THE paradise of dainty devices, aptly furnished, with sundry pithy and learned inventions: devised and written for the most part, by M. Edward's, sometimes of her majesties Chapel: the rest, by sundry learned Gentlemen, both of honour, and worship. viz. 

S. Barnarde.  
E. O.  
L. Vaux.  
D. S.  
jasper Heywood.  
F. K.  
M. Hew.  
R. Hill.  
M. Yloop, with others.    
EGO SUM VIA ET VERITAS  
IMPRINTED AT LONdon by Henry Disle, dwelling in Paul's Churchyard, at the South west door of Saint Paul's Church, and are there to be sold. 1576.   

 blazon or coat of arms 
IE NE CHERCHE Q'VNE    

TO THE RIGHT Honourable Sir Henry Compton Knight, Lord Compton, of Compton.  
RIGHT HONOURABLE, and my very good Lord, (presuming upon your courtesy) I am bold to present unto your honour, this small volume: Entitled, The Paradise of dainty devices, being penned by divers learned Gentlemen, and collected together, through the travel of one, both of worship and credit, for his private use: who not long since departed this life, which when I had perused over, not with out the advise of sundry my friends, I determined by their good motion, to set them in print, who thereunto greatly persuaded me, with these and like words: The writers of them, were both of honour and worship: besides that, our own country men, and such as for their learning and gravity, might be accounted of among the wisest. Furthermore, the ditties both pithy and pleasant, aswell for the invention as metre, and will yield a far greater delight, being as they are so aptly made to be set to any song in .5. parts, or song to instrument. Which well considering, I purposed not to forsake so good an occasion, beseeching your honour to accept it in good part, chiefly for the authors sake: who though some of them are departed this life, yet their worthy doings shall continued for ever: for like as the shadow followeth the body, so praise followeth virtue: and as the shadow goeth sometimes before, and sometimes behind, so doth praise also to virtue: but the later it cometh, the greater it is, and to be the better esteemed. Thus fearing to offend your honour with these my rude speeches, I end, wishing your L. many years of joy.  
Your good Lordships wholly to command, H. D.   

THE TRANSLATION of the blessed Saint Barnard's verses, containing the unstable felicity of this wayfaring world.  

CUR mundus militat, sub vana gloria, cuius prosperitas est transitoria;  
Tam cito labitur, eius potentia, quam vasa figuli, quae sunt fragilia.   

WHY doth each state apply itself to worldly praise?  
And undertake such toil, to heap up honour's gain:  
Whose seat, though seeming sure, on fickle fortune stays,  
Whose gifts were never proved, perpetual to remain.  
But even as earthen pot, with every fillip fails,  
So fortunes favour flits, and fame with honour quails.   

Plus crede litteris, scriptis in glacie, quam mundi fragilis, vanae fallaciae.  
Fallax in premijs, virtutis specie, quae nunquam habuit, tempus fiduciae.   

Think rather firm to find, a figure graven in Ice,  
Whose substance subject is, to heat of shining sun:  
Then hope for steadfast stay, in wanton worlds devise,  
Whose feigned fond delights, from falsheds' forge do come.  
And under virtues veil, are largely dealt about,  
Deceiving those, who think their date will never out.   

Magis credendum est viris fallacibus, quam mundi miseris prosperitatibus.  
Falsis insanijs & voluptatibus, falsis quoquae studiis & vanitatibus.   

The trifling truethles tongue, of rumours lying lips,  
Deserves more trust, then doth the highest happy hap:  
That world to worldlings gives, for see how honour slips,  
To foolish fond cenceytes, to pleasures poisoned sap.  
To studies false in proof, to arts applied to gain,  
To fickle fancy's toys, which wisdom deemeth vain.   

Dic ubi Solomon, olim tam nobilis? vel ubi Samson est, dux invincibilis?  
Vel dulcis jonathas, multum amabilis? vel pulcher Absalon, vultu mirabilis?   

Where is the sacred king, that Solomon the wise?  
Whose wisdom, former time, of duty did commend:  
Where is that Samson strong, that monstrous man in size?  
Whose forced arm, did 'cause the mighty pillars bend.  
Where is the peerless Prince, the friendly jonathas?  
Or Absalon, whose shape and favour did surpass.   

Quo Caesar abijt, celsus imperio, vel dives splendidus, totus in prandie.  
Dic ubi Tullius, clarus eloquio, vel Aristoteles, summus ingenio.   

Where is that Caesar now, whose high renowned fame,  
Of sundry conquests won, throughout the world did sound?  
Or Dives rich in store, and rich in richly name,  
Whose chest with gold and dish, with dainties did abound.  
Where is the passing grace, of Tully's pleding skill?  
Or Aristotle's vain, whose pen had wit and will.   

O esca vermium, ò massa pulueris, ò ros, ò vanitas, cur sic extolleris?  
Ignoras penitus utrum ●ras vixeris, fac bonum omnibus, quam diu poteris.   

O food of filthy worm, o lump of loathsome clay,  
O life full like the dew, which morning sun doth waste:  
O shadow vain, whose shape with sun doth shrink away,  
Why gloriest thou so much, in honour to be placed?  
Sigh that no certain hour, of life thou dost enjoy,  
Most fit it were, thy time in goodness to employ.   

Quam breve festum est, haec mundi gloria, ut umbra hominum, sic eius gaudia,  
Quae semper subtrahit aeterna praemia, & ducunt hominum, ad dura devia.   

How short a banquet seems the pomp of high renown?  
How like the senseless shape, of shivering shadow thin?  
Are wanton worldly toys, whose pleasure plucketh down,  
Our hearts from hope, & hands from works, which heaven should win.  
And takes us from the trod, which guides to endless gain,  
And sets us in the way, that leads to lasting pain.   

Haec mundi gloria, quae magnipenditur, sacris in litteris, flos faeni dicitur.  
ut leave folium, quod vento rapitur, sic vita hominem, hac vita tollitur.   

The pomp of worldly praise, which worldlings hold so dear,  
In holy sacred book, is likened to a flower:  
Whose date doth not contain, a week, a month, or year,  
But springing now, doth fade again within an hour.  
And as the lightest leaf, with wind about is thrown,  
So light is life of man, and lightly hence is blown.   
Finis. My Luck is loss.   

Beware of had I wist.  
BEware of had I wist, whose fine brings care and smart,  
Esteem of all as they deserve, and deem as deemed thou art:  
So shall thy perfect friend, enjoy his hoped hire,  
And faithless fawning foe, shall miss th'effect of his desire.  
Good will shall have his gain, and hate shall heap despite,  
A faithless friend shall find distrust, and love shall reap delight.  
Thyself shall rest in peace, thy friend shall joy thy fate,  
Thy foe shall fret at thy good hap, and I shall joy thy state.  
But this my fond advise, may seem perchance but vain,  
As rather teaching how to loose, then how a friend to gain.  
But this not my intent, to teach to find a friend,  
But safely how to love and leave, is all that I intend.  
And if you prove in part, and find my counsel true,  
Then wish me well for my good will, 'tis all I crave adieu.  
Finis. My luck is loss.   

The perfect trial of a faithful friend.  
NOt stayed state, but feeble stay,  
Not costly robes, but bore array:  
Not passed wealth, but present want,  
Not heaped store, but slender scant:  
Not plenty's purse, but poor estate,  
Not happy hap, but froward fate:  
Not wish at will, but want of joy,  
Not hearts good health, but hearts annoy:  
Not freedoms use, but prison's thrall,  
Not costly seat, but lowest fall:  
Not weal I mean, but wretched woe,  
Doth truly try, the friend from foe:  
And naught, but froward fortune proves,  
Who fawning feigns, or simply loves.  
Finis.  
Yloop.   

No pleasure, without some pain.  

Sweet were the joys, that both might like and last,  
Strange were the state, exempt from all distress:  
Happy the life, that no mishap should taste,  
Blessed the chance, might never change success.  
Were such a life to lead, or state to prove,  
Who would not wish, that such a life were love.   

But O the sowry sauce of sweet unsure,  
When pleasures fly, and flee with waist of wind:  
The trustless trains that hoping hearts allure,  
When sweet delights do but allure the mind.  
When care consumes and wastes the wretched wight,  
While fancy feeds, and draws of her delight.   

What life were love, if love were free from pain?  
But O that pain, with pleasure matched should meet:  
Why did the course of nature so ordain,  
That sugared sour, must sauce the bitter sweet.  
Which sour from sweet, might any means remove.  
What hap, what heaven, what life, were like to love.   
Finis.  
E. S.   


1. Our pleasures are vanities.  

BEhold the blast which blows, the blossoms from the tree,  
The end whereof consumes and comes, to naught we see.  
Ere thou therefore be blown, from life that may not last,  
Begin for grace, to call for time misspent and passed.   

Have mind on brittle life, whose pleasures are but vain,  
On death likewise bethink, how thou mayst not remain.  
And fear thy Lord to green, which sought thy soul to save,  
To sin no more be bend, but mercy ask and have.   

For death who doth not spare, the kings on earth to kill,  
Shall reap also from thee, thy pleasure, life, and william.  
That life which yet remains, and in thy breast appears,  
Hath sown in thee such seeds, you aught to weed with tears.   

And life that shall succeed, when death is worn and passed,  
Shall spring for ever then, in joy or pain to last.  
Where death on life hath power ye see, that life also,  
Hath mown the fruits of death, which never more shall grow.   
FINIS.  
D. S.   

2. M. Edwardes MAY.  

WHen MAY is in his prime, then MAY each heart rejoice,  
When MAY bedeckes each branch with green, each bird strains forth his voice.  
The lively sap creeps, up into the blooming thorn,  
The flowers, which cold in prison kept, now laughs the frost to scorn.  
All natures Imps triumphs, whiles joyful May doth last,  
When MAY is gone, of all the year the pleasant time is past.   

MAY makes the cheerful hue, MAY breeds and brings new blood,  
MAY marcheth throughout every limb, MAY makes the merry mood.  
MAY pricketh tender hearts, their warbling notes to tune,  
Full strange it is, yet some we see, do make their MAY in june.  
Thus things are strangely wrought, whiles joyful MAY doth last,  
Take MAY in time, when MAY is gone, the pleasant time is past.   

All ye that live on earth, and have your MAY at will,  
Rejoice in MAY, as I do now, and use your MAY with skill.  
Use MAY, while that you may, for MAY hath but his time,  
When all the fruit is gone, it is to late the tree to climb.  
Your liking and your lust, is fresh whiles MAY doth last,  
When MAY is gone, of all the year the pleasant time is past.   
Finis.   

3. Fair words make fools feign.  

IN youthful years when first my young desires began,  
To prick me forth to serve in Court a slender tall young man.  
My Father's blessing than I asked upon my knee,  
Who blessing me with trembling hand, these words 'gan say to me.  
My son, God guide thy way, and shield thee from mischance,  
And make thy just deserts in Court, thy poor estate to advance.  
Yet when thou art become one of the Courtly train,  
Think on this proverb old (quoth he) that fair words make fools feign.   

This counsel gravely given, most strange appears to me.  
Till tract of time, with open eyes, had made me plainly see.  
What subtle sleights are wrought, by painted tales devise,  
When hollow hearts with friendly shoes the simple do entice.  
To think all gold that shines to feed their fond desire,  
Whose shivering cold is warmed with smoke, in stead of flaming fire.  
Sigh talk of tickle trust, doth breed a hope most vain,  
This proverb true by proof I find, that fair words make fools feign.   

Fair speech always doth well, where deeds ensue fair words,  
Fair speech again, always doth evil, that bushes gives for birds.  
Who hopes to have fair words, to try his lucky lot,  
If I may counsel let him strike it, while the iron is hot.  
But them that feed on clods, in stead of pleasant grapes,  
And after warning often given, for better luck still gapes.  
Full loath I am, yet must I tell them in words plain,  
This proverb old proves true in them, that fair words makes fools feign.   

woe worth the time that words, so slowly turn to deeds,  
woe worth the time, that fair sweet flowers, are grown to rotten weeds.  
But thrice woe worth the time, that truth, away is fled,  
Wherein I see how simple hearts, with words are vainly fed.  
Trust no fair words therefore, where no deeds do ensue,  
Trust words, as skilful Falkeners do trust Hawks that never flew.  
Trust deeds, let wodrdes be words, which never wrough me gain,  
Let my experience make you wise, and let words make fools feign.   
M. Edwardes.   

4. In his extreme sickness.  

What grieves my bones, and makes my body faint?  
What pricks my flesh and tears my head in twaayne?  
Why do I wake, when rest should me attaint?  
When others laugh, why do I live in pain?  
I toss I turn, I change from side to side,  
And stretch me often, in sorrows links betide.   

I toss, as one betossed in waves of care,  
I turn, to flee the woes of loathsome life:  
I change to spy, if death this corpse might spare,  
I stretch to heaven, to rid me of this strife,  
Thus do I stretch and change, and toss and turn,  
While I in hope of heaven by life do burn.   

Then hold thee still, let be thy heaviness,  
abolish care, forgeat thy pining woe:  
For by this means soon shalt thou find redress,  
When often betossed, hence thou to heaven must go.  
Then toss and turn, and tumble frank and free.  
O happy thrice, when thou in heaven shalt be.   
Finis.  
L. Vaux.   

5. For Christmas day.  

Rejoice rejoice, with heart and voice.  
In Christ's birth this day rejoice.   

FRom Virgin's womb, this day did spring,  
The precious seed that only saved man:  
This day let man rejoice and sweetly sing,  
Since on this day salvation first began.  
This day did christ man's soul from death remove,  
With glorious saints to devil in heaven above.   

This day to man came pledge of perfect peace,  
This day to man came love and unity:  
This day man's grief began for to surcease,  
This day did man receive a remedy.  
For each offence, and every deadly sin,  
With guilty heart, that erst he wandered in.   

In Christ's flock, let love be surely placed,  
From Christ's flock, let concord hate expel:  
Of Christ's flock, let love be so embraced,  
As we in Christ, and Christ in us may devil.  
Christ is the author of all unity,  
From whence proceedeth all felicity.   

O sing unto this glittering glorious king,  
O praise his name, let every living thing:  
Let heart and voice like Bells of silver ring,  
The comfort that this day did bring.  
Let Lute, let Shawm, with sound of sweet delight,  
The joy of Christ's birth this day recite.   
Finis.  
F. K.   

6. Easter day.  

ALl mortal men this day rejoice,  
In Christ that you redeemed hath:  
By death, with death sing we with voice,  
To him that hath appeased God's wrath.  
Due unto man for sinful path,  
Wherein before he went astray:  
give thanks to him with perfect faith,  
That for mankind hath made this glorious day.   

This day he rose from tomb again,  
Wherein his precious corpse was laid:  
Whom cruelly the jews had slain,  
With bloody wounds full ill arrayed.  
O Man be now no more dismayed,  
If thou henceforth from sin do stay,  
Of death thou needest not be afraid,  
Christ conquered death for this his glorious day.   

His death prevailed had no whit,  
As Paul the Apostle well doth writ,  
Except he had uprisen yet,  
From death to life by Godlike might.  
With most triumphant glittering light.  
This day his glory shined I say,  
And made us bright as sun this glorious day.   

O man arise with Christ therefore,  
Since he from sin hath made thee free:  
Beware thou fall in sin no more,  
But rise as Christ did rise for thee.  
So mayst thou him in glory see,  
When he at day of doom shall say:  
Come thou my child and devil with me,  
God Grant us all, to see that glorious day.   
Finis.  
jasper Heywood.   

7. For Whitsunday.  

COme holy ghost eternal God, and ease the woeful grief:  
That through the heaps of heavy sin, can no where found relief.  
Do thou O God redress  
The great distress  
Of sinful heaviness.   

Come comfort the afflicted thoughts, of my consumed heart:  
O rid the piercing pricking pains, of my tormenting smart.  
O holy Ghost grant me  
That I by thee  
From sin may purged be.   

Thou art my God, to thee alone,  
I will commend my cause:  
Not glittering gold nor precious stone,  
Shall make me leave thy laws.  
O teach me then the way  
Whereby I may  
Make thee my only stay.   

My lips, my tongue, my heart and all,  
Shall spread thy mighty name:  
My voice shall never cease to sound,  
The praises of the same.  
Yea every living thing  
Shall sweetly sing  
To thee (O heavenly king.)   
Finis.  
M. Kindlemarsh.   

8. 
Who minds to bring his ship to happy shore,  
Must care to know the laws of wisdome's lore.   

MY friend, if thou wilt credit me in aught,  
To whom the truth by trial well appears:  
Naught worth is wit, till it be dearly bought,  
There is no wisdom but in hoaric hears.  
Yet if I may of wisdom often define,  
As well as others have of happiness:  
Then to my words my friend, thy ear incline,  
The things that make thee wise, are these I guess.   

Fear God, and know thyself in each degree,  
Be friend to all, familiar but to few:  
Too light of credit, see thou never be,  
For trial often in trust, doth treason show.  
To others faults cast not to much thy eye,  
Accuse no man of gilt, amend thy own:  
Of meddling much, doth mischief often arise,  
And often debate, by tickle tongue is sown.   

What thing thou wilt have hid, to none declare,  
In word or deed, beware of had I witted:  
So spend thy good, that some thou ever spare,  
For friends like Hawks, do soar from empty fist.  
Cut out thy coat, according to thy cloth,  
Suspected persons see thou always flee:  
Believe not him that once hath broke his troth,  
Nor yet of gift, without desert be free.   

Time quickly slips beware how thou it spend,  
Of wanton youth, repentes a painful age:  
Begin nothing without an eye to th'end,  
Nor bow thine ear from counsel of the sage.  
If thou to far let out thy fancy slip,  
And witless will from reasons rule outstart:  
Thy folly, shall at length be made thy whip,  
And sore, the stripes of shame, shall 'cause thee smart.   

To do too much for old men is but lost,  
Of friendship had to women comes like gain:  
Bestow not thou on children to much cost,  
For what thou doest for these, is all in vain.  
The old man or he can requited, he dies,  
Unconstant is the woman's wavering mind:  
Full soon the boy thy friendship will despise,  
And him for love thou shalt ungrateful find.   

The aged man is like the barren ground,  
The woman like the Reed that wags with wind:  
There may no trust in tender years be found,  
And of the three, the boy is most unkind.  
If thou have found a faithful friend in deed.  
Beware thou loose not love of such a one:  
He shall sometime stand thee in better steed,  
Then treasure great of gold or precious stone.   
Finis.  
jasper Heywood.   

9 Of the unconstant stay of fortunes gifts.  

IF Fortune be thy stay, thy state is very tickle,  
She bears a double face, disguised, false, and fickle.  
This day she seems to smile, to morrow will she frown,  
What now she sets aloft, anon she throweth down.  
Fly Fortunes sly deseytes, let Virtue be thy guide,  
If that you do intent in happy state to bide.   

Upon the settled Rock, thy building surest stands,  
Away it quickly wears, that resteth on the sands.  
Dame Virtue is the Rock, that yields assured stay,  
Dame Fortune is the Sand, that skowreth soon away,  
Choose that is certain, let things uncertain pass,  
Prefer the precious gold, before the brittle glass.   

Sly Fortune hath her sleights, she plays upon the pack,  
Look whom she favours most, at length she turns to wrack.  
But Virtue simply deals, she shuns deceitful train,  
Who is by Fortune raised up, shall never fall again.  
Stick fast to Virtue then, that gives assured trust,  
And fly from Fortune's freekes, that ever prove unjust.   
Finis.  
F. K.   

10. Promise is debt.  

IN my account, the promise that is vowed,  
Among the good, is holden such a debt:  
As he is thought, no whit to be allowed,  
That setteth light his promise to forget.  
And for my part, I will not link in love,  
With fickle folk, whose fancies often remove.   

My happy gain, I do esteem for such,  
As few have found, in these our doubtful days:  
To find a friend, I think it be as much,  
Aste win, a fort full fraught of noble praise.  
Of all the goods, that there may be possessed,  
A faithful friend, I judge to be the best.   

O friendly league, although to late begun,  
Yet time shall try our troth, is well employed:  
And that we both shall see, that we have won,  
Such fastened faith, as can not be destroyed.  
By envious rage, or slanders bitter blow  
That seeks the good, to overthrow,   
Finis.  
R. Hill.   

11. Not words, but deeds.  

THE wrong is great, the pain above my power,  
That yields such care in doubtful dens to drown:  
Such hap is hard, where fortune doth so lower,  
As friendly look, is turned to froward frown.  
Is this the trust that faithful treendes can find?  
With those that yet have promise' broke?  
By deeds in doubt, as though no words can bind,  
A vowed friend to hold him to his yoke.   

O faithless friend? what can assure your mind,  
That doubts so soon, before you have cause why?  
To what hard hap? doth Fortune here me bind,  
When words nor deeds can no way satisfy.  
What can I writ? that hath not often been said?  
What have I said? that other hath not affirmed?  
What is approved? that aught to be assayed?  
Or what is vowed? that shall not be performed?   

Cast of mistrust, in haste no credit give,  
To this or that, that breedeth friends unrest:  
No doubt at all, but trust me if I live,  
My deeds shall prove, that all is for the best.  
And this believe, the Sea shall cease to flow,  
The Sun to shine within the settled sky:  
All things on earth, shall leave to spring and grow,  
Yea every foul shall want, his wings to fly.   

Ear I in thought, shall seem once to retire,  
If you my friend remain, as I desire:  
Now loose no time, but use that while you may,  
Forget not this, a dog shall have a day.   
Finis.  
R. D.   

12. He desireth exchange of life.  

THE day delayed, of that I most do wish,  
Wherewith I feed and starve, in one degree:  
With wish and want, still served in one dish,  
Alive as dead, by proof as you may sow.  
To whom of old, this proverb well it serves,  
While grass doth grow, the silly Horse he starves.   

tween these extremes, thus do I roam the race,  
Of my poor life, this certainly I know:  
tween would and want, unwarely that doth pass,  
Moore swift than shot, out of the archers how.  
As Spider draws her line in vain all day,  
I watch the net, and others have the pray,   

And as by proof, the greedy dog d●●● gn●●●,  
The bared bone, all only for the taste:  
So to and fro, this loathsome life I draw,  
With fancies forced, and fled with vain repast.  
Narsissus brought unto the water brink,  
So ay thirst I, the more that I do drink.   

Lo thus I die, and yet I seem not sick,  
With smart unseen, myself my self I wear:  
With prove desire, and power that is not quick,  
With hope aloft now drenched in despair,  
Trained in trust, for no reward assigned,  
The more I haste, the more I come behind.   

With hurt to heal, in frozen ice to fry,  
With loss to laugh, this is a wondrous case:  
Fast fettered here, is forced away to fly,  
As hunted Hare, that Hound hath in the chase.  
With wings and spurs, for all the haste I make,  
As like to loose, as for to draw the stake.   

The days be long, that hung upon desert,  
The life is irk of joys that be delayed:  
The time is short, for to requited the smart,  
That doth proceed of promise long unpaid,  
That to the last of this my fainting breath,  
I wish exchange of life, for happy death.   
Finis.  
L. Vaux.   

13. Of the instability of youth.  

WHEN I look back, and in myself behold,  
The wandering ways, that youth could not descry:  
And marked the fearful course that youth did hold,  
And met in mind, each step youth strayed a wry.  
My knees I bow, and from my heart I call,  
O Lord, forget these faults and follies all.   

For now I see, how void youth is of skill,  
I see also his prime time and his end:  
I do confess my faults and all my ill,  
And sorrow sore, for that I did offend.  
And with a mind repentant of all crimes,  
Pardon I ask for youth, ten thousand times.   

The humble heart, hath daunted the proud mind,  
Eke wisdom hath given ignorance a fall:  
And wit hath taught, that folly could not find,  
And age hath youth, her subject and her thrall.  
Therefore I pray, O Lord of life and truth,  
Pardon the faults committed in my youth.   

Thou that didst grant the wise king his request?  
Thou that in Whale, thy prophet didst preserve:  
Thou that forgavest the wounding of thy breast?  
Thou that didst save the thief in state to starve.  
Thou only God, the giver of all grace?  
Wipe out of mind, the path of youths vain race.   

Thou that by power, to life didst raise the dead.  
Thou that of grace restorest the blind to sight:  
Thou that for love, thy life and love out bled,  
Thou that of favour, madest the lame go right.  
Thou that canst heal, and help in all assays,  
forgive the gilth, that grew in youths vain ways.   

And now since I, with faith and doubtless mind,  
Do fly to thee by prayer, to appease thy ire:  
And since that thee, I only seek to find,  
And hope by faith, to attain my just desire.  
Lord, mind no more youths error and unskill,  
And able age, to do thy holy will.   
Finis.  
L. Vaux.   

14. 
Most happy is that state alone,  
Where words and deeds agreed in one.   

BY painted words, the silly simple man,  
To trustless trap, is trained now and than.  
And by conseyte, of sweet alluring tale,  
He bites the baits, that breeds his bitter bale.  
To beauties blast, cast not thy rolling eye:  
In pleasant green, do stinging Serpent lie.  
The golden Pill, hath but a bitter taste:  
In glittering glass, a poison rankest placed.  
So pleasant words, without performing deeds:  
May well be deemed, to spring of Darnel seeds.  
The friendly deed is it, that quickly tries:  
Where trusty faith, and friendly meaning lies.  
That state therefore, most happy is to me:  
Where words and deeds, most faithfully agreed.   

My friend, if thou wilt keep thy honest name:  
Fly from the blot, of barking slanders blame.  
Let not in word, thy promise be more large:  
Then thou in deed, art willing to discharge.  
Abhorred is that false dissembling brood,  
That seems to bear, two faces in one hood.  
To say a thing, and not to mean the same:  
Will turn at length, to loose of thy good name.  
Wherefore my friend, let double dealing go:  
In stead whereof, let perfect plainness flow.  
Do thou no more, in idle words exceed:  
Then thou intends to do, in very deed.  
So good report, shall spread thy worthy praise:  
For being just in word and deed always.   

You worldly wights, that worldly doers are:  
Before you let your word slip forth to far,  
Consider well, what inconvenience springs:  
By breach of promise made, in lawful things.  
First, God mislikes where such deceit doth swarm:  
Next, it redoundeth unto thy neighbour's harm.  
And last of all, which is not lest of all:  
For such offence, thy conscience suffer shall.  
As barren grounds, brings forth but rotten weeds:  
From barren words, so fruitless chaff proceeds.  
As savoury flowers, do spring in fertile ground:  
So trusty friends, by tried friends are found.  
To shun therefore the worst, that may ensue:  
Let deèdes always, approve thy sayings true.   
Finis.  
F. K.   

15. 
Who will aspire to dignity,  
By learning must advanced be.   

THE poor that live in needy rate,  
By learning do great richesse gain:  
The rich that live in wealth state,  
By learning do their wealth maintain.  
Thus rich and poor, are furthered still.  
By sacred rules of learned skill.   

All fond conceits of frantic youth.  
The golden gift of learning stays:  
Of doubtful things to search the truth,  
Learning sets forth the ready ways.  
O happy him do I repute,  
Whose breast is fraught with learnings fruit.   

There grows no Corn within the field.  
That Ox and Plough did never till:  
Right so the mind no fruit can yield.  
That is not lead by learnings skill.  
Of ignorance comes rotten weedees,  
Of learning springs right noble deeds.   

Like as the Captain hath respect.  
To train his soldiers in array:  
So Learning doth man's mind direct.  
By virtues staff his life to stay.  
Though Friends and Fortune waxeth scant.  
Yet learned men shall never want.   

You Imps therefore in youth be sure.  
To fraught your minds with learned things:  
For Learning is the fountain pure,  
Out from the which all glory springs.  
Who so therefore will glory win,  
With Learning first, must needs begin.   
Finis.  
F. K.   

16. 
Man's flitting life, finds surest stay,  
Where sacred Virtue beareth sway.   

THE sturdy Rock, for all his strength,  
By raaging Seas, is rend in twain:  
The Marble stone, is pierced at length,  
With little drops, of drizzling rain.  
The Ox doth yield unto the yoke,  
The Steel obeyeth the hammer stroke.   

The stately Stag, that seems so stout,  
By yalping Hounds, at bay is set:  
The swiftest Bird, that flees about,  
Is caught at length in Fowler's net.  
The greatest Fish in deepest Brook,  
Is soon deceived with subtle hook.   

You man himself, unto whose will,  
All things are bounden to obey:  
For all his wit, and worthy skill,  
Doth fade at length, and fall away.  
There is nothing, but time doth waste,  
The Heavens, the Earth, consume at last.   

But Virtue sits, triumphing still,  
Upon the Throne, of glorious Fame:  
Though spiteful Death, man's body kill,  
Yet hurts he not, his virtuous name.  
By Life or death, what so be tides,  
The state of Virtue, never slides.   
Finis.  
M. T.   

17. Nothing is comparable unto a faithful friend.  

SIth this our time of Friendship is so scant,  
Sigh Friendship now in every place doth want.  
Sigh every man of Friendship is so hollow,  
As no man rightly knows which way to follow.  
Seize not my Muse, cease not in these our days,  
To ring loud peals, of sacred friendship's praise.   

If men be now, their own peculiar friends,  
And to their neighbour's Friendship none pretends.  
If men of Friendship show themselves so bore,  
And of their brethren take no friendly care.  
Forbear not then my Muse, nor fear not then,  
To ring dispraise of these unfriendly men.   

Did man of Friendship know the mighty power?  
How great effects it worketh every hour.  
What store of hidden friendship it retains,  
How still it poureth forth abundant gains.  
Man would with thee my muse in these our days,  
Ring out loud peals, of sacred friendship's praise.   

Friendship, relieveth man's necessity,  
Friendship, comforteth man's adversity.  
Friendship augmenteth man's prosperity,  
Friendship prefers man to felicity.  
Then ring my muse, ring out in these our days,  
Ring out loud peals, of sacred friendship's praise.   

Of Friendship, groweth love and charity,  
By Friendship, men are linked in amity:  
From Friendship, springeth all commodity,  
The fruit of Friendship, is fidelity.  
O ring my Muse, ring out in these our days,  
Peal upon peal, of sacred friendship's praise.   

That man with man, true Friendship may embrace,  
That man to man, may show a friendly face:  
That every man, may sow such friendly seeds,  
As Friendship, may be found in friendly deeds.  
And join with me my Muse in these our days,  
To ring loud peals, of sacred friendship's praise.   
Finis.  
F. K.   

18. Respise finem.  

TO be as wise as CATO was,  
Or rich as CROESUS in his life:  
To have the strength of Hercules,  
Which did subdue by force or strife.  
What helpeth it when Death doth call,  
The happy end exceedeth all.   

The Rich may well the Poor relieve,  
The Rulers may redress each wrong:  
The Learned may good counsel give,  
But mark the end, of this my song.  
Who doth these things, happy they call,  
Their happy end exceedeth all.   

The happiest end, in these our days,  
That all do seek, both small and great:  
Is either for Fame, or else for Praise,  
Or who may sltte in highest seat.  
But of these things, hap what hap shall,  
The happy end exceedeth all.   

A good beginning often we see,  
But seldom standing at one stay:  
For few do like the meme degree,  
Then praise at parting some men say.  
The thing whereto each wight is thrall,  
The happy end exceedeth all.   

The mean estate, that happy life,  
Which liveth under governance:  
Who seeks no hate nor breeds no strife,  
But takes in worth his happy chance,  
If contentation him befall,  
His happy end, exceedeth all.   

The longer life that we desire,  
The more offence doth daily grow:  
The greater pain it doth require.  
Except the judge some mercy show.  
Wherefore I think, and ever shall,  
The happy end exceedeth all.   
Finis.  
D. S.   

19 He persuadeth his friend, from the fond effects of love.  

WHY art thou bound, and mayst go free,  
Shall reason yield to raging will?  
Is thraldom like to liberty:  
Wilt thou exchange thy good for ill:  
Then shalt thou learn a childish play,  
And of each part to taste and prove,  
The lookers on, shall judge and say,  
Lo this is he that lives by love.   

Thy wits with thoughts, shall stand at stay,  
Thy head shall have but heavy rest:  
Thy eyes shall watch for wanton prays,  
Thy tongue shall show thy hearts request.  
Thy ears shall hear a thousand noise,  
Thy hand shall put thy pen to pain:  
And in the end, thou shalt dispraise,  
The life so spent, for such small gain.   

If leave and list might never cope,  
Nor youth to run from reason's race:  
Nor if strong suit might win sure hope,  
I would less blame a lovers case.  
For love is hot, with great desire,  
And sweet delight makes youth so fond,  
That little sparks will prove great fire,  
And bring free hearts to endless bond.   
Finis.   

20. Wanting his desire, be complaineth.  

THe sailing ships with joy at length, do touch the long desired port,  
The hewing axe the oak doth waste, the battering Canon breaks the fort.  
Hard haggard Hawks stoup to the lure, wild co●s in time the bridle tames,  
There is nothing so out of ure, but to his kind long time it frames.  
Yet this I find in time, no time can win my suit,  
Though often the tree I climb, I can not catch the fruit.   

And yet the pleasant branches often, in yielding wise to me do bow,  
When I would touch, they spring aloft, soon are they gone, I wots not how:  
Thus I pursue the fleeting flood, like Tantalus in hell below.  
Would god my case she understood, which can full soon relieve my woe:  
Which if to her were known, the fruit were surely mine,  
She would not let me groan, and browse upon the rind.   

But if my ship with tackle turn, with rented sails must needs retire,  
And stream & wind had plainly sworn, by force to hinder my desire:  
Like one that strikes upon the rocks, my weary wrack I should bewaste  
And learn to know false fortunes mocks, who smiles on me to small avail:  
Yet sith she only can, my rented ship restore,  
To help her wracked man, but once I seek no more.   
Finis.  
M. Edwardes.   

21. Try before you trust.  
IN friends are found a heap of doubts, that double dealing use,  
A swarm of such I could find out, whose craft I can accuse:  
A face for love, a heart for hate, these feigned friends can bear,  
A tongue for troth, a head for wiles, to hurt each simple ear.  
In humble port is poison pact, that plainness can not spy,  
Which credits all, and can not see, where stinging serpents lie:  
Through hasty trust, the harmless heart, is easily hampered in,  
And made believe it is good gold, when it is lead and tin.  
The first deceit that blears mine eyes, is feigned faith professed,  
The second trap, is grating talk, that gripes each stranger's breast,  
The third deceit, is greeting words, with colours painted out,  
Which bids suspect to fear no smart, nor dread no dangerous doubt.  
The fourth and last, is long repair, which creeps in friendship's lap:  
And daily haunts, that under trust, deviseth many a trap.  
Lo how false friends, can frame a fetch, to win the will with wiles,  
To sauce their sleights with sugared sops, & shadow harm with smiles.  
To serve their lusts, are sundry sorts, by practice divers kinds,  
Some carries honey in their mouths, and venom in their minds.  
Me thinks the stones within the streets, should cry out in this case,  
And every one that doth them meet, should shun their double face.  
Finis.  
D. S.   

22. A Lady forsaken, complaineth.  
IF pleasures be in painfulness? in pleasures doth my body rest,  
If joys accord with carefulness? a joyful heart is in my breast:  
If prison strong be liberty? in liberty long have I been,  
If joys accord with misery? who can compare a life to mine.  
Who can unbind that is sore bound? who can make free that is sore thrall  
Or how can any means be found? to comfort such a wretch withal?  
None can, but he that hath my heart, convert my pains to comfort then,  
Yet since his servant I become, most like a bondman have I been:  
Since first in bondage I become, my word and deed was ever such,  
That never once he could me blame, except from loving him too much.  
Which I can judge no just offence, nor cause that I deserved disdain,  
Except he mean through false pretence, through forged loved to make a train  
Nay nay alas, my feigned thoughts my friended & my feigned ruth  
My pleasures past my present plaints, show well I mean but to much truth:  
But since I can not him attain, against my will I let him go,  
And jest he glory at my pain, I will attempt to cloak my woe.  
Youth, learn by me, but do not prove, for I have proved to my pain,  
What grievous griefs do grow by love, & what it is to love in vain.  
Finis.  
M. D.   

23. Finding worldly joys but vanities, he wisheth death.  
forlorn in filthy froward fate, wherein a thousand cares I find,  
By whom I do lament my state, annoide with fond afflicted mind:  
A wretch in woe, and dare not cry,  
I live, and yet I wish to die.  
The day in dole, that seemeth long, I pass with sighs & heavy cheer,  
And with these eyes I view the wrong, that I sustain by loving here:  
Where my mishaps as rife do devil,  
As plagues within the pit of hell.  
A wailing wight I walk alone, in desert dens there to complain,  
Among the savage sort to moan, I flee my friends where they remain:  
And pleasure take to shun the sight,  
Where erst I felt my chief delight.  
A captive clapped in chains of care, leapt in the laws of lethal love,  
My flesh & bones consumed bore, with crawling griefs full strange to prove:  
Though hap doth bid me hope at lest,  
While grass doth grow, yet starves the beast.  
A seeged fort with foreign force, for want of aid, must yield at last,  
So must my wearied pined corpse, submit itself to bitter taste:  
Of crawling care, that carks my breast,  
Till hop or death, shall breed my rest.  
Finis.  
F. M.   

24. 
Having married a worthy Lady,  
and taken away by death, he complaineth his mishap.   
IN youth when I at large did lead, my life in lusty liberty,  
When heavy thoughts no one did spread, to let my pleasant fantasy  
No fortune seemed, so hard could fall,  
This freedom then, that might make thrall.  
And twenty years I scarce had spent, when to make full my happy fate,  
Both treasures great were on me cast, with lands and titles of estate:  
So as more blest than I stood than,  
Eke as me thought was never man.  
For of Dame Fortune who is he, could more desire by just request,  
The health, with wealth, and liberty, all which at once I thus possessed:  
But masking in this jolly joy,  
A sudden sight, proved all a toy.  
For passing on these merry days, with new device of pleasures great,  
And now & then to view the rays, of beauty's works with cunning fret:  
In heavenly hews, all which as one,  
I often beheld, but bound to none.  
And one day rolling thus my eyes, upon these blessed wights at ease,  
Among the rest one did I see, who straight my wandering looks did seize:  
And stayed them firm, but such a sight,  
Of beauty yet saw never wight.  
What shall I seek to praise it more, where tongues can not praise the same,  
But to be short to lovers lore, I straight my senses all did frame:  
And were it wit, or were it chance,  
I won the Garland in this dance,  
And thus where I before had thought, no hap my fortune might increase▪  
A double bliss this chance forth brought, so did my ladies love me please:  
Her faith so firm, and constant such,  
As neue● heart, can praise too much.  
But now with torments strange I taste, the fickle stay of fortunes wheel,  
And where she raised from height to cast, with greater force, of grief to feel:  
For from this hap of sudden frown,  
Of Prince's face she threw me down.  
And thus exchange now hath it made, my liberty a thing most dear,  
In hateful prison for to fade, where sundered from my loving fear:  
My wealth, and health, stands at like stay,  
Obscurely to consume away.  
And last when humane force was none, could part our love wherein we lived,  
My ladies life alas is gone, most cruel death hath it bereaved:  
Whose virtues, her, to God, hath won,  
And lest me here, a man undone.  
Finis.  
F. G.   

24. 
A worthy ditty, song before the Queen's  
Majesty at Bristol.   

MIstrust not troth, that truly means, for every jealous freke,  
In stead 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 match with might, let hate no judgement give:  
enforce no fear with wresting wits, in quiet conscience breast,  
Lend not your ears to busy tongues, which breedeth much unrest.   

In doubtful drifts wade not to far, it weeries but the mind,  
Seek not to search the secret hearts, whose thoughts are hard to found:  
Avoid from you those hateful heads, that helps to heap mishap,  
Be flow to hear the flatterer's voice, which creepeth in your lap.   

Embrace their love that wills you good, and sport not at their praise,  
Trust not too much unto yourself, for feeble are your stays:  
How can your seat be settled fast, or stand on steadfast ground,  
So propped up with hollow hearts, whose surety is unsound.   

give faith to those that fear for love, and not that love for fear,  
Regard not them that force compels, to please you every where:  
All this well weighed and borne away, shall stablish long your state,  
Continually with perfect peace, in spite of puffing hate.   
Finis.  
D. S.   

26. His good name being blemished, he bewaileth.  

FRaud is the front of Fortune past all recovery,  
I stayles stand, to abide the shock of shame and infamy.  
My life through lingering long is lodge, in lare of loathsome ways,  
My death delayed to keep from life, the harm of hapless days:  
My spirits, my heart, my wit and force, in deep distress are drowned,  
The only loss of my good name, is of these griefs the ground.   

And since my mind, my wit, my head, my voice, and tongue are weak  
To utter, move, devise, conceive, sound forth, declare, and speak:  
Such piercing plaints, as answer might, or would my woeful case,  
Help, crave I must, and crave I will, with tears upon my face:  
Of all that may in heaven or hell, in earth or air be found,  
To wail with me this loss of mine, as of these griefs the ground.   

Help gods, help saints, help spirits & powers, that in the heaven do dwell,  
Help ye that are to wail ay wont, ye howling hounds of hell:  
Help man, help beasts, help birds, & worms, that on the earth doth toil  
Help fish, help foul, that flocks and feeds upon the salt sea soil:  
Help echo that in air doth flee, shryl voices to resound,  
To wail this loss of my good name, as of these griefs the ground.   
Finis.  
E. O.   

27. Of Fortune's power.  

POlicrates whose passing hap, caused him to loose his fate,  
A golden ring cast in the seas, to change his constant state,  
And in a fish yet at his board, the fame he after found,  
Thus Fortune lo, to whom she takes, for bounty doth abound.   

The myzers unto might she mounts, a common case we see,  
And mighty in great misery, she sets in low degree:  
Whom she to day doth rear on high, upon her whitling wheel,  
To morrow next shedingeth down, and casteth at her heel.   

No measure hath she in her gifts, she doth reward each sort.  
The wise that counsel have, no more than fools that maketh sport.  
she useth never partial hands for to offend or please,  
give me good Fortune all men says, and throw me in the seas.   

It is no fault or worthiness, that makes men fall or rise,  
I rather be borne Fortunate, then to be very wise.  
The blindest man right soon, that by good Fortune guided is,  
To whom that pleasant Fortune pipes, can never dance amiss.   
Finis.  
M. Edwardes.   

28. 
Though Triumph after bloody wars, the greatest brags do bear:  
Yet Triumph of a conquered mind, the crown of Fame shall wear.   

WHo so doth mark the careless life, of these unhappy days,  
And sees what small and slender hold, the state of virtue stays:  
He finds that this accursed trade, proceedeth of this ill,  
That men be given, too much to yield to their untamed william.   

In lack of taming witless will, the poor we often see  
Envies the rich, because that he, his equal cannot be:  
The rich advauned to might by wealth, from wrong doth not refrain,  
But will oppresseth weaker sort, to heap excessive gain.   

If Fortune were so blind, to give to one man what he will,  
A world would not suffice the same, if he might have his fill:  
We wish, we search, we strive for all, and have no more therein  
Then hath the slave, when death doth come, though Croesus' wealth we win.   

In getting much, we get but care, such brittle wealth to keep,  
The rich within his walls of stone doth never sound sleep:  
When poor in weak and slender house, do fear no loss of wealth,  
And have no further care but this, to keep themselves in health.   

Affection may not hide the sword of sway, in judgement seat,  
Lest partial law do execute the law in causes great:  
But if the mind in constant state, affection quite do leave,  
The higher state shall have their rights, the poor no wrong receive.   

It is accounted greater praise to Caesar's lofty state,  
Against his vanquished foes, in wars to bridle wreakful hate:  
Then when to Rome he had subdued, the people long unknown,  
Whereby as far as land was found, the same abroad was ●lowne.   

If honour can self will refuse, and justice be upright,  
And private state desires but that which good appears in sight:  
Then virtue shall with sovereign show, to every eye reveal  
A heavenly life, a wealefull state, a happy common weal.   

Let virtue then the Triumph win, and govern all your deeds,  
Your yielding to oer sober hests, immortal glory breed:  
she shall uprear your worthy name, show then unto the skies,  
Her beams shall shine in grave obscure, where shrined carcase l●es,   
Finis.  
M. Edwardes.   

29 Of perfect wisdom.  

WHo so will be accounted wise, and truly claim the same,  
By joining virtue to his deeds, he must achieve the same:  
But few there be, that seek thereby true wisdom to attain,  
O God, so rule our hearts therefore, such fondness to refrain.   

The wisdom which we most esteem, in this thing doth consist,  
With glorious talk to show in words our wisdom when we list.  
Yet not in talk, but seemly deeds, our wisdom we should place,  
To speak so fair, and do but ill, doth wisdom quite disgrace.   

To bargain well, and shun the loss, a wisdom counted is,  
And thereby through the greedy coin no hope of grace to mis.  
To seek by honour to advance his name to brittle praise,  
Is wisdom, which we da●ly see, increaseth in our days.   

But heavenly wisdom sour seems to hard for them to win,  
And weary of the suit they seem, when they do once begin:  
It teacheth us to frame our life, while vital breath we have,  
When it dissolveth earthly mass, the soul from death to save.   

By fear of God to rule our steps, from sliding into vice,  
A wisdom is, which we neglect, although of greater price:  
A point of wisdom also this, we commonly esteem,  
That every man should be in deed, that he desires to seem.   

To bridle that desire of gain, which forceth us to ill,  
Our haughty stomachs Lord repress, to tame presuming will:  
This is the wisdom that we should, above each thing desire,  
O heavenly God from sacred throne, that grace in us inspire.   

And print in our repugnant hearts, the rules of wisdom true,  
That all our deeds in worldly life, may like thereof ensue:  
Thou only art the living spring, from whom this wisdom flows,  
O wash therewith our sinful hearts, from vice that therein grows.   
Finis.  
M. Edwardes.   

30 A friendly admonition.  

YOU stately wights, that live in quiet rest  
Through worldly wealth, which God hath given to you.  
L●ment with tears and sighs from doleful breast:  
The shame and power that vice obtaineth now.  
Behold how God doth daily proffer grace,  
Yet we disdain, repentance to embrace.   

The suds of sin do suck into the mind,  
And cankered vice doth virtue quite expel,  
No change to good alas can resting find:  
Our wicked hearts so stoutly do rebel.  
Not one there is that hasteth to amend,  
Though God from heaven his daily threats do sand.   

We are so slow to change our blameful life,  
We are so priest to snatch alluring vice:  
Such greedy hearts on every side be rife.  
So few that guide their will by counsel wise,  
To set our tears lament the wretched case,  
And call to God for undeserved grace.   

You worldly wights, that have your fancies sixth  
On slipper joy of terreine pleasure here:  
Let some remorse in all your deeds be mixed.  
While you have time let some redress appear.  
Of sudden Death the hour you shall not know,  
And look for Death atthough it seemeth slow.   

O be no judge in other men's offence,  
But purge thyself and seek to make thee free,  
Let every one apply his diligence,  
A change to good with in himself to see:  
O God direct our feet in such a stay,  
From cankered vice to shame the hateful way.   
Finis.  
R. Hill.   

31. Sundry men, sundry affects.  

IN every wight some sundry sort of pleasure I do find,  
Which after he doth seek to ease his toiling mind.  
Diana with her training chase, of hunting had delight,  
Against the fearful Dear, she could direct her shot aright.  
The lofty years in every age, doth still embrace the ●ame,  
The sport is good, if virtue do assist the cheerful game.   

Minerva in her chattering arms her courage doth advance,  
In trial of the bloody wars, she giveth lucky chance.  
For safeguard men embrace the same, which do so needful seem,  
That noble hearts their chief delights in use thereof esteem.  
In warlike games to ride or try the force of arms they use,  
And base the man we do account, that doth the same refuse.   

The silver sound of musics cords, doth please Apollo's wit,  
A science which the heavens advance, where it deserves to sit.  
A pleasure apt for every wight, relief to careful mind,  
For woe redress, for care a salve, for sadness help we find.  
The sovereign praise of Music still, doth cause the Poetes feign,  
That whliring Spheres, and eke the heavens, do hecmonie retain.   

I heard that these three powers, at variance lately fell,  
While each did praise his own delight, the other to excel.  
Then Fame, as one indifferent judge, to end the case they call,  
The praise pronounced by her to them, indifferently doth fall.  
Diana health and strength maintain, Minerva force doth tame,  
And Music gives sweet delight, to further other game.   

These three delights to haughty minds, the worthiest are esteemed,  
If virtue be annexed to them, they rightly be so deemed.  
With joy they do relieve the wit with sorrow often oppressed,  
And never suffer solemn grief too long in mind to rest.  
Be wise in mirth, and seek delight, the same do not abuse,  
In honest mirth, a happy joy we aught not to refuse.   
Finis.  
R. Hill.   

32. Time gives experience.  

WE read what pains the powers divine,  
Through wrath conceived by some offence,  
To mortal creatures they assign  
Their due deserts for recompense.  
What endless pain they must endure,  
Which their offences did procure.   

A Gripe doth Titius Liver tear  
His greedy hungry gorge to fill,  
And Sisyphus must ever bear  
The rolling stone against the hill.  
A number more in hell be found,  
Which thus to endless pain are bound.   

Yet all the woe that they sustain,  
Is nothing to the pain of me,  
Which cometh through the proud disdain  
Of one, that doth to love repined:  
Therefore I cry woe worth the hour,  
Since first I fell in Venus' power.   

The gnawing gripes of irksome thought,  
Consumes my heart with Titius' grief:  
I also have full vainly wrought,  
With Sisyphus without relief.  
Even when I hope to end my pain,  
I must renew my suit again.   

Yet will I not seem so untrue,  
To leave a thing so late begun:  
A better hap may yet ensue,  
The strongest towers in time be won.  
In time therefore, my trust I place,  
Who must procure desired grace.   
Finis.  
R. H.   

33 Of sufferance cometh ease.  
TO seem for to revenge each wrong in hasty wise,  
By proof we see of guiltless men, it hath not been th● guise.  
In slanders loathsome brute, where they condemned be,  
With ragelesse mood they suffer wrong, where truth shall try them free.  
These are the patiented pangs, that pass within the breast  
Of those, that feel their cause by mine, where wrong hath right oppressed.  
I know how by suspect, I have been judged awry,  
And granted g●ltie in the thing, that clearly I deny:  
My faith may me defend, if I might loved be,  
God judge me so, as from the guilt I know me to be free.  
I wrote but for myself, the grief was all mine own,  
As, who would prove excremitie, by proof it might be known.  
Yet are there such, that say, they can my meaning deem,  
Without respect of this old troth, things prove not as they seem,  
Whereby it may befall, in judgement to be quick,  
To make themselves suspect therewith, that needed not to kick.  
Yet in resisting wrong, I would not have it thought  
I do amiss, as though I knew by whom it might be wrought.  
If any such there be, that herewithal be vexed,  
It were their virtue to beware, and deem me better next.  
Finis.  
E. S.   

34 Being trapped in Love be complaineth.  
THe hidden wees that swelleth in my heart,  
Brings forth such sighs, as fills the air with smoke:  
T●e golden beams, thorough this his fiery dart,  
D●re not abide, the answer of the stroke.  
Which stroke, although it dazed me some deal,  
Yet nature taught my hand to work his kind,  
Wherewith I taught to pull away the steel,  
But to my pain, it left my head behind,  
That fastened hath my heart so near the pith,  
Except such s●lue, as when the Scorpion stings,  
I might rece●ue to heal my wound therewith:  
In vain for ease, my tongue always it rings.  
And I for pains, shall perish through her guilt,  
That can rejoice, to see how I am spilled.  
Finis.  
E. S.   

35 
Though Fortune have set thee on high,  
Remember yet that thou shalt die.   

TO die, Dame nature did man frame,  
Death is a thing most perfect sure:  
We aught not natures works to blame,  
she made nothing, still to endure.  
That law she made, when we were borne,  
That hence we should return again:  
To tender right, we must not scorn,  
Death is due debt, it is no pain.   

The civil law, doth bid restore  
That thou hast taken up of trust:  
Thy life is lent, thou must therefore  
Rep●y, except thou be unjust.  
This life is like a pointed race,  
To the end whereof when man hath trod,  
He must return to former place,  
He may not still remain abroad.   

Death hath in all the earth aright,  
His power is great, it stretcheth far:  
Not Lord, no Prince, can scape his might,  
No creature can his duty bar.  
The wise, the just, the strong, the high,  
The chaste, the meek, the free of heart,  
The rich, the poor, who can deny,  
Have yielded all unto his dart.   

Can Hercules that tamed each wight?  
Or else Ulysses with his wit?  
Or janus who had all foresight?  
Or chaste Hypolit scape the pit?  
Can Croesus with his bags of gold?  
Or Irus with his hungry pain?  
Or Signus through his hardiness bold?  
drive back the days of Death again.   

Seeing no man then can Death escape,  
Nor hire him hence for any gain:  
We aught not fear his carrion shape,  
He only brings evil men to pain.  
If thou have led thy life aright,  
Death is the end of misery:  
If thou in God hast thy delight,  
Thou diest to live eternally.   

Each wight therefore while he lives here,  
Let him think on his dying day:  
In midst of wealth, in midst of cheer,  
Let him account he must away.  
This thought, makes man to God a friend,  
This thought doth banish pride and sin:  
This thought doth bring a man in th'end,  
Where he of Death the field shall win.    

39 All things are Vain.  
ALthough the purple morning, brags in brightness of the sun,  
As though he had of chased night, a glorious conquest won:  
The Time by day, gives place again to force of drowsy night,  
And every creature is constrained, to change his lusty plight.  
Of pleasures all, that here we taste:  
We feel the contrary at last.  
In spring, though pleasant Zephyrus, hath fruitful earth inspired,  
And nature hath each bush, each branch, with blossoms brave attired:  
Yet fruits and flowers, as buds and blomes, full quickly withered be,  
When stormy Winter comes to kill, the Summer's jollity.  
By Time are got, by Time are lost  
All things, wherein we pleasure most.  
Although the Seas so calmly glide, as dangers none appear,  
And doubt of storms, in sky is none, king Phoebus shines so clear:  
Yet when the boisterous winds break out, and raging waves do swell,  
The silly bark now heaves to heaven, now sinks again to hell.  
Thus change in every thing we see,  
And nothing constant, seems to be.  
Who floweth most in worldly wealth, of wealth is most unsure,  
And he that chiefly tastes of joy, doth sometime woe endure:  
Who vaunteth most of numbered friends, forego them all he must,  
The fairest flesh and livelest bioud, is turned at length to dust.  
Experience gives a certain ground,  
That certain here, is nothing found.  
Then trust to that which ay remains, the bliss of heavens above,  
Which Time, nor Fate, nor Wind, nor Storm, is able to remove:  
Trust to that sure celestial rock, that rests in glorious throne,  
That hath been, is, and must be still, our anchor hold alone.  
The world is but a vanity,  
In heaven seek we our surety.  
Finis.  
F. K.   

37 A virtuous Gentle woman in the praise of his love.  

I Am a Virgin fair and free, and freely do rejoice,  
I sweetly warble sugared notes, from silver voice:  
For which delightful joys, yet thank I courtesy love,  
By whose almighty power, such sweet delights I prove,   

I walk the pleasant fields, adorned with lively green,  
And view the fragrant flowers, most lovely to be seen:  
The purple Columbine, the Cousloppe and the Lily,  
The Violet sweet, the Daizie and daffodil.   

The Woodbines on the hedge, the read Rose and the white,  
And cache fine flowers else, that rendereth sweet delight:  
Among the which I choose, all those of seemeliest grace,  
In thought, resembling them to my dear lovers face.   

His lovely face I mean, whose golden flowering gifts,  
His ever living Fame, to lofty sky uplifts:  
Whom loving me I love, only for virtues sake,  
When virtuously to love, all only care I take.   

Of all which fresh fair flowers, that flower that doth appear  
In my conceit most like to him I hold so dear.  
I gather it, I kiss it, and eke devise with it,  
Such kind of lively speech, as is for lovers fit.   

And then of all my flowers, I make a garland fine,  
With which my golden wire hears, together I do twine:  
And set it on my head, so taking that delight,  
That I would take, had I my lover still in sight.   

For as in goodly flowers, mine eyes great pleasure find,  
So are my lovers gyftsses, most pleasant to my mind:  
Upon which virtuous gifts, I make more sweet repast,  
Then they that for love sports, the sweetest joys do taste.   
Finis.  
M. K.   

38. Oppressed with sorrow, he wisheth death.  

IF Fortune may enforce, the careful heart to cry,  
And griping grief constrain, the wounded wight lament:  
Who then alas to mourn, hath greater cause than I,  
Against whose hard mishap, both Heaven and Earth are bend.  
For whom no help remains, for whom no hope is left:  
From whom all happy haps is fled, and pleasure quite bereft.  
Whose life naught can prolong, whose health naught can assure:  
Whose death, o pleasant port of peace, no creature can procure.  
Whose passed proof of pleasant joy,  
Mischance hath changed, to griefs annoy:  
And lo, whose hope of better day,  
Is overwhelmed with long delay.  
O hard mishap.   

Each thing I plainly see, whose virtues may avail,  
To ease the pinching pain, which gripes the groaning wight:  
By Physics sacred skill, whose rule doth seldom fail,  
Through labours long inspect, is plainly brought to light.  
I know, there is no fruit, no leaf, no root, no rind,  
No herb, no plant, no juice, no gum, no metal deeply mind:  
Not Pearl, no Precious stone, ne gem of rare effect,  
Whose virtues, learned Galen'S books, at large do not detect.  
Yet all their force can not appease,  
The furious fits of my disease,  
Nor any drug of Physics art,  
Can ease the grief, that gripes my heart.  
O strange disease.   

I hear the wise affirm, that Nature hath in store,  
A thousand secret salves, which wisdom hath outfound:  
To cool the scorching heat of every smarting sore:  
And healeth deepest scar, though grievous be the wound.  
The ancient proverb says, that none so festered grief,  
Doth grow, for which the gods themselves, have not ordained relief.  
But I by proof do know, such proverbs to be vain,  
And think that Nature never knew, the plague which I sustain.  
And so not knowing my distress,  
Hath left my grief remediless,  
For why, the heavens for me prepare,  
To live in thought, and die in care.  
O lasting pain.   

By change of air I see, by haute of healthful soil,  
By diet duly kept, gross humours are expelled:  
I know that griefs of mind, and inward hearts turmoil,  
By faithful friends advise, in time may be repelled.  
Yet all this naught avails, to kill that me annoys,  
I mean to stop these floods of care, that overflow my joys.  
Not none exchange of place, can change my luckless lot,  
Like one I live, and so must die, whom Fortune hath forego.  
No counsel can prevail with me,  
Nor sage advise with grief agreed:  
For he that feels the pains of hell,  
Can never hope in heaven to devil.  
O deep despair.   

What lives on earth but I, whose travail reaps no gain,  
The wearied Horse and Ox, in stall and stable rest:  
The Ant with summers toil, bears out the winter's pain,  
The Fowl that flies all day, at night returns to rest.  
The Ploughman's weary work, amid the winter's mire,  
Rewarded is with summer's gain, which yields him double hire:  
The silly labouring soul, which drudges from day to day,  
At night, his wages truly paid, contented goeth his way.  
And coming home, his drowsy head  
He cowcheth close in homely bed:  
Wherein no sooner downe he lies,  
But sleep hath strait possessed his eyes.  
O happy man.   

The Soldier biding long, the brunt of mortal wars,  
Where life is never free, from dint of deadly foil:  
At last comes joyful home, though mangled all with scars,  
Where frankly, void of fear, he spends the gotten spoil.  
The Pirate lying long, amid the fooming floods,  
With every flaw in hazard is, to lose both life and goods.  
At length finds view of land, where wished port he spies,  
Which once obtained, among his mates, he parts the gotten prize.  
Thus every man, for travail past,  
Doth reap a just reward at last:  
But I alone, whose troubled mind,  
In seeking rest, unrest doth find.  
O luckless lot.   

O cursed caitiff wretch, whose heavy hard mishap,  
Doth wish ten thousand times, that thou hadst not been borne:  
Since fate hath thee condemned, to live in sorrows lap.  
Where wailings waste thy life, of all redress forlorn.  
What shall thy grief appease? who shall thy torment stay?  
Will't thou thyself, with murdering hands, enforce thy own decay?  
Not, far be thou from me, myself to stop my breath,  
The gods forbidden, whom I beseech, to work my joys by death.  
For linger length of loathed life,  
Doth stir in me such mortal strife:  
That whiles for life and death I cry,  
In Death I live, and living die.  
O froward fate.   

Lo here my hard mishap, lo here my strange disease,  
Lo here my deep despair, lo here my lasting pain:  
Lo here my froward fate, which nothing can appease.  
Lo here how others toil, rewarded is with gain.  
While luckless, lo, I live in loss of labours due,  
Compelled by proof of torment strong, my endless grief to rue.  
In which, since needs I must, consume both youth and age  
If old I live, and that my care no comfort can assuage.  
Henceforth I banish from my breast,  
All frustrate hope of future rest,  
And truthless trust to times reward,  
With all respects of joys regard,  
Here I forswear.    

39 
Where reason makes request, there wisdom aught supply,  
With friendly answer priest, to grant or else deny.   

I Sigh? why so? for sorrow of her smart.  
I morn? wherefore? for grief that she complains.  
I pity? what? her overpressed heart.  
I dread? what harm? the danger she sustains,  
I grieve? where at? at her oppressing pains.  
I feel? what force? the fits of her disease,  
Whose harm doth me and her, alike displease.   

I hope, what hap? her happy healths retire,  
I wish, what wealth? no wealth, nor worldly store  
But crave, what craft? by cunning to aspire  
Some skill, whereto? to salve her sickly sore.  
What then? why then would I her health restore,  
Whose harm me hurts, how so? so works my will  
To wish myself and her, like good and ill.   

What moves the mind, whereto? to such desire  
Ne force, ne favour, what then? free fancy's choice:  
Art thou to choose? my charter to require  
Each ladies love is fred by custom's voice,  
Yet are there grants, the evidence of their choice.  
What then, our freedom is at large in choosing,  
As women's wills are froward in refusing.   

Wots she thy will? she knows what I protest,  
Deigned she thy suit? she daungerd not my talk:  
Gave she consent? she granted my request,  
What didst thou crave? the root, the fruit, or stalk,  
I asked them all, what gave she, Cheese, or chalk?  
That taste must try, what taste? I mean the proof  
Of friends, whose wills withhold her bow aloof.   

Meanest thou good faith? what else, hopest thou to speed?  
Why not, O fool untaught in carpet trade,  
Knowest not what proofs from such delays proceed,  
Wilt thou like headless Cock be caught in glade?  
Art thou like Ass, too apt for burden made?  
Fie, fie, will thou for saint adore the shrine?  
And woe her friend, ere she be wholly thine?   

Who draws this drift? moved she, or thou this match?  
'twas I: o fool, unware of women's wiles,  
Long mayst thou wait, like hungry hounds at hatch,  
She crafty Fox, the silly Goose beguiles.  
Thy suit is shaped so fit for long delay,  
That she at will may check, from yea to nay,   

But in good sooth, tell me her friends intent:  
Best learn it first, their purpose I not know,  
Why then thy will to worse and worse is bend,  
Dost thou delight, the unkindled coal to blow?  
Or childelike lovest, in anckred boat to row,  
What mean these terms? who sith thy suit is such,  
Know of or on, or thou afect to much.   

No haste but good, why no, the mean is best,  
Admit she love, mislike in lingering grows:  
Suppose she is caught, than Woodcock on thy crest,  
Till end approves, what scornful sedes she sows.  
In loitering love, such dangers ebbs and flows,  
What help herein? why wake in dangerous watch,  
That too, nor fro, may make thee mar the match:   

Is that the way to end my weary work?  
By quick dispatch, to lesson long turmoil,  
Well well, though loss in linger wonts to lurk,  
And I a fool, most fit to take the foil:  
Yet proof from promise, never shall recoil.  
My words with deeds, and deeds with words shall wend,  
Till she, or hers, gayvesay that I intend.   

Art thou so fond? not fond, but firmly fast,  
Why fool, her friends wot how thy will is bend:  
Yet thou like dolt, whose wit and sense is past,  
Sest not what frumps, do follow thy intent.  
Ne know, how love in lieu of scorn is lent,  
Adieu, for sights such folly should prevent.  
Well well, their scoffs with scorns might be repaid,  
If my requests were fully yea'd or nay'd.   

Well, well, let these with wisdoms pass be weighed,  
And in your chest of chiefest secrets laid.  
What is, or may be mine,  
That is, and shall be thine:  
Till death the twist untwine,  
That doth our loves combine.  
But if thy heart repined,  
Thy body should be mine.  
Show me thereof some sine,  
That I may slack the line,  
That knitts thy will to mine.   
Finis. My Luck is loss.   

40 
Donec eris Felix multos numerabis amicos.  
Nullus ad amissus ibit amicus opes.   

EVen as the Raven, the Crow, and greedy Rite  
Do swarming flock, where carrion corpses doth fall:  
And tiring tear with beak and talents might,  
Both skin and flesh to gorge their guts withal.  
And never cease, but gather more to more,  
Do all to pull the carcase too and fro,  
Till bared bones at last they leave behind,  
And seek elsewhere, some fatter food to find.   

Even so I see, where wealth doth wax at will,  
And Gold doth grow to heaps of great increase:  
There friends resort, and proffering friendship still,  
Full thick they throng, with never ceasing press.  
And stilie make a show of true intent,  
When naught but guile, and inward hate is meant:  
For when mischance shall change such wealth to want,  
They pack them thence, to place of richer haunt.   
Finis. My Luck is loss.   

41. What joy to a contented mind.  

THe faith that fails, must needs be thought untrue,  
The friend that feigns, who holdeth not unjust,  
Who likes that love, that changeth still for new:  
Who hopes for truth, where troth is void of trust,  
No faith, no friend, no love, no troth so sure,  
But rather fails then steadfastly endure.   

What head so stayed? that altereth not intent,  
What thought so sure? that steadfast doth remain,  
What wit so wise? that never needs repent:  
What tongue so true? but sometime wonts to feign,  
What foot so firm? that never treads awry,  
What sooner dimmed? then fight of clearest eye.   

What heart so fixed? but some inclines to change,  
What mood so mild? that never moved debate:  
What faith so strong? but lightly likes to range,  
What love so true? that never learned to hate.  
What life so pure? that lasts, without offence,  
What worldly mind? but moves with ill pretence.   

What knot so fast? that may not be untied,  
What seal so sure? but fraud or force shall break:  
What prop of stay? but one time shrinks aside,  
What ship so stauche? that never had a leek.  
What grant so large? that no exception makes,  
What hoped help? but friend at need forsakes.   

What seat so high? but low to ground may fall,  
What hap so good? that never found mislike:  
What state so sure? but subject is to thrall  
What force prevails? where Fortune list to strike.  
What wealth so much? but time may turn to want,  
What store so great? but wasting maketh scant.   

What profits hope in depth of dangers thrall,  
What rust in time, but waxeth worse and worse:  
What helps good heart, if Fortune frown withal,  
What blessing thrives, 'gainst heavenly helpless curse.  
What wins desire, to get and can not gain,  
What boats to wish and never to obtain.   
Finis. My luck is loss.   

42. Amantium irae amoris redintigratia est.  

IN going to my naked bed, as one that would have slept,  
I heard a wife sing to her child, that long before had wept:  
She sighed sore and sang full sore, to bring the babe to rest,  
That would not rest but cried still, in sucking at her breast.  
She was full weary of her watch, and grieved with her child,  
She rocked it and rated it, until on her it smiled:  
Then did she say now have I found, the proverb true to prove,  
The falling out of faithful friends, is the renewing of love.   

Then took I paper, pen and ink, this proverb for to writ,  
In register for to remain, of such a worthy wight:  
As she proceeded thus, in song unto her little bratte,  
Much matter uttered she of weight, in place whereas she sat.  
And proved plain, there was no beast, nor creature bearing life,  
Can well be known to live in love, without discord and strife:  
Then kissed she her little babe, and swore by God above,  
The falling out of faithful friends, is the renewing of love.   

She said that neither king ne prince, ne lord could live aright,  
Until their puissance they did prove, their manhood & their might  
When manhood shallbe matched so, that fear can take no place,  
Then weary works makes warriors, each other to embrace.  
And leave their force that failed them, which did consume the rout,  
That might before have lived their time, and nature out:  
Then did she sing as one that thought, no man could her reprove,  
The falling out of faithful friends, is the renewing of love.   

She said she saw no fish ne foul, nor beast within her haunt,  
That meet a stranger in their kind, but could give it a taunt:  
Since flesh might not endure, but rest must wrath succeed,  
And force the fight to fall to play, in pasture where they feed.  
So noble nature can well end, the works she hath begone,  
And bridle well that will not cease, her tragedy in some:  
Thus in her song she often rehearsed, as did her well behove,  
The falling out of faithful friends, is the renewing of love.   

I marvel much pardy quoth she, for to behold the rout,  
To see man, woman, boy & beast to toss the world about:  
Some kneel, some crouch, some beck, some check, & some can smoothly smile  
And some embrace others in arms, and there think many a wile.  
Some stand aloufe at cap and knee, some humble and some stout,  
Yet are they never friends indeed, until they once fall out:  
Thus ended she her song, and said before she did remove,  
The falling out of faithful friends, is the renewing of love.   
M. Edwardes.   

43. Think to die.  

THe life is long, which loathsomely doth last,  
The doleful days draw slowly to their date:  
The present pangs, and painful plags forepast,  
Yields grief ay green, to stablish this estate.  
So that I feel in this great storm and strife,  
That death is sweet, that shorteneth such a life.   

And by the stroke of this strange overthrow,  
All which conflict in thraldom I was thrust:  
The Lord be praised, I am well taught to know,  
From whence man came, and eke whereto he must.  
And by the way, upon how feeble force,  
His term doth stand, till death doth end his course.   

The pleasant years that seems so sweetly run,  
The merry days to end, so fast that fleet:  
The joyful wights, of which days daws so soon,  
The happy hours, which more do miss then meet.  
Do all consume as snow against the Son,  
And death makes end of all that life begun.   

Since death shall dure till all the world be waste,  
What meaneth man, to dread death then so sore?  
As man might make, that life should alway last,  
Without regard, the Lord hath led before.  
The dance of death, which all must run on row,  
The hour wherein only himself doth know.   

If man would mind, what burdens life doth bring,  
What grievous crimes to God, he doth commit:  
What plagues, what pangs, what peril thereby spring,  
With no sure hour in all his days to sit.  
He would sure think and with great cause I do,  
The day of death is happier of the two.   

Death is the door whereby we draw to joy,  
Life is a lake, that drowneth all in pain:  
Death is so dole it seizeth all away,  
Life is so lewd that all it yields is vain.  
And as by life, in bondage man is brought.  
Even so by death is freedom likewise wrought.   

Wherefore with Paul, let all men wish and pray,  
To be dissolved of this foul fleshly mass:  
Or at the lest be armed against the day,  
That they be found good soldiers priest to pass.  
From life to death, from death to life again,  
And such a life as ever shall remain.   
Finis.  
D. S.   

44. Being asked the occasion of his white head, he answereth thus.  

WHere seething sighs and sour sobs,  
Hath slain the slips that nature set:  
And scalding showers with stony throbbs,  
The kindly sap from them hath fett.  
What wonder then though you do see,  
Upon my head white hairs to be.   

Where thought hath thrilled and throne his spears,  
To hurt the heart that harmth him not:  
And groaning grief hath ground for the tears,  
Mine eyen, to stain my face to spot.  
What wonder then though you do see,  
Upon my head white hairs to be.   

Where pinching pain himself hath placed,  
There peace with pleasures were possessed:  
And walls of wealth are fallen to waste,  
And poverty in them is priest.  
What wonder then, though you do see,  
Upon my head white hairs to be.   

Where wretched woe doth weave her web,  
There care the clue, can catch and cast:  
And floudds of joy are fallen to ebb  
So lo, that life may not long last.  
What wonder then, though you do see,  
Upon my head white hairs to be.   

These hairs of age are messengers,  
Which bid me, fast repent and pray:  
They be of death the harbingers,  
That doth prepare, and dress the way.  
Wherefore I joy, that you may see,  
Upon my head such hairs to be.   

They be the line that lead the length,  
How far my race was for to run:  
They say my youth is fled with strength,  
And how old age, is well begun.  
The which I feel, and you may see,  
Upon my head such lines to be.   

They be the strings of sober sound,  
Whose Music is harmonical:  
Their tunes declare, a time from ground  
I came, and how thereto I shall.  
Wherefore I joy that you may see,  
Upon my head such strings to be.   

God grant to those that white hairs have,  
Not worse them take, than I have meant:  
That after they be laid in grave,  
Their souls may joy their lives well spent,  
God grant likewise that you may see,  
Upon my head such hairs to be.   
Finis.  
L. V   

I Would to God I were Actaeon, that Diana did disguise,  
To walk the Forest up and down, whereas my lady lies:  
An Heart of here and hew, I wish that I were so,  
So that my Lady knew me, only and no more.  
The shalyng Nuts and Mast, that falleth from the tree,  
Should well suffice for my repast, might I my lady see:  
It should not grieve me, there in frost, to lie upon the ground,  
Delight should easily quite the cost, what evil so that I found.  
Sometime that I might say, when I saw her alone,  
Behold, see yonder slave alday, that walketh the woodds' alone,  
Finis.  
M.B.   


WHy should I longer long to live,  
In this disease of fantasy,  
Sin's fortune doth not cease to give,  
Things to my mind most contrary.  
And at my joys doth lower and frown,  
Till she hath turned them upsidoune.   

Affrende I had to me most dear,  
And of long time faithful and just:  
There was no one, my heart so near,  
Nor one in whom I had more trust.  
Whom now of late without cause why,  
Fortune hath made my enemy.   

The grass me thinks should grow in sky  
The stars, unto the earth cleave fast:  
The water stream should pass awry,  
The winds should leave their strengt of blast.  
The Son and Moon by one assent,  
Should both forsake the firmament.   

The fish in air should fly with sin,  
The fowls in flood should bring forth fry  
All things me thinks should erst begin,  
To take their course unnaturally.  
Afore my friend should altar so,  
Without a cause to be my foe.   

But such is Fortune's hate I say,  
Such is her will on me to wreak:  
Such spite she hath at me alway,  
And ceaseth not my heart to break.  
With such despite of cruelty,  
Wherefore than longer live should I.   
Finis.  
E. S.   

47. Prudens. The history of Damacles, & Dionise.  
WHoso is set in princely throne, and craveth rule to bear,  
Is still beset on every side, with peril and with fear.  
High trees by stormy winds are shaked, & rend up from the ground  
and flashy flaks of lightning's flames on turrets do robound  
When little shrubs in safety lurk, in covert all allow,  
And freshly flourish in their kind, what ever wind do blow.  
The cruel king of Scisily who fearing barbers hands,  
Was wont to sing his beard himself, with coal and fire brands.  
Hath taught us this, the proof whereof, fu●l plainly we may see.  
Was never thing more lively touched to show it so to be.  
This king did seem to Damacles, to be the happiest wight,  
Because he thought none like to him, in power or in might.  
Who did alone so far excel the rest in his degree,  
As doth the Sun in brightness clear, the darkest star we see.  
Will't thou (than said this cruel king) prove this my present state  
Possess thou shalt this seat of mine, and so be fortunate.  
Full gladly than this Damacles, this proffered honour took,  
And shooting at a princely life, his quiet rest forsook.  
In honour's seat then was he placed, according to his will,  
Forthwith a banquet was prepared, that he might feast his fill.  
Nothing did want wherein 'twas thought, that he would take delight,  
To feed his eye, to fill his mouth, or please the appetite.  
Such store of plate, I think in Grece, there scarcely was so much  
His servitors did Angels seem, their passing shape was such.  
Not dainty dish but there it was, and thereof was such store,  
That throughout Grece so princely cheer, was never seen before.  
Thus while in pomp and pleasures seat, this Damacles was placed,  
And did begin with gladsome heart, each dainty dish to taste.  
At length by chance cast up his eyes, and 'gan the house to view,  
And saw a sight that him enforced, his princely state to rue.  
A sword forsooth with downward point, that had no stronger thread  
Then one horse here that poised it, direct upon his head.  
Wherewith he was so sore amazed, and shook in every part,  
As though the sword that hung above, had struck him to the heart  
Then all their pleasures took their leave, & sorrow came in place,  
His heavy heart the tears declared, that trickled down his face.  
And then forthwith with sobbing voice, besought the king of grace,  
That he would licens him with speed, to departed out of that place.  
And said that he full long enough, had tried now with fear,  
What 'tis to be a happy man, and princely rule to bear.  
This deed of thine oh Dionise, deserves immortal fame,  
This deed shall always live with praise, though thou didst live with shame.  
Whereby both kings be put in mind, their dangers to be great  
And subjects be forbidden to climb, high steps of honour's seat.  
Finis.   

48. Fortitude. A young man of Egypt, and Valerian.  
Each one deserves great praise to have, but yet not like I think,  
Both he that can sustain the yoke of pains, & doth not shrink  
And he whom Cupid's covert craft, can nothing move at all,  
Into the hard and tangled knots, of Venus' snares to fall.  
Bestir you then who so delights, in virtues race to run,  
The flying boy with bow ibent, by strength to overcome.  
As one did once when he was young, and in his tender days,  
Whose stout and noble deed of his, hath got immortal praise.  
The wicked romans did pursue, the silly Christians than,  
What time Valerian Emperor was, a wicked cruel man.  
Who spared not with bloody draughts, to quench his own desire  
Dispatching all that stuck to Christ, with hot consuming fire.  
At length a man, of tender years, was brought before his sight,  
Such one as Nature seemed to make, a witness of her might.  
For every part so well was set, that nothing was depraved,  
So that the cruel king himself, would gladly have him saved.  
So loath he was to see a work, so rare of natures power,  
So finely built so suddenly, destroyed within an hour.  
Then means he sought to overcome, or win him at the jest,  
To slip from Christ, whom he before had earnestly professed.  
A bed prepared, so finely decked, such divers pleasant smells,  
That well it might appear a place, where pleasure only dwells.  
By him he laid a naked wench, a Venus' darling sure,  
With sugared speech & lovely toys, that might his mind allure.  
Such wanton lewres as these he thought, might eassy him entice,  
Which things he knew with lusty youth, had always been in prize.  
Such ways I think the Gods themselves, could have invented none,  
For flattering Venus overcomes, the senses every eachone,  
And he himself was even at point, to Venus to consent,  
Had not his stout and manly mind, resisted his intent.  
When he perceived his flesh to yield, to pleasures wanton toys,  
And was by sleight almost provoked, to taste of Venus' joys.  
Moore cruel to himself then those, that glad would him undo,  
With bloody tooth his tender tongue, boat quite and clean in two.  
Thus was the pain so passing great, of this his bloody bit,  
That all the fire and carnal lust, was quenched every whit.  
Do ill and all thy pleasures then, full soon will pass away,  
But yet the shame of those thy deeds, will nevermore decay.  
Do well & though thy pains be great, yet soon each one will cease,  
But yet, the praise of those thy deeds will evermore increase.  
Finis.   

49. Justice. Zaleuch and his Son.  
LEt rulers make most perfect laws, to rule both great & small  
If they themselves obey them not, it booteth not at all.  
As laws be naught but ruler's doom, containing equal might,  
So rulers should be speaking laws, to rule by line of right.  
Zaleuch the Prince of Locrine once, appointed by decree,  
Each lecherer should be punished, with loss of either eye.  
His son by chance offended first, which when his father saw,  
Lord God how earnest then was he, to execute the law.  
Then ran the people all by flocks, to him with weeping eyes,  
Not one among the rout there was, but pardon, pardon cries.  
By whose outcries and earnest suit, his son in hope did stand,  
That he thereby should then obtain, some pardon at his hand.  
But all in vain for he is found, to be the man he was.  
And maketh haste so much the more, to have the law to pass.  
The people yet renewed their suit, in hope of some relief,  
Whose faces all besprent with tears, did testify their grief.  
And cried all for pity's sake, yield now to our request,  
If all you will not clean remit, yet ease the pain at least.  
Then somewhat was the father moved, with all the people's voice  
And every man did give a shoot, to show they did rejoice.  
Well then quoth he it shallbe thus, the law shallbe fufilde.  
And yet my son shall favour have, according as you wild.  
One eye of his shallbe pulled out, thus hath his lewdness got,  
And likewise so shall one of mine, though I deserve it not.  
This word no sooner was pronouncde, but straight the deed was done,  
Two eyes, no more were left, between the father and the son.  
Say now who can, and on my faith Apollo he shallbe,  
Was he more gentle father now? or juster judge trow ye.  
This man would not his laws belike, the webs the spiders weave,  
Wherein they lurk when they intend, the simple to deceive.  
Wherewith small flies full soon be caught, & tangled ere they witted,  
When great ones fly and scape away, & break them as they list.  
Finis.   

50. Temperance. Spurina and the Roman Ladies.  
IF nature bear thee so great love, the she in thee have beauty placed  
Full hard it is as we do prove, to keep the body clean & chaste:  
Twixt comeliness and chastity,  
A deadly strife is thought to be.  
For beauty which some men suppose to be, as 'twere a golden ill,  
Provoketh strife and many foes, that seek on her to work her will  
Assaults to towns if many make,  
No town so strong but may be take.  
And this Spurina witness can, who did for beauty bear the bell,  
So clean a wight so comely made, no dame in Rome but loved well  
Not one could coal her hot desire,  
So burning was the flame of fire.  
Like as when bait cast in the flood, forthwith doth cause the fishes come,  
That pleasantly before did play, now presently to death to run.  
For when they see the bait to fall,  
Strait way they swallow hook and all.  
So when Spurina they did see, to him they flocked out of hand,  
She happest dame was thought to be, that in his favour most did stand.  
Not knowing under sweet deceits,  
How Venus hids her poisoned baits.  
But when he saw them thus to rage, whom love had linked in his chain,  
This means he sought for to assuage, these ladies of their grievous pain.  
His shape intending to disgrace,  
With many wounds he skotch his face.  
By which his deed it came to pass, that he that seemed an angel bright  
Even now so clean disfigured was, that he become a sothsom wight.  
And rather had be foul and chaste,  
Then fair, and filthy joys to taste.  
What pen can writ, or tongue express, the worthy praises of this deed,  
My think that God can do no less, then grant him heaven for his meed.  
Who for to save himself upright,  
Himself hath first destroyed quite.  
Finis  
qd F. M.   

51. Abunche of herbs and flowers.  
IF that each flower, the gods have framed, are shaped by sacred skill  
Were as I would (no wrong to wish) & mine to wear at william.  
Or else each tree, with lusty top, would lend me leave to love,  
With sprigs displayed to spread my suit, a wailing heart to prove  
Upon my helm soon should you see, my head advanced high,  
Some slip for solace there to set, and wear the same would I.  
Yet would I not for great delight, the Daises strange desire,  
The Lily would not like my lust nor Rose would I require.  
The Marigould might grow for me, Rosemary well might rest,  
The Fenell to that is more fit, for some unfriendly gest.  
Nor Cowslips would I crave at all, sometimes they seem to coy  
Some jolly youth the Gelliflower, esteemeth for his joy.  
The Lavender sometimes aloft, allures the lookers eyes,  
The Paunsie shall not have the praise, where I may give the prize  
And thus no flower my fancy feeds, as liketh so my lust,  
As that I may subject myself, to toys of tickle trust.  
For flowers though they be fair and fresh, of sent excelling sweet  
Yet grow they on the ground below, we tread them with our feet  
And shall I then go stoop to such? or else go seek to those,  
Shall flowers enforce me once to faun, for fear of friends or foes.  
Yet rather yield I to the right, as reason hath assigned,  
Mine author said there was no salve, in flowers for me to find.  
And yet perhaps some tree there is, to shroud me from the shower,  
That with her arms may salve the soul, that yieldeth to her power.  
Where I may find some pleasant shade, to salve me from the son  
Each thing w● see that reason hath, unto the trees do run.  
Both men & beasts such souls as fly, the treasures are the trees  
And for my part when branches fall, I wish no other fees.  
But when that storms beset me round, such succour God me send,  
That I may find a friendly tree, that will me well defend.  
No tree there is which yields no good, to some that do it seek  
And as they are of divers kinds, their uses are unlike.  
The Eve tree serves the Bowiers' turn, the Ash the couper's art,  
The puissant Oak doth make the post, the Pine some other part.  
The Elm doth help to hide the birds, in weary winter's night,  
The briars I guess are nothing worth, they serve but for despite  
The willow wished I far from hens, good will deserve no wrong,  
The Sallow well may serve their states, that sing so sad a song.  
The Box and Beech each for himself, above the rest doth boast,  
The Eglantine for pleasure often, is pricked upon the post.  
The Hauthorne so is had in prize, the bay do bear the bell,  
And that these bay did bring no bliss, I like it not so well.  
As erst I do that seemly tree, by which those bay I found,  
And where withal unwittingly, I took so great a wound.  
As if the tree by which I lent, doth lend me no relief,  
There is no help but down I fall, so great is grown my grief.  
And therefore at the last I crave, this favour for to find,  
When every tree that here is told, begins to grow unkind.  
The B. for beauty whom I boast, and shall above the rest,  
That B. may take me to her trust, for B. doth please me best.  
It licks me well to walk the way, where B. doth keep her bower  
And when it rains to B. I run to save me from the shower.  
This branch of B. which here I mean, to keep I chief crave,  
At beck unto this B. I bow, to serve that beauty brave.  
What shall I say the time doth pass, the tale to tedious is,  
Though loath to leave, yet leave I must, and say no more but this,  
I wish this B. I might embrace, when as the same I see,  
A league for life than I require, between this B. and me.  
And though unworthy, yet good will, doth work the way herein  
And B. hath brought the same about, which beauty did begin.  
Finis.   

52. Now mortal man behold and see, This world is but a vanity.  

WHo shall profoundly way or scan, the assured state of man,  
Shall well perceive by reason than:  
That where is no stability, remaineth naught but vanity.   

For what estate is there think ye, thoroughly content with his degree,  
Whereby we may right clearly see:  
That in this vale of misery, remaineth naught but vanity.   

The great men wish the mean estate, mean men again their state do hate,  
Old men think children fortunate:  
A boy a man would feignest be, thus wandereth man in vanity.   

The country man doth daily swell, with great desire in court to dwell  
The Courtier thinks him nothing well:  
Till he from court, in country be, he wandereth so in vanity.   

The sea doth toss the merchants brains, to wish a farm & leave those pains,  
The Farmer gapeth at merchants gains:  
Thus no man can contented be, he wandereth so in vanity.   

If thou have lands or goods great store, consider thou thy charge the more,  
Since thou must make account therefore:  
They are not thine but lent to thee, and yet they are but vanity.   

If thou be strong or fair of face, sickness or age doth both disgrace,  
Then be not proud in any case:  
For how can there more folly be, then for to boast of vanity.   

Now finally be not infect, with worldly cares, but have respect,  
How God rewardeth his true elect:  
With glorious felicity: free from all worldly vanity.   
Finis.  
M. Thorn.   

53. Incommendation of Music.  

WHere gripping grief the heart would wound & doleful domps them oppress  
There Music with her silver sound, is wont with speed to give redress,  
Of troubled mind for every sore, sweet Music hath a salve therefore.   

In joy it makes our mirth abound, in grief it cheers our heavy sprights,  
The careful head release hath found, by musics pleasant sweet delights  
Our senses, what should I say more, are subject unto musics lore.   

The Gods by Music hath their pray, the foul therein doth joy,  
For as the Roman Poets say, in seas whom Pirates would destroy,  
A Dolphin saved from death most sharp, Arion playing on his harp.   

A heavenly gift, that turns the mind, like as the stern doth rule the ship,  
Music whom the Gods assigned to comfort man, whom cares would nip,  
Sigh thou both man & beast dost move, what wiseman then will thee reprove.   
Finis  
M Edwards.   


WHen sage Ulysses sailed by,  
The perilous seas, where Cirens sing:  
Himself unto the mast did tie,  
Jest their alluring tunes might bring,  
His mind on maze and make him stay,  
And he with his become their pray.   

Ulysses O thou valiant wight,  
It seemed dame Circe's loved thee well:  
What time she told, to thee aright.  
The seas wherein the Sirens devil.  
By mean where, against thy fail,  
Their subtle songs, could not prevail.   

Were thou amongs us here again,  
And heard our Sirens melody:  
Not Circe's skill nor yet thy brain,  
Can keep thee from their treachery.  
Such Sirens have we now adays,  
That tempt us by a thousand ways.   

They sing they dance, they sport, they play  
They humbly fall upon their knees:  
They sigh, they sob, they prate, they pray,  
With such dissembling shifts as these,  
They calculate, they chant, they charm,  
To conquer us that mean no harm.   

Good ladies all lets join in one,  
And banish clean this Siren kind:  
What need we yield, to hear their moan,  
Since their deceit we daily find.  
Let not your hearts to them apply,  
Defy them all for so will I.   

And if where Circe's now doth devil,  
You wished you wit advise, to learn:  
Lo I am she that best can tell,  
Their Sirens songs and them discern.  
For why experience yieldeth skill,  
To me that scaped that Sirens ill.   
Finis.  
M. Bew.   

55. Finding no joy, he desireth death.  

THe Coney in his cave, the Feret doth annoy,  
And fleeing thence his life to save, himself he doth destroy.  
His Berrie round about beset, with hunter's snares,  
So that when he to scape starts out, is caught therein unwares,  
Like choice poor man have I to bide and rest in love,  
Or else from thence to start, and still as bad a death to prove.   

I see, in love to rest, unkindness doth pursue,  
To rend the heart out of his breast, which is a lover true.  
And if from love I start, as one that love forsakes,  
Then pensive thoughts my heart doth pierce, & so my life it takes.  
Thus then to fly or bide, hard is the choice to choose,  
Since death hath campde, & treanhed each side, & saith life now refuse   

Content I am therefore, my life therein to spend,  
And death I take a salve for sore, my weary days to end.  
And thus I you request, that faithful love profess,  
When carcase cased is in chest, and body laid on hairs.  
Your brinish tears to save, such as my corpse shall move,  
And therewith writ upon my grave, behold the force of love.   
W. H.   

Hope well and have well.  

IN hope the Shipman hoiseth sail, in hope of passage good,  
In hope of health the sickly man, doth suffer loss of blood.  
In hope the prisoner linked in chains, hopes liberty to find,  
Thus hope breads health & health breeds ease, to every troubled mind.   

In hope desire gets victory, in hope great comfort springs,  
In hope the lover lives in joys, he fears no dreadful flings:  
In hope we ●iue and may abide, such storms as are assigned,  
Thus hope breads health, & health breeds ease, to every troubled mind.   

In hope we easily suffer harm, in hope of future time,  
In hope of fruit, the pain seems sweet, that to the tree doth climb  
In hope of love such glory grows, as now by proof I find:  
That hope breeds health, & health breeds ease to every troubled mind.   
W. H.   

He repenteth his folly.  

When first mine eyes did view, & mark thy beauty fair for to behold,  
And when mine ears, 'gan first to hark, the pleasant words that thou me told  
I would as then I had been free, from ears to hear, & eyes to see   

And when my hands did handle often, that might thee keep in memory,  
And when my feet had gone so soft, to find and have thy company,  
I would each hand a foot had been, and eke each foot, a hand so seen.   

And when in mind I did consent, to follow thus my fancies will,  
And when my heart did first relent, to taste such bait myself to spill,  
I would my heart had been as thine, or else thy heart as soft as mine.   

Then should not I such cause have found, to wish this monstrous sight to see,  
Ne thou alas that madest the wound, should not deny me remedy,  
Then should one will in both remain, to grant one heart which now is twain.   
W. H.   

He requesteth some friendly comfort affirming his constancy.  
THe mountains hie whose lofty tops, doth meet the haughty sky  
The craggy rock that to the sea, free passage doth deny,  
The aged Oak that doth resist, the force of blustering blast,  
The pleasant herb that every where, a fragrant smell doth cast.  
The lions force whose courage stout, declares a princlike might,  
The Eagle that for worthiness, is borne of kings in fight:  
The Serpent eke whose poisoned ways, doth belch out venom vile,  
The loathsome Toad that shunneth light, and liveth in exile.  
These these I say and thousands more, by tracked of time decay,  
And like to time do quite consume, and vade from form to clay:  
But my true heart and service vowed, shall last time out of mind,  
And still remain as thine by doom, as Cupid hath assigned.  
My faith lo here I vow to thee, my troth thou knowest right well,  
My goods my friends, my life is thine, what need I more to tell?  
I am not mine but thine I vow, thy hests I will obey,  
And serve thee as a servant aught, in pleasing if I may:  
And sith I have no flying wings, to see thee as I wish,  
Ne fins to cut the silver streams, as doth the gliding fish.  
Wherefore leave now forgetfulness, and send again to me,  
And strain thy azured veins to writ, that I may greeting see:  
And thus farewell more dear to me, than chiefest friend I have,  
Whose love in heart I mind to shrine, till death his fee do crave.  
M. Edward's.   

He complaineth his mishap.  

SHall rigour reign where youth hath run, shall fancy now forsake.  
Shall fortune loose that favour won, shall not your anger flake:  
Shall hateful heart be had in you, that friendly did pretend,  
Shall slipper thoughts and faith untrue, that heart of yours defend   

Shall nature show your beauty fair, that gentle seems to be,  
Shall frowardness, your fancy's air, be of more force than she:  
Shall now disdain the drag of death, direct and lead the way,  
Shall all the imps upon the earth, rejoice at my decay.   

Shall this the service of my youth, have such reward at last,  
Shall I receive rigour for ruth, and be from favour cast:  
Shall I therefore berent my heart, with wights that wish to die,  
Or shall I bathe myself with tears, to feed your fickle eye.   

Not no I shall in pain lie still, with Turtle dove most true,  
And vow myself to wit and will, their counsels, to ensue:  
Good Ladies all that lovers be, your help hereto purtende,  
Give place to wit, let reason seem, your enemy to defend.   

Jest that you think as I have thought, yourself to strive in vain,  
And so to be in thraldom brought, with me to suffer pain.   
Finis.  
M.H.   

No foe to a flatterer.  

I Would it were not as I think, I would it were not so,  
I am not blind although I wink, I feel what winds do blow:  
I know where craft, with smiling cheer, creps into bloody breast,  
I hear how feigned speech, speaks fair, where hatred is possessed.  
I see the Serpent lie and jurck, under the green allow,  
I see him watch a time, to work, his poison to bestow.   

In friendly looks such fraud is found, as faith for fear is flayed,  
And friendship hath received such wound, as he is almost dead,  
And hateful heart with malice great, so boils in cankered mind:  
That flatteries flearing in my face, had almost made me blind,  
But now I see all is not gold, that glittereth in the eye,  
Nor yet such friends as they profess, as now by proof I find.   

Though secret spite by craft, hath made a coat of Panters' skin,  
And thinks to find me in the shade, by sleight to wrapp me in,  
Yet God be praised my eye is clear, and can behold the Son:  
When falsehood dares not once appear, to end that he begun,  
Thus time shall try the thing amiss, which God soon shortly send.  
And turn the hat that feigned is, to be a faithful friend.   
Finis.   


THe Spider with great skill, doth travel day by day,  
His limbs no time, lie still to set his house in stay:  
And when he hath it wrought, thinking therein to reign,  
A blast of wind unthought, doth drive it down again.   

The proof whereof is true, to make his work endure,  
He pains himself a new, in hope to devil more sure:  
Or in some secret place, a corner of the wall,  
He travaileth a spare, to build and rest with all.   

His pleasure sweet to stay, when he to rest is bend,  
An ugly shamble Fly, approacheth to his tent:  
And there intends by force, his labours great to win,  
Or else to yield his corpse, by fatal death therein.   

Thus is the Spider's nest, from time to time thrown down,  
And he to labour priest, with endless pains unknown:  
So such as lovers be, like travel do attain,  
Those endless works ye see, ●er always full of pain.   
W. Hunis.   


THe subtle ●●●y sleights, that worldly men do work,  
The friendly shows under whose shade, most craft doth often lurk  
Enforceth me alas, with yernfull voice to say,  
woe worth the wily heads that seeks, the simple man's decay.   

The bird that dreads no guile, is soonest caught in snare,  
Each gentle heart devoid of craft, is soonest brought to care:  
Good nature soonest trapped, which gives me cause to say.  
woe worth the wily heads that seeks, the simple man's decay.   

I see the serpent vile, that lurks under the green,  
How subtly he shrouds himself, that he may not be seen:  
And yet his fosters bane, his lering looks bewray,  
woe worth the wily heads that seeks, the simple man's decay.   

woe worth the feigning looks, one favour that do wait,  
woe worth the feigned friendly heart, that harbours deep deceit:  
woe worth the Viper's brood, o thrice woe worth I say,  
All worldly wily heads that seeks, the simple man's decay.   
Finis.  
M. Edward's.   


WIth painted speech I list not prove, my cunning for to try,  
Nor●et will use to fill my pen, with guileful flattery:  
With pen in hand and heart in breast, shall faithful promise make  
To love you best, and serve you most, for your great virtues sake.   

And since dame Nature hath you decked, with gifts above the rest,  
Let not disdain a harbour find, within your noble breast:  
For love hath led his law alike, to men of each degree,  
So that the beggar with the prince, shall love as well as he.   

I am no prince I must confess, nor yet of prince's line,  
Nor yet a brutish beggar borne, that feeds among the Swine:  
The fruit shall try the tree at last, the blossoms good or not,  
Then do not judge of me the worse, till you have tried me so.   

As I deserve, so then reward, I make you judge of all,  
If I be false in word or deed, let lightning thunder fall:  
And furies fell with frantic fits, bereave and stop my breath,  
For an example to the rest, if I shall break my faith.   
Finis.  
M. B.   

Try and then trust.  

THe saint I serve, and have besought full often,  
Upon my knees, to stand my Gods good:  
With hope did hold, my head sometime aloft,  
And fed my fawning friend, with dainty food.  
But now I see, that words are naught but wind,  
The sweeter meat, the sourer sauce I find.   

Thus while I held the Eel by the tail,  
I had some hope, yet never wanted fear:  
Of double dread, that man can never fail,  
That will presume to take the Wolf, by the ear.  
I snatch for sooth, much like to Esop's dog,  
I sought for fish, and always caught a frogg.   

Thus did I long bite, on the foaming bit,  
Which found me play enough, unto my pain:  
Thus while I loved, I never wanted fit,  
But lived by loss, and sought no other gain.  
But why should I mislike with Fortune's fetters,  
Since that the like have happed unto my betters.   
Richard Hill.   

Complaining to his friend, he replieth wittily.  A. 
THe fire shall freeze, the frost shall fry the frozen mountains hie,  B. 
what strange things shall dame nature force, to turn her course awry.  A. 
My Lady hath me left, and taken a new man,  B. 
This is not strange, it haps often times, the truth to scan,  A. 
The more is my pain,  B. 
her love then refrain,  A. 
Who thought she would flit,  B. 
ethe one that hath wit,  A. 
Is not this strange,  B. 
light love will change.  A. 
By skilful means I her reclaim, to stoup unto my lure,  B. 
Such haggard hawks will sore away, of them who can be fuct.  A. 
With silver bells and hood, my joy was her to deck.  B. 
She was full gorgd, she would the sooner give the check.  A. 
The more is my pain,  B. 
her love then refrain,  A. 
Who thought she would flit,  B. 
each one that hath wit,  A. 
Is not this strange,  B. 
light love will change.  A. 
Her chirping lips would chirp to me, sweet words of her desire  B. 
Such chirping birds who ever saw, to preach still ●n one brire  A. 
She said she loved me dests, and would do till she die,  B. 
She said in words, she thought it not, as time doth try.  A. 
The more is my pain,  B. 
her love then refrain,  A. 
Who thought she would flit,  B. 
each one that hath wit.  A. 
Is not this strange,  B. 
light love will change.  A. 
Can no man win: a woman so, to make her love endure,  B. 
To make the Fox his wiles to leave, what man will put in ure,  A. 
Why then there is no choice, but all women will change,  B. 
As men do use so, some women do love to range,  A. 
The more is my pain,  B. 
her love then refrain,  A. 
Who thought she would flit,  B. 
each one that hath wit:  A. 
Is not this strange,  B. 
light love will change.  A. 
sith slipper gain falls to my lot, farewell that gliding pray  B. 
sith that the dice doth run a wry, betimes leave of thy play.  A. 
I will no more lament, the thing I may not have,  B. 
Then by exchange the loss to come, all shalt thou save.  A. 
Love will I refrain,  B. 
thereby thou shalt gain:  A. 
With loss I will leave,  B. 
she will thee deceive,  A. 
That is not strange,  B. 
then let her range.  
M. Edward's.   

Not pains comparable to his attempt:  

WHat watch, what we, what want, what wrack?  
Is due to those that toil the Seas:  
Life led with loss, of pains no lack,  
In storms to win, much restless case.  
A bedlesse hoard, in seas unrest,  
May hap to him, that chanceth best.   

How sundry sounds with lead and line,  
Unto the deep, the shipman throws:  
Not foot to spare, he cries often times,  
Not near, when how the master blows.  
If Neptune frown, all be undone,  
Straight way the ship, the wrack hath won   

These dangers great do often befall,  
On those that there upon the sand:  
judge of their lives, the best who shall,  
How vile it is, few understand.  
Alack? who then may judge, their game:  
Not they, which have not felt the same.   

But they that fall in storms and wind,  
And days and years have spent therein:  
Such well may judge, since proof they found  
In rage, no rest, till calm begin.  
Not more than those, that love do feign,  
Give judgement of true lovers pain.   
Finis.  
W. H.   

No pleasure without some pain.  

HOw can the tree but waist, and whither away,  
That hath not sometime comfort of the Son:  
How can that flower but fade, and soon decay,  
That always is with dark clouds over run.  
Is this a life, nay death you may it call,  
That feels each pain, and knoweth no joy at all.   

What foodles beast can live long in good plight,  
Or is it life, where senses there be none:  
Or what availeth eyes without their light?  
Or else a tongue, to him that is alone.  
Is this a life? nay death you may it call,  
That feels each pain, and knows no joy at all.   

Whereto serve ears, if that there be no sound,  
Or such a head, where no devise doth grow:  
But all of plaints, since sorrow is the ground,  
Whereby the heart doth pine in deadly woe.  
Is this a life, nay death you may it call,  
That feels each pain, and knows no joy at all.   
Finis.  
L. Vaux.   

¶ The fruits of feigned friends.  

IN choice of friends what happy had I, to choose one of Cirenes' kind,  
Whose harp, whose pipe, whose melody, could feed my ears & make me blind:  
Whose pleasant noise made me forget, that in sure trust was great deceit.   

In trust I see is treason found, and man to man deceitful is,  
And whereas Treasure doth abound, of flatterers there do not miss:  
Whose painted speech, and outward show, do seem as friends and be not so.   

Would I have thought in thee to be, the nature of the Crokadill,  
Which if a man a sleep may see, with bloody thirst desires to kill:  
And then with tears a while 'gan weep, the death of him thus slain a sleep.   

O flatterer false, thou traitor borne, what mischief more might thou devise,  
Then thy dear friend, to have in scorn, and him to wound in sundry wise:  
Which still a friend pretends to be, and art not so by proof I see.  
Fie fie, upon such treachery.   
Finis.  
W. H.   

Being importunate, at the length, he obtaineth.  A. 
SHall I no way win you, to grant my desire?  B. 
What woman, will grant you, the thing you require:  A. 
You only to love me, is all that crave,  B. 
You only to leave me, is all I would have.  A. 
My dear alas now say not so,  B. 
To love you best, I must say no:  A. 
Yet will I not flit,  B. 
then play on the bit.  A. 
I will,  B. 
do still,  A. 
yet kill not,  B. 
I will not.  A. 
Make me your man,  B. 
beshrew me then.  A. 
The swifter I follow, than you fly away,  B. 
Swift hawks in their flying, often times miss their prey  A. 
Yet some killeth deadly, that fly to the mark:  B. 
You shall touch no feather, thereof take no cark.  A. 
Yet hope shall further my desire,  B. 
You blow the coals, and raise no fire.  A. 
Yet will I not flit,  B. 
then play on the bit,  A. 
I will,  B. 
do still,  A. 
yet kill not,  B. 
I will not,  A. 
Make me your man,  B. 
beshrew me then.  A. 
To love is no danger where true love is meant,  B. 
I will love no ranger, jest that I repent:  A. 
My love is no ranger, I make God avow,  B. 
To trust your smooth sayings, I sure know not how.  A. 
Most truth I mean, as time shall well try,  B. 
No truth in men, I often espy.  A 
Yet will I not flit,  B. 
then play on the bit.  A. 
I will,  B. 
do still,  A. 
yet kill not.  B. 
I will not:  A. 
Make me your man,  B. 
Be shrew me then.  A. 
Some women may say nay, and mean love most true,  B. 
Some women can make fools, of as wise men as you,  A. 
In time I shall catch you, I know when and where:  B. 
I will soon dispatch you, you shall not come there.  A. 
Some speds at length, that often have missed,  B. 
I am well armed, come when you list.  A. 
Yet will I not flit,  B. 
then play on the bit.  A. 
I will,  B. 
do still,  A. 
yet kill not,  B. 
I will not,  A. 
Make me your man,  B. 
beshrew me then.  A. 
Yet work your kind kindly, grant me love for love,  B. 
I will use you friendly, as I shall you prove:  A. 
Most close you shall find me, I this do protest,  B. 
Then sure you shall bind me, to grant your request.  A. 
O happy thread now have I spun,  B. 
You sing before the conquest won.  A. 
Why then, will you swarm,  B. 
even as you deserve:  A. 
Love still,  B. 
I will,  A. 
yet kill not,  B. 
I will not.  A. 
Make me your man,  B. 
come to me than.  
Finis.  
M. B.   

¶ Requiring the favour of his love: She answereth thus.  M. 
WHat death may be, compared to love?  H. 
What grief therein, now dost thou prove?  M. 
My pains alas who can express,  H. 
I see no cause of heaviness.  M. 
My Lady's looks, my woe hath wrought:  H. 
Then blame thine eyes that first have sought,  M. 
I burn alas, and blow the fire,  H. 
A fool consumes by his desire,  M. 
What shall I do than?  H, 
come out and thou can.  H. 
Alas I die,  M. 
what remedy?  M. 
My sugared sweet, is mixed with gall,  H. 
Thy Lady can not do with all:  M. 
The more I seek, the less I find,  H. 
Then strive not with the stream and wind.  M. 
Her must I love, although I smart,  H. 
With thy own sword, thou slayest thy heart:  M. 
Such pleasant baits, who can refrain,  H. 
Such beats will sure breed the great pain.  M. 
What shall I do than?  H. 
Come out and thou can.  H. 
Alas I die,  M. 
what remedy.  M. 
Her golden beams, mine eyes do daze,  H. 
Upon the Son thou mayest not gaze:  M. 
She might reward my cruel smart,  H. 
She thinks thou bearest a feigned heart.  M. 
She laughs to hear my woeful cries,  H. 
Forsake her then, in time be wise:  M. 
Not no alas, that may not be,  H. 
Not wise man then will pity thee,  M. 
What shall I do than?  H. 
come out and thou can.  M. 
Alas I die,  H. 
what remedy.  M. 
A living death, lo thus I prove,  H. 
Such are the fruits of froward love:  M. 
O that I might her love once again,  H. 
Thy gain would not, half quite the pain.  M. 
Her will I love though she be coy,  H. 
A fool himself will still annoy:  M. 
Who will not die for such a one,  H. 
Be wise at length, let her alone:  M. 
I can not do so,  H. 
then be thy own foe,  M. 
Alas I die,  H. 
what remedy.  
Finis.  
E. S.   

¶ A lovers joy.  
I Have no joy, but dream of joy, and joy to think on joy,  
A joy I withstood, for to enjoy, to finish mine annoy:  
I hate not without cause alas, yet love I know not why,  
I thought to hate, I can not hate, although that I should die.  
A foe most sweet, a friend most sour, I joy for to embrace,  
I hate the wrong and not the wight, that worked my woeful case:  
What thing it is I know not I, but yet a thing there is,  
That in my fancy still persuades, there is no other bliss.  
The joys of life, the pangs of death, it make me feel each day,  
But life nor death, this humour can devise to wear away.  
feign would I die, but yet in death no hope I see remains,  
And shall I live? since life I see, a source of sorry pains:  
What is it then that I do seek, what joy would I aspire,  
A thing that is divine belike, to high for man's desire.  
Finis.  
FK.   

¶ The judgement of desire.  

THe lively Lark did stretch her wing,  
The messenger of morning bright:  
And with her cheerful voice did sing,  
The days approach, discharging night.  
When that Aurora blushing red,  
Descried the gilt of Thetis bed:  
Laradon tan tan, Tedriton teight.   

I went abroad to take the air,  
And in the meadds I met a knight,  
Clad in carnation colour fair,  
I did salute the youthful wight.  
Of him I did his name inquire,  
He sight and said, I am desire,  
Laradon tan tan, Tedriton teight.   

Desire I did desire to stay,  
A while with him I craved talk:  
The courteous wight said me no nay,  
But hand in hand with me did walk.  
Then in desire I asked again,  
What thing did please, and what did pain  
Laradon, tan, tan.   

He smiled and thus he answered me,  
Desire can have no greater pain:  
Then for to see an other man,  
The thing desired to obtain.  
No joy no greater to than this,  
Then to enjoy what others miss,  
Laridon, tan, tan.   
Finis.  
E. O.   

¶ The complaint of a lover, wearing Black and Tawnie.  

A Crown of Bays shall that man wear,  
That triumphs over me:  
For black and Tawny will I wear,  
Which mourning colours be.   

The more I followed on, the more she fled away,  
As Daphne did full long agone, Apollo's wishful pray:  
The more my plaints resound, the less she pities me,  
The more I sought the less I found, that mine she meant to be.   

Melpomeney, alas with doleful tunes help than,  
And sing bis woe worth on me▪ forsaken man:  
Then Daphne's bay shall that man wear, that triumphs over me,  
For Black & Tawny will I wear, which monrning colours be.   

Droune me you trickling tears, you wailful wights of woe,  
Come help these hands to rend my hears, my rueful haps to show:  
On whom the scorching flames of love, doth feed you see,  
Ah a lalalantida my dear dame, hath thus tormented me.   

Wherefore you Muses nine, with doleful tunes help than,  
And sing Bis woe worth on me forsaken man:  
Then Daphne's bay shall that man wear, that triumphs ever me  
For Black & Tawny will I wear, which mourning colours be.   

An Anchors life to lead, with nails to scratch my grave,  
Where earthly Worms on me shall feed, is all the joys I crave:  
And hide myself from shame, sith that mine eyes do see,  
Ah a alantida my dear dame, hath thus tormented me.  
And all that present be, with doleful tunes help than:  
And sing Bis woe worth on me, forsaken man.   
Finis.  
E.O.   

¶ He complaineth thus.  

LO hear the man that must of love complain,  
Lo hear that seas that feels no kind of bliss:  
Lo here I seek for joy, and find but pain,  
Lo what despite can greater be then this?  
To freeze to death, and stand yet by the fire,  
And she that shonneth me most, I do desire.   L. 
But shall I speak alas, or shall I die,  A. 
By death no help, in speech some help doth lie:  L. 
Then from that breast, remove a Marble mind,  A. 
As I see cause, so are ye like to find.  L. 
I yield myself, what would you more of me,  A. 
You yield, but for to win and conquer me,  L. 
Sa●e and kill not madame,  A. 
Forsake your suit for shame,  
Not no not not, not so.  

O happy man, now vaunt thyself,  
That hath this conquest gained:  
And now doth live in great delight,  
That was so lately pained.  
Triumph, triumph, triumph, wholovers be  
Thrice happy is that wooing,  
That is not long a doing,  
Triumph, triumph, triumph, that hath like victory.   
Finis.   

¶ Finding no relief, he complaineth thus.  

IN quest of my relief I find distress,  
In recompense of love, most deep disdain:  
My languor is such, words may not express,  
A shower of tears, my waterish eye doth rain.  
I dream of this, and do divine of woe,  
I wander in the thoughts, of my sweet foe.   

I would no peace, the cause of war I fly,  
I hope, I fear I burn, I i'll in frost:  
I lie allow, yet mounts my mind on high,  
Thus doubtful storms, my troubled thoughts have toast,  
And for my pain, this pleasure do I prove.  
I hate myself, and pine in other's love.   

The world I grasp, yet hold I naught at all,  
At liberty, I seem in prison penned:  
I taste the sweet, more lower then bitter gall,  
My ship seems sound, and yet her ribs be rend.  
And out alas, on Fortune false I cry,  
Look what I crave, that still she doth deny.   

Both life and death, be equal unto me,  
I do desire to die, yet crave I life,  
My wits with sundry thoughts do disagree,  
Myself am with myself at mortal strife.  
As warmth of son doth melt the silver snow,  
The heat of love, behold consumes me so.   
Finis.  
R.H.   

¶ Being in love, he complaineth.  

WHat doom is, this I feign would know,  
That deemeth all by contraries:  
What God, or whether height or low,  
Now would I learn some warrantise.  
Some say the blinded God above,  
Is he that worketh all by love:  
But he that stirreth strife, the truth to tell,  
I always feel, but know not well.   

Some say Allecto with her mates,  
Are they which breedeth all annoy:  
Who sits like Hags in hellish gates,  
And seeks still whom they may destroy.  
Some say again, 'tis destiny,  
But how it comes, or what it is,  
I let it pass, before I miss.   

Despite doth always work my woe,  
And hap as yet holds hardly still:  
For fear I set my friendship so,  
And think again to reap good william.  
I do but strive against the wind,  
For more I seek, the less I find:  
And where I seek most for to please,  
There find I always my disease.   

And thus I love, and do reap still,  
Nothing but hate for my good william.   
Finis.  
L. V   

A lover disdained, complaineth.  

IF ever man had love to dearly bought,  
Lo I am he that plays within her maze:  
And finds no way, to get the same I sought,  
But as the Dear are driven unto the gaze.  
And to augment the grief of my desire,  
Myself to burn, I blow the fire:  
But shall I come ny you,  
Of force I must fly you.   

What death alas, may be compared to this,  
I play within the maze of my sweet foe:  
And when I would of her but crave a kiss,  
Disdain enforceth her away to go.  
Myself I check: yet do I twist the twine,  
The pleasure hers, the pain is mine,  
But shall I come ny you,  
Of force I must fly you.   

You courtly wights, that wants your pleasant choice,  
Lend me a flood of tears, to wail my chance:  
Happy are they in love, that can rejoice,  
To their great pains, where fortune doth advance  
But sith my suit alas, can not prevail,  
Full freight with care, in grief still will I wail:  
Sigh you will needs fly me,  
I may not come nigh you.   
Finis.  
L.U.   

¶ Being in love, he complaineth.  

IF care or skill, could conquer vain desire,  
Or reasons rains, my strong affection stay:  
Then should my sights, to quiet breast retire,  
And shun such signs, as secret thoughts bewray.  
Uncomely love, which now lurks in my breast,  
Should cease my grief, through wisdons power oppressed   

But who can leave, to look on Venus' face?  
Or yieldeth not, to junos' high estate:  
What wit so wise, as gives not Pallas place,  
These virtues rare, each Gods did yield amate.  
Save her alone, who yet on earth doth reign,  
Whose beauties string, no Gods can well destraine.   

What worldly wight, can hope for heavenly hire,  
When only sights, must make his secret moan:  
A silent suit, doth se●de to Grace aspire,  
My hapless hap, doth role to restless stone,  
Yet Phebe fair, disdained the heavens above,  
To joy on earth, her poor Endymion's love.   

Rare is reward, where none can justly crave,  
For chance is choice, where reason makes no claim:  
Yet luck sometimes, despairing souls doth save,  
A happy star made Gyges' joy attain.  
A slavish Smith, of rude and rascal race,  
Found means in time, to gain a Gods grace.   

Then lofty Love, thy sacred sails advance,  
My sithing seas, shall flow with streams of tears:  
Amidds disdain, drive forth my doleful chance,  
A valiant mind, no deadly danger fears.  
Who loves aloft, and sets his heart on high,  
Deserves no pain, though he do pine and die.   
Finis.  
M.B.   

¶ A lover rejected, complaineth.  

THe trickling tears, that falls along my cheeks,  
The secret sighs, that shows my inward grief:  
The present pains perforce, that love ay seeks,  
Bids me renew, my cares without relief,  
In woeful song in dole display,  
My pensive heart for to bewray.   

Bewray thy grief, thou woeful heart with speed,  
Resign thy voice, to her that caused thy woe:  
With irksome cries, bewail thy late done deed,  
For she thou lovest, is sure thy mortal foe,  
And help for thee, there is none sure,  
But still in pain, thou must endure,   

The stricken dear hath help, to heal his wound,  
The haggerd hawk, with toil is made full tame:  
The strongest tower, the Canon lays on ground,  
The wisest wit, that ever had the fame.  
Was thrall to Love, by Cupid's sleights,  
Then way my case with equal weights.   

She is my joy, she is my care and woe,  
She is my pain, she is my ease therefore:  
She is my death, she is my life also,  
She is my salve, she is my wounded sore.  
In fine, she hath the hand and knife,  
That may both save, and end my life.   

And shall I live on earth to be her thrall?  
And shall I sue, and serve her all in vain?  
And kiss the steps, that she lett's fall,  
And shall I pray the gods, to keep the pain  
From her, that is so cruel still?  
Not, not, on her work all your william.   

And let her feel the power of all your might,  
And let her have her most desire with speed:  
And let her pine away, both day and night,  
And let her move, and none lament her need.  
And let all those, that shall her see,  
Despise her state, and pity me.   
Finis.  
E. O.   

¶ Not attaining to his desire, he complaineth.  

I Am not as seem to be,  
Nor when I smile, I am not glad:  
A thrall although you count me free,  
I most in mirth, most pensive sad.  
I smile to shade my bitter spite,  
As Hannibal that saw in sight:  
His country soil, with Carthage town:  
By Roman force, defaced down.   

And Caesar that presented was,  
With noble Pompey's princely head,  
As 'twere some judge, to rule the case,  
A flood of tears, he seemed to shed.  
Although in deed, it sprung of joy,  
Yet others thought it was annoy:  
Thus contraries be used I find,  
Of wise to cloak the covert mind.   

I Hannibal that smiles for grief,  
And let you Caesar's tears suffice:  
The one that laughs at his mischief,  
The other all for joy that cries.  
I smile to see me scorned so,  
You weep for joy, to see me woe:  
And I a heart by love slain dead,  
Presents in place of Pompey's head.   

O cruel hap, and hard estate,  
That forceth me to love my foe:  
Accursed be so foul afate,  
My choice for to profixe it so.  
So long to fight with secret sore,  
And find no secret salve therefore:  
Some purge their pain, by plaint I find,  
But I in vain do breath my wind.   
Finis.  
E. O.   

¶ His mind not quietly settled, he writeth this.  

EVen as the wax doth melt, or dew consume away,  
Before the Son, so I behold through careful thoughts decay:  
For my best luck leads me, to such sinister state,  
That I do waist with other's love, that hath myself in hate.  
And he that beats the bush, the wished bird not gets,  
But such I see as sitteth still, and holds the fouling nets.   

The Drone more honey sucks, that laboureth not at all,  
Then doth the Bee, to whose most pain, lest pleasure doth befall:  
The Gardner sows the seeds, whereof the flowers do grow,  
And others yet do gather them, that took less pain I know.  
So I the pleasant grape have pulled from the Vine,  
And yet I languish in great thirst, while others drink the wine.   

Thus like a woeful wight, I wove my web of woe,  
The more I would weed out my cares, the more they seem to grow  
The which betokeneth hope, forsaken is of me,  
That with the careful culver climbs, the worn & withered tree.  
To entertain my thoughts, and there my hap to moon,  
That never am less idle lee, then when I am alone.   
Finis.  
E. O.   

¶ Of the mighty power of love.  

MY meaning is to work, what wounds love hath wrought,  
Wherewith I muse why men of wit, have love so dearly bought:  
For love is worse than hate, and eke more harm hath done,  
Record I take of those that read, of Paris Priam's son.   

It seemed the God of sleep had mazed so much his wits,  
When he refused wit for love, which cometh but by fits:  
But why accuse I him, whom earth hath covered long,  
There be of his posterity alive, I do him wrong.   

Whom I might well condemn, to be a cruel judge:  
Unto myself who hath the crime, in others that I grudge.   
Finis.  
E. O.   

¶ Being disdained, he complaineth.  

IF friendless faith, if guiltless thought may shield,  
If simple truth that never meant to swerver:  
If dear desire accepted fruit do yield,  
If greedy lust in loyal life do serve.  
Then may my plaint bewail my heavy harm:  
That seeking calm, have stumbled on the storm.   

My wonted cheer, eclipsed by the cloud,  
Of deep disdain, through error of report:  
If weary woe enwrapped in thy shroud,  
Lies slain by tongue of the unfriendly sort.  
Yet heaven and earth, and all that nature wrought:  
I call to vow of my unspotted thought.   

No shade I seek in part, to shield my taint,  
But simple truth, I hunt no other suit:  
On that I gape, the issue of my plaint,  
If that I quail, let justice me confute.  
If that my place, amongs the guiltless sort,  
Repay by doom, my name and good report.   

Go heavy verse, pursue desired grace,  
Where pity shrined in cell of secret breast:  
Awaits my haste, the rightful lot to place,  
And loathes to see, the guiltless man oppressed.  
Whose virtues great, have crowned her more with fame,  
Then kingly state, though largely shine the same.   
Finis.  
L. Vaux.   

¶ Of the mean estate.  

THe higher that the Cedar tree, under the heavens do grow,  
The more in danger is the top, when sturdy winds 'gan blow,  
Who judges then in princely throne, to be devoid of hate,  
Doth not yet know, what heaps of ill, lies hid in such estate.  
Such dangers great, such gripes of mind, such toil do they sustain,  
That oftentimes, of God they wish, to be unkyngde again.   

For as the huge & mighty rocks, withstand the raging seas,  
So kingdoms in subjection be, whereas dame Fortune please:  
Of brittle joy, of smiling cheer, of honey mixed with gall,  
Allotted is to every Prince, in freedom to be thrall.  
What watches long, what steps unsure, what griefs and cares of mind:  
What bitter broils, what endless toils, to kingdoms be assingde.   

The subject than may well compare with prince for pleasant days,  
Whose silent might brings quiet rest, whose might no storm bewrays:  
How much be we, then bound to God, who such provision makes  
To say our cares upon the Prince thus doth he for our saks.  
To him therefore, let us lift up our hearts, and pray a main:  
That every Prince that he hath placed, may long in quiet reign.   
Finis.  
L. V   

¶ Of a contented mind.  

WHen all is done and said, in the end thus shall you find,  
The most of all doth bathe in bliss, that hath a quiet mind:  
And clear from worldly cares, to deem can be content,  
The sweetest time, in all his life, in thinking to be spent.   

The body subject is, to fickle Fortune's power,  
And to a million of mishaps, is casual every hour:  
And death in time doth change it to a clod of clay,  
When as the mind which is divine, runs never to decay.   

Companion none is like, unto the mind alone,  
For many have been harmed by speech, through thinking few or none:  
Few oftentimes restraineth words, but makes not thoughts to cease,  
And he speaks best that hath the skill, when for to hold his peace.   

Our wealth leaves us at death, our kinsmen at the grave,  
But virtues of the mind, unto the heavens with us we have:  
Wherefore for virtues sake, I can be well content,  
The sweetest time of all my life, to dame in thinking spent.   
Finis.  
L. Vaux.   

¶ Try before you trust.  

TO counsel my estate, abandonde to the spoil,  
Of forged friends whose grossest fraud, it set with finest foil.  
To verify true dealing wights, whose trust no treason dreads,  
And all to dear thacquaintance be, of such most harmful heads.  
I am advised thus, who so doth friend, friend so,  
As though to morrow next he feared, for to become a foe.   

To have a feigned friend, no peril like I find,  
Often fleering face may mantel best, a mischief in the mind:  
A pair of angels ears, often times doth hide a serpent's heart,  
Under whose gripes who so doth come, to late complains the smart.  
Wherefore I do advise, who so doth friend friend so,  
As though to morrow next, he should become a mortal foe.   

Refuse respecting friends, that courtly know to feign,  
For gold that wins for gold, shall loose, the self same friend again:  
The Quail needs never fear, in fowlers nets to fall,  
If he would never bend his ear, to listen to his call.  
Therefore trust not to soon, but when you friend friend so,  
As though to morrow next, ye feared for to become a foe.   
Finis.  
L. Vaux.   

¶ He renounceth all the affects of love.  

LIke as the Heart that lifteth up his ears,  
To hear the hounds, that hath him in the chafe:  
Doth cast the wind, in dangers and in fears,  
With flying foot, to pass away apace.  
So must I fly of love the vain pursuit,  
Whereof the gain is lesser than the friute.   

And I also must loath those learyng looks,  
Where love doth lurk still with a subtle slaight:  
With painted mocks, and inward hidden hooks,  
To trapp by trust, that lieth not in wait.  
The end whereof, assay it who so shall,  
Is sugared smart, and inward bitter gall.   

And I also must fly such Sirian songs,  
Wherewith that Circe's, Ulysses did enchant:  
These wily Watts I mean, with filled tongues,  
That hearts of steel, have power to daunt,  
Who so as hawk, that stoppeth to their call,  
For most desert, receiveth lest of all.   

But woe to me that first beheld those eyes,  
The trapp wherein I say, that I was ta'en:  
An outward salve, which inward me destroys,  
Whereto I run, as Rat unto her bane.  
As to the fish, sometime it doth befall,  
That with the bait, doth swallow hook and all.   

Within my breast, wherewith I daily fed,  
The vain repast of amorous hot desire:  
With loitering lust, so long that hath me fed,  
Till he hath brought me to the flaming fire.  
In time at Phoenix ends her care and carks,  
I make the fire, and burn myself with sparks.   
Finis.  
L. Vaux.   

¶ Being in sorrow he complaineth.  

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

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

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

¶ Being in love, he complaineth.  

Enforced by love and fear, to please and not offend,  
Within the words you would me writ, a message must I send:  
A woeful errand sure a wretched man must writ,  
A wretched tale, a woeful head, beseemeth to indite.   

For what can he but wail, that hath but all he would.  
And yet that all, is naught at all, but lack of all he should:  
But lack of all his mind: what can be greater grief,  
That have & lack that likes him best, must neds be most mischief.   

Now fool what makes thee wail, yet some might say full well  
That hast no harm but of thyself, as thou thyself canst tell:  
To whom I answer thus, since all my harms do grow,  
Upon myself, so of myself, some hap may come I trow.   

And since I see both hap, and harm betids to me,  
For present woe, my after bliss, will make me not forget thee:  
Who hath a field of gold, and may not come therein,  
Must live in hope till he have force, his treasure well to win.   

Whose joys by hope of dread, to conquer or to loose,  
So great a wealth doth rise, and for example doth disclose:  
To win the golden fleece, stood jason not in dread,  
Till that Medea's hope of help, did give him hope to speed.   

Yet sure his mind was much, and yet his fear the more,  
That hath no hap but by your help, may hap for to restore:  
The raging Bulls he dread, yet by his Lady's charm,  
He knew it might be brought to pass, they could do little harm.   

Unto whose grace yield he, as I do offer me,  
Into your hands to have his hap, not like him for to be:  
But as king Priamus did bind him to the william.  
Of Cressida false which him forsook, with Diomedes to spill.   

So I to you commend my faith, and eke my joy,  
I hope you will not be so false, as Cressida was to Troy:  
For if I be untrue, her Lazares death I wish,  
And eke to thee if I be false, her clapper and her dish.   
Finis.  
R. L.   

¶ Being in trouble, he writeth thus.  

IN terrors trapp with thraldom thrust,  
Their thorny thoughts to taste and try:  
In conscience clear from case unjust,  
With carping cares did call and cry.  
And said O God, yet thou art he,  
That can and will deliver me. Bis.   

Thus trembling there with tears I trod.  
To totter tied in truths defence:  
With sighs and sobs, I said O God,  
Let right not have this recompense.  
Jest that my foes might laugh to see,  
That thou wouldst not deliver me. Bis.   

My soul then to repentance ran,  
My ragged clotheses berent and torn:  
And did bewail the loss it wan,  
With loathsome life so long forlorn.  
And said O God yet thou art he,  
That can and will deliver me. Bis.   

Then comfort came with clotheses of joy  
Whose seems were faithful steadfastness:  
And did bedeck that naked boy,  
Which erst was full of wretchedness.  
And said be glad for God is he,  
That shortly will deliver thee. Bis.   
Finis.  
T. M.   

¶ Being troubled in mind, he writeth as followeth.  

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

My greedy will, that seks the golden gain,  
My luckless lot, doth alway take in worth:  
My mated mind, that dreads my suits in vain,  
My piteous plaint, doth help for to set forth.  
So that between two waves of raging seas,  
I drive my days in troubles and disease.   

My woeful eyes do take their chief delight,  
To feed their fill upon the pleasant maze:  
My hidden harms that grow in me by sight,  
With pining pains do drive me from the gaze.  
And to my hope I reap no other hire,  
But burn myself, and I to blow the fire.   
Finis.  
I.H.   

¶ Look or you leap.  

IF thou in surety safe wilt sit,  
If thou delight at rest to devil:  
Spend no more words than shall seem fit,  
Let tongue in silence talk expel.  
In all things that thou seest men bend,  
See all, say naught, hold thee content.   

In worldly works degrees are three,  
Makers, doers, and lookers on:  
The lookers on have liberty,  
Both the others to judge upon.  
Wherefore in all, as men are bend,  
See all, say naught, hold thee content.   

The makers often are in fault found,  
The doers doubt of praise or shame:  
The lookers on find surest ground,  
They have the fruit, yet free from blame.  
This doth persuade in all here meant,  
See all, say naught, hold thee content.   

The proverb is not South and West,  
Which hath be said, long time ago:  
Of little meddling cometh rest,  
The busy man never wanteth woe.  
The best way is in all worlds sent,  
See all, say naught, hold thee content.   
Finis.  
jasper Haywood.   

¶ He bewaileth his mishap.  

IN wretched state alas I rue my life,  
Whose sorrows rage torments with deadly pain:  
In drowned eyes, behold my tears be rife,  
In doubtful state, a wretch I must remain,  
You woeful wights enured to like distress,  
Bewail with me my woeful heaviness.   

What stony heart such hardness can retain,  
That sharp remorse, no rest can find therein:  
What ruthless eyes so careless can remain,  
That daily tears may pity win.  
For right I seek, and yet renew my sore,  
Vouchsalfe at length my safety to restore.   

My love is lost, woe worth in woe I die,  
Disdainful heart doth work such hateful spite:  
In loss of love a wretch must joy to die,  
For life is death, now hope is banished quite.  
O death approach bereave my life from me,  
Why should I live oppressed with woe to be.   
Finis.  
R. H.   

¶ The complaint of a Sinner.  

O Heavenly God O Father dear, cast down thy tender eye,  
Upon a wretch that prostrate here, before thy throne doth lie:  
O power thy precious oil of grace, into my wounded heart,  
O let the drops of mercy suage, the rigour of my smart.   

My fainting soul suppressed sore, with careful clog of sin,  
In humble sort submitts itself, thy mercy for to win:  
Grant mercy then O saviour sweet, to me most woeful thrall,  
Whose mornfull cry to thee O Lord, doth still for mercy call.   

Thy blessed will I have despised, upon a stubborn mind:  
And to the sway of worldly things, myself I have inclined:  
Forgetting heaven, & heavenvly powers, where God and saints do dwell  
My life had liked to tread the path, the leads the way to hell.   

But now my lord, my load star bright I will no more do so:  
To think upon my former life, my heart doth melt for woe.  
Alas I sigh, alas I sob, alas I do repent:  
That ever my licentious will, so wickedly was bend.   

Sigh thus therefore with yernfull plain, I do thy mercy crave  
O Lord for thy great mercy's sake, let me thy mercy have:  
Restore to life the wretched soul, that else is like to die,  
So shall my voice unto thy name, sing praise eternally.   

Now blessed be the Father first, and blessed be the Son,  
And blessed be the holy Ghost, by whom all things are done:  
Bless me O blessed Trinity, with thy eternal grace,  
That after death my soul may have, in heaven a dwelling place.   
Finis.  
F.K.   

¶ The fruit, that springs from wilful wites, is ruth, and ruins rage: And sure what heedless youth commits, repentance rues in age.  
I Rage in restless ruth, and ruins rule my days,  
I rue (to late) my reckless youth, by rules of reasons ways:  
I ran so long a race, in search of surest way,  
That leisure learned me tread the trace, that led to lewd decay.  
I gave so large a rain, to unrestrained bit,  
That now with proof of after pain, I wail my want of wit:  
I trifeled forth the time, with trust to self conceits,  
Whilst plenties use pricked forth my prime, to search for sugared baits.  
Wherein once learned to find, I found so sweet a taste,  
That dew foresight of after speed, self will esteemed waste.  
Which will, through wilfulness, hath wrought my witless fall,  
And heedless youths unskilfulness, hath leapt my life in thrall.  
Whereby by proof I know, that pleasure breedeth pain,  
And he that evil seed doth sow evil fruit must reap again.  
Let such therefore, whose youth, and purses are in Prime,  
Foresee & shun, the helpless ruth, which fews misspence of time.  
For want is next to waste, and shame doth sin ensue,  
Evil speding proof hath hedeles haste, myself hath proved it true.  
When neighbours next house burns, 'tis time thereof take heed,  
For fortunes wheel hath choice of turns, which change of chanses breads.  
My sail hath been aloft, though now I bear but low,  
Who clims to high seld falleth soft, didst ebb hath highest flow.  
Finis.  
qd Yloop.    

¶ Imprinted at London by Henry Disle, dwelling at the south-west door of S. Paul's Church. 1576.