are one,  
Or moss & muck for might & main, may match with marble stone  
Then strong and weak shall join, till then say nay who shall,  
The strong will triumph on the weak, & weak shall go to wall.  
FINIS.   

¶ Of Youth and Age.  
FUll dearly have I bought,  
the years that youth hath spent,  
The longer life the more unrest,  
and still the less content:  
To see that I have seen, and be a child again,  
I would not wish this world to win,  
to live and pass such pain.  
To skipp from age to youth, who had such scope and choice,  
Perchance he would be young to choose, and in the same rejoice:  
For children careless live, and fears not Fortunes fall,  
When men do dread each posse of wind, yea though the storm be small,  
But sure a weary race, these children have to run,  
And many sorrows shall they taste, before their course be done.  
As in myself the proof, who can not count his care,  
Nor learn the rest that after comes, how they shall shone the snare:  
The wilful will not learn, they say that knows the art,  
Till his own rod hath made him smart, & youth hath played his part.  
The tales of trauled men, are held for feigned lies,  
Until the strangeness of their toil, be seen before our eyes:  
Then t●●e that list to tread, the trace of youths desire,  
And they that feels the flames to hot, I know will fear the fire.  
I wish them well to speed, that will such fancies cheap,  
And God then grant when age doth come, some better corn to reap  
Than I whose youth consumes, with weary wanton ways,  
That hath but labour for my fruit, and dumpish doleful days:  
Lo these are all the joys, that from our birth we have,  
The world to toss the time to spend, the earth to be our grave.  
FINIS.   

¶ Of the short estate of man.  
MY restless life, hath reaped that woe hath sown,  
The days tormoile brings home but bitter smart:  
I live with wolves, in savage woodds unknown,  
Where Tigers whelps, do feed on harmless heart  
O cage of care, wherein no bird can sing,  
But doleful tunes, that may no Music show:  
And though each man, knows well where grief doth wring,  
Yet can no life, discharge itself of woe.  
Then Hell is here, find Heaven where you can,  
In banished bliss, our bodies wander still:  
And out of breath, runs wretched spirit of man,  
Beguiled by hope, and gadding greedy will.  
Thus life is death, and death is most desired:  
Where labouring mind, with weary life is tired.  
FINIS.   

The praise of mistress Mabell Browne, wherein virtue is honoured.  

IF I were judge, or had the choice,  
Of colours fair, to choose the best:  
Unto the Brown, I give my voice,  
As pearl of price, above the rest.  
If men do ask, the cause and why,  
I praise the Brown, before the White:  
I say what thing, contents the eye,  
The heart therein, hath his delight.   

The Brown or Black, do seldom change,  
They still present, a sober grace:  
The White and Red, are light and strange  
Whose colours fade, and fall a pace.  
The Browne is kept, from blot and stain,  
When White will soil, by divers ways:  
The Scarlet bears, no better grain,  
Then doth the Brown, that I do praise.   

The whitest mark, is oft desired,  
The fairest flower, rests near unsmeld:  
The Browne is, of few requierd,  
The darkest dye, is worn but seld.  
By which I prove, the thing most used,  
Through many hands, may be infect:  
Wherefore I may, be well escuesde,  
To praise the Brown, without suspect.   

Although the Lily be full fair,  
The sent and taste, is not so pure:  
The pleasant clouds, within the air,  
Do often hide, a stormy shower.  
What Apple hath so sweet a taste,  
As hath the Pippin Black and Brown:  
Wherefore this colour I have placed,  
Of worthy same, to wear the crown.   
FINIS.   

Of wandering and gadding abroad.  
Draw home betime, ere Youth take leave  
and Age upon thee grows,  
And do not thou thyself deceive,  
with hope of worldly shows:  
Whose pomp doth nought but please thine eyes  
with that thou canst not have,  
And carries the like cloud in Skies,  
to that should be thy slave.  
What seest thou fool in princely hauls, that may a poor man eas,  
Whose state is toast with tennis balls, and turns with wind & seas:  
He courts some while that cart doth drive, ere many years run out,  
And they that most for Fortune strive, do live in furthest doubt.  
A thriftless son enjoys their store, and therewith serves his lust,  
When those are gone that sweat therefore, and trodden in the dust:  
What profit brings thy weary bones, of uncouth sights abroad,  
It wears but feet upon the stones, and doth the conscience load.  
Ten thousand years heap up in head, and all therein hath paste,  
And mark each thing is done and said, and way the same at last:  
And thou shalt see it breaks but brain, and breeds but grief in breast,  
Thus travail needs must lose his pain, when home must be thy rest.  
The heart desires the eye doth crave, a sight of all things done,  
When proof thereof a man shall have, what hath our travail won:  
A triumph but a pageant seems, when paste is all the sho,  
All other things that man esteems, man loathes at length also:  
Wherefore thou pilgrim too and fro, take up thy truss in haste,  
For time & all things here I know, with thee will wear and waste.  
FINIS.   

¶ Of fair things and soul, where in a virtuous Lady is set out.  
AS God bestowed his grace,  
on thee through heavenly skill,  
By comely shape and form of face,  
and worldly wealth at ●●ll:  
So people do suppose,  
(that bears an upright mind,)  
Amid thy noble inward breast,  
dame virtues gifts are shrined.  
For God makes nothing lame, his works so perfit be,  
That hidden graces answers oft, the outward shape we see:  
The rich and precious pearl, that shines to sight ye know,  
Have many virtues in the same, besides the outward show.  
The goodly glittering gold, hath Nature to restore,  
Some piece of health that sickness brought, by grief consumed before:  
The flower whose beauty fair, delights the eye full well,  
Is friend by kind to medsons sweet, and sharps our sense by smell.  
The ground that smoothly looks, bears fruits and herbs enough,  
And yields the Idle Landlord rend, and feeds the household throw:  
Thus from fair things I prove, some goodness men may reap,  
And where that beauty buds & bloums, doth bounty hoard & heap  
Else all this goodly world, is but like painted post,  
Or as a picture dumb and dead, that hath ne spirit nor ghost.  
If Phoebus wanted heat, and did no grace retain,  
For all his beams and glory great, he should but shine in vain:  
I doubt not but the Gods, hath furnished you so well,  
That life and good renown can show, where virtue ought to dwell  
My pen but mou's your mind, of that ye like to here,  
A jewel that the Gods embrace, and world doth hold full dear:  
〈…〉 that long shall last, whose light shall near go out,  
But burn & blaze as bright as torch, whiles breath ye bear about.  
If people did but note, what doth by virtue ryes,  
The meanest wight with wings of fame, would seek to mount the skies:  
Or follow them whose steps, doth each good gift advance,  
They know full well what measure means, that leads dame virtues dance,  
I leave you to the round, hold on the trace a while,  
And as the bell begins to sound, at Churchyards verses smile.  
Finis.   

Of an enemy.  

NO simple mind may thrive a day,  
The subtle Snakes seeks out such sleight:  
Then look thou arm thyself I say,  
With face of Brass, the field to fight.  
And never yield, the race to run,  
Till courage hath the conquest won.   

Suspect the worst, and work the best,  
And sharp thy wits, to shield the harm:  
And seek the Serpents in their nest,  
Although in holes, the Adder's swarm.  
When craft is curbde with cunning skill,  
A simple mind shall have his will.   
Finis.   

¶ Written in the beginning of King Edward's reign, which verses are called Davie Dicars Dream.  
WHen faith in friends bear fruit,  
and foolish fancies fade,  
And crafty catchers come to nought,  
and hate great love hath made:  
When fraud flieth far from town,  
and loitrers leave the field,  
And rude shall run a rightful race,  
and all men be well wild.  
When gropers after gain, shall carp for common wealth,  
And wily workers shall disdain, to fig and live by stealth:  
When wisdom walks a fit, and folly sits full low,  
And virtue vanquish pampered vice, and grace begins to grow.  
When justice joins to truth, and Law looks not to meed,  
And bribes help not to build fair bowers, nor gifts great gluttons feed:  
When hunger hides his head, and plenty please the poor,  
And niggards to the needy men, shall never shut their door.  
When double dark deceit, is out of credit worn,  
And fawning speech is falsehood found, and craft is laughed to scorn:  
When Pride which picks the purse, gapes not for garments gay,  
Nor javels' wear no velvet weeds, nor wandering wits bear sway.  
When riches wrongs no right, nor power poor put back,  
Nor covetous creeps not into Court, nor learned living lack:  
When slipper sleights are seen, and far fetches be found,  
And private profit and self love, shall both be put in pound.  
When debt no Sergeant dreeds, and Courtier's credit keep,  
And might mells not which Merchandise, nor lords shall sell no sheep:  
When lucre lasts not long, and hoard great heaps doth hate.  
And every wight is well content, to walk in his estate.  
When truth doth tread the streets, and liars lurk in den,  
And Rex doth reign and rule the roast, and weeds out wicked men:  
Then baleful barns be blithe, that here in England won,  
Your strife shall stint I undertake, your dreadful days are done.  
FINIS.   

Here endeth the book called Churchyards Chance, and beginneth an other book named his Charge: and so in one volume shall follow, his Choice, his Chips, and all the rest of his books that here tofore hath been set out, and written by churchyard, saving a book of Meta incognita, and some other small volumes, which can not be bound in quarto, yet hereafter (by God's grace) shallbe set out in a large volume. Where two thousand wonders shallbe treated of, with a rehearsal of wars and services, done in this our present age: which book shallbe called Churchyards Challenge, dedicated to the noble Earl of Oxford. All which works (God willing) shall come forth with as much speed as possible can be made: requiring the readers thereof, in consideration of the Authors great study and pains, to yield him such good report, as his good will deserveth.   
Finis.