A BANQUET OF DAINTY CONCEITS.  
Furnished with very delicate and choice inventions, to delight their minds, who take pleasure in Music, and therewithal to sing sweet Ditties, either to the Lute, Bandora, virginals, or any other Instrument.  
Published at the desire of both Honourable and Worshipful personages, who have had copies of divers of the Ditties herein contained.  
Written by A. M. Servant to the Queen's most excellent Majesty. HONOS ALIT ARTES.  
AT LONDON Printed by I. C. for Edward White, and are to be sold at the sign of the Gun, at the little North door of Paul's. Anno. 1588.   

To the worshipful and his especial good friend, Master Richard Topcliffe, Esquire. A. M. commendeth this small motion of his unfeigned good will and affection. (⸫)  
IN respect of the manifold good turns, and favourable deeds of friendship, that not only I, but others, to whom I am somewhat beholding, have received at your worships hands, albeit my disability will not permit me to make answerable requital, yet such is the estimation I make of my duty, that failing in that I would, I will remain ready in any thing I may: not that your worship hath any need of me or mine, but for I would be loath that ingratitude should so much insult upon me, as neither deeds nor duties should remain to him, who hath so well deserved. I will therefore contain the mind that poor Irus did, who coming into the Temple of the Goddess Pallas, and seeing her to hold a Book in the one hand, & a Lance in the other, made as great account of her secret virtues, as her outward valiancy: and therefore said, Despiteful Poverty, thou shalt not keep me from honouring Pallas, though thou withholdest me from giving her Presents. Even so worshipful Sir, though the world so frown upon me, that I cannot as I would: yet that poor Talon which God hath lent me (if it were sufficient for so many courtesies) shall at all times express, that I am loath to be unthankful. I therefore desire your worship to accept of this slender gift, which measured in your wont friendly judgement, I doubt not but shall speed according to my expectation, and the rather, for that there is nothing herein contained that may either offend the virtuous, or give any encouragement to the vicious: for if there were any such matters, they should never come in your worships view.  
Not doubting therefore, but to find your worship as I always have done, I committee you to the continual protection of the Almighty, who defend you from all your enemies, and bless you in remembering the labours of them that have well deserved.  
Your worship's poor Friend to command. Anthony Monday.   

❧ To the Gentle and friendly Reader.  
BEfore thou readest this small travail of mine, (gentle Reader) I am a little to admonish thee, lest otherwise thou mayst happen to fal-out of love with my Book, and so think it not worthy the reading. first, thou art to consider, that the Ditties herein contained, are made to several set Notes, wherein no measure of verse can be observed, because the Notes will afford no such liberty: for look how they rise and fall, in just time and order of Music, even so have I kept course therewith in making the Ditties, which will seem very bad stuff in reading, but (I persuade me) will delight thee, when thou singest any of them to thine Instrument. secondly, though thou find them not set down in excellent verse, as perhaps many are curious in sifting such matters, yet I am sure thou shalt find in them sense sufficient, and matter worth the reading: though not fantastical, and full of love quirks & quiddities, yet stored with good admonitions and friendly documents, so canst thou not say, that there is neither time not reason in them, but if thou mark them well, thou shalt find both.  
Lastly, if any Ditty shall chance to lympe a little in the Note (as I do not know that any one of them doth, because they have been tried by them of judgement, and those that have not a little esteemed of them) yet I pray thee condemn me not, in that I have no jot of knowledge in Music, but what I have done and do, is only by the ear: for had I skill in Music, they should have been far better than they be. But I thank God of that which I have, it is not for every man to go to Corinth, therefore I content myself with that poor Talon which I have, & which is thine to command, so thou entertain my labours with courtesy. Farewell.  
Thine to use in friendship, A. Monday.   

❧ A Breviate of the Notes of the Ditties contained in this Book.  

THe first Ditty may be sung after the note of Les guanto di Hispania.  
The 2. to Primero.  
The 3. to johnsons Medley.  
The 4. to the Earl of Oxenfords March.  
The 5. to Monsieures Allemaigne.  
The 6. to the flat Pavin.  
The 7. to Prima visto.  
The 8. to the new Scottish Allemaigne.  
The 9 to the high Allemaigne Measure.  
The 10. to the Spanish Pavin.  
The 11. to the Venetian Allemaigne.  
The 12. to the note of Deem all my deeds.  
The 13. to the Quadrant Pavin.  
The 14. to the Old Allemaigne.  
The 15. to the new Hunt is up.  
The 16. to the Earl of Oxenfords Galliard.  
The 17. to Dowlands Galliard.  
The 18. to the Countess of Ormonds' Galliard.  
The 19 to wigmore's Galliard.  
The 20. to La vechia Pavin.  
The 21. to Mondays Galliard.  
The 22. to Monday his Toy.    

A Dyttie expressing a familiar controversy between Wit and Will: wherein Wit mildly rebuketh the follies of Will, and showeth him (as in a Glass) the fall of wilful heads.  
This Ditty may be sung after the note of a Courtly Dance, called Les guanto.  
WHen I behold the reckless race of youth:  
How Wit and Will do vainly seem for to contend,  
about the tried truth.  
And then again when I have pondered well:  
How frail desire subverteth Wills devices still  
and reason sane would quell.  
Good Lord (think I) great need had Will beware  
Lest suddame woe his dangers do prepare.  
Wit doth forecast what after shall betide:  
But Will bewitched with too too much of follies charms,  
Wits counsel doth deride.  
Wit saith vain heads are always apt to fall:  
But Will that seeks to build his dwelling in the air,  
regardeth not at all.  
He will not hear, the golden mean is best:  
And content minds enjoy the sweetest rest.  
Will be wary and that in tune,  
Lest had I witted happen to late:  
Idleness wasting thy youthful prime,  
brings beggarly age to the gate.  
Seek then for profit while leisure is lent thee:  
The tunes stays no man, and slackness will shent thee.  
Look into pleasure, and thou shalt behold,  
the end of her pastimes are nothing but pain:  
Look into profit there mayst thou be bold,  
to find out such sweetness as will be thy gain.  
It is not bravery that can avail,  
if neediness tie up the strings of thy purse:  
For if thy state seem once to quail,  
thy credit will after be always the worse.  
Beauty is vading and will not endure,  
fair Absalon's warning may well suffice:  
Set not thy fancy on things so unsure,  
for beauty full often hath blamed the wise.  
Beauty with charges must be maintained,  
and charges eats deep where riches is scant:  
Then count the costs that thou hast gained,  
and all thy sickness will be but of want.  
Therefore if thou wilt be warned by me,  
according to cloth, so cut out thy coat:  
And as thy getting let spending so be,  
and suffer fond younkers to live all afloat.  
Equal thyself with none of those,  
although they scorn to see thee changed:  
Thou shalt sit smiling at their woes,  
when thou perceivest how they have ranged.  
Shake of their friendship, and know them no more  
it is no shame to turn to do well:  
The flatterer eateth a man very sore,  
yea, to the bare bones as some can well tell.  
A friends rebuke far better is,  
than the sweet kiss of an enemy.  
The one would gladly work thy bliss,  
the other thy death, far contrary.  
A proverb there is both ancient and true,  
while wealth will hold out, thou shalt have friends store,  
But money once failing they bid thee adieu,  
they scorn then to know thee as they did before.  
Such is now the friendship that this world doth use:  
Trust not to others lest they do deceive thee,  
but to thine own self, then mayst thou be bold,  
Fairest looks flatter, in lurch they will leave thee,  
good Will leave the new friend, and cleave to the old,  
All this hath been proved. Will, I tell no news.  
When thine own rod hath beaten thee well,  
then wilt thou remember what Wit hath bewrayed:  
That better it is in quiet to dwell,  
then climbing to fall, and so be dismayed,  
Keep thee on the ground, and then thou canst not fall:  
He that presumeth above his degree,  
the holy writ telleth, shall be brought full low,  
And he that is humble, content so to be,  
he shall be exalted and happy also.  
Thus thou seest humility is best of all.  
If thou dost doubt of that which I say,  
Behold the examples full grievous to see:  
The Children of Folly, how they do decay,  
and as their beginnings, their endings so be.  
What is then the cause that they do speed so ill?  
Folly first bred them, than Daintiness lulde them,  
and Idleness brought them to horror and strife:  
Impiety taught them, and Wilfulness plud them,  
from virtuous delighting to dissolute life,  
Then their end to tell, it grieveth me good Will.  
Seek then by Labour thyself to maintain,  
for Labour gets Learning, the chiefest of all:  
And learning will be thy profit and gain,  
Whereby to prefer thee when other things fall.  
Cleave to this, and then be sure thou do 〈…〉 ot ill:  
For nothing is gotten except thou take pain,  
And when thou hast got it, then keep it as well:  
Provide in an honest estate to remain,  
And so thou mayst hazard at all times expel  
Think on this, and so farewell good gentle Will.  
FINIS.   

A Ditty declaring the uncertainty of our earthly honour, the certain account that we must all make of death: and therefore that we should make ourselves ready at all times, because we are ignorant of our latter hour.  
This Ditty is sung after a very pretty set note, which is called Primero.  
WHat state so sure, but time subvarts?  
what pleasure that is void of pain:  
What cheerful change of former smarts,  
but turns straightway to grief again?  
What credit may a man repose,  
upon so frail a clod of clay:  
Which as to day in solace goes,  
to morrow is brought to earthly bay?  
Think O man,  
How thy glass is daily set to run:  
And how thy life shall pass, when it is done,  
Thy grave hath then thy glory won,  
and all thy pomp in cinders laid full low:  
Take example  
By the fragrant flower in the field,  
Which as to day in bravery to beheld,  
The parching Sun hath over-queld,  
O wretched man, even thou thyself art so.  
How then?  
How canst thou brag, or canst thou boast,  
How that thou mayest,  
Or that thou shalt  
Enjoy thy life until to morrow day:  
Thou seest,  
That death subdues the strength of Kings,  
Of high and low,  
Of rich and poor,  
And all as one he doth call away.  
Tantara, tantara, tantara,  
Thus doth the Trumpet sound:  
The Bell bids prepare a, prepare a, prepare a,  
Your bodies to the ground.  
Even so,  
While we are sporting, sporting, sporting,  
Amidst our earnest play:  
Death cometh stealing, stealing, stealing,  
And takes our lives away,  
To go,  
Put on your black array, for needs you must away,  
Unto your house of clay,  
Prepare your conscience gay, against the dreadful day,  
That you may be.  
Christ's chosen flock and sheep,  
Whom he will safely keep,  
Whether you do wake or sleep,  
Then shall the hellish foe,  
Away in terror go,  
This joy to see.  
Remember this, amidst your bliss,  
that Christ hath redeemed us by his blood:  
Then let us kill, our affections so ill,  
to be elected his Servants good.  
Then shall we be sure, for aye to endure:  
On God's right hand among the pure.  
When as the ill, against their will:  
the endless pain shall pass until.  
God grant us fervent constancy,  
to avoid so great extremity:  
That by his grace continually,  
we may purchase heavens felicity.  
FINIS.   

❧ In this Ditty is expressed, the sundry and daily mishaps that chance in Love: deciphered by him that felt them, to his pain.  
This Ditty is sung to johnsons Medley.  

WHen fond desire, had drawn my mind to Love:  
Hard was my hap, and fierce the fits,  
I was enforced to prove.  
When Beauty gave her beck,  
and Fancy held me thrall:  
Then Will had conquered Wits devise,  
Love had me at her call.  
Quoth Wisdom ware thy woe,  
thy danger is at hand:  
Run not too rash, be ruled in time,  
lest peril thee withstand.  
These are the snares of Love,  
her doom a lasting ill:  
Her sleights are nought but thriftless shifts,  
for to allure thy will.  
Therefore respect, the hard effect,  
that may, thee stay,  
When thou wouldst it reject.  
Set hatch before, the wilful door,  
for blame, and shame,  
Keep still a shift in store.  
So shalt thou espy it, when foes would say nay:  
When skill doth descry it, 'tis good to obey.  
Sure footing, good booting, the bargain well made,  
returneth thy travail and charges:  
Forewarned hath learned, deceit would invade,  
when liberty crieth a largesse.  
Youth's wales are unsteady, he runneth on heady,  
and scorneth the hazard to see:  
Love leadeth to caring, and often despairing.  
wherefore friend, be warned by me.  
The child once touched with pain:  
Will fear the like again.  
And proving this too true:  
Willed me bid Love adieu.   

¶ But yet alas, this warning would not serve:  
for vain delight had won me so,  
From Wisdom I did swerver:  
Boldness did egg me on,  
the utmost harm to try:  
Love had enchanted me within,  
when she had won mine eye.  
Self-will persuaded me,  
the passage would be fair:  
And Dalliance fed my fancy so,  
I little passed for care.  
Such was my venturous mind,  
built on affections blaze:  
When Wisdom cried, I could not hear,  
mine eyes were set to gaze.  
My heart was bend, with full consent,  
to crave, to have,  
This motion of content.  
For none but she, did please mine eye,  
Wherefore, I swore,  
For her to live and die.  
But see how it chanced, fell Fortune did scorn me,  
My woes were advanced and love had for lost me.  
My loving, in proving, was turned to hate,  
My suit and service despised:  
Then thought I, how might I, been warned of late,  
When Wisdom this platform disguised.  
I might have prevented, and stayed me contented,  
the danger was told me before:  
But self will did lead me, till folly deceived me,  
but so shall she never do more.  
Young heads I wish beware:  
Of this deceitful snare.  
Lest you as well as I:  
The like mishap do● try.   
FINIS.   

¶ A Ditty, which showeth by example of divers worthy personages passed in ancient time, that neither strength, wit, beauty, riches, or any transitory things (wherein worldlings put any confidence) can save them from the stroke of Death.  
This Ditty may be sung to a very gallant note, called the Earl of Oxenfords March.  

A Diew my former pleasure,  
for I of force must leave thee:  
I see my state is most unsure,  
and thou hast long deceived me,  
Time bids me mind my latter end,  
and that I am but clay:  
And every hour I do offend,  
in many a wicked way.  
Then farewell sin,  
I will begin.  
To sorrow for my wicked life at the last,  
and fear to sin any more:  
For when I remember all that is past,  
my heart doth bleed therefore.   

¶ I see that valiant Samson,  
who vaunted of his stature:  
His strength hath failed, and he is gone,  
Time forced him yield to nature.  
And all the courage he possessed,  
amidst his flowering days:  
When Death did call him home to rest,  
did vade from him straightway.  
Then why should I,  
On strength rely?  
Perceiving that the stoutest heart doth obey,  
when death doth show his power:  
And so must I needs (as all flesh) pass away,  
for strength is but a flower.   

¶ I see that wise King Solomon,  
whose wisdom was most excellent:  
Among the rest is dead and gone,  
for all his prudent government.  
And what is he that liveth now,  
in wisdom most profound:  
But Death compelleth him to bow,  
and brings him to the ground:  
If strength then fail?  
And wit doth quail.  
Unwise were I once for to think that I might  
escape the stroke of Death:  
And know that there is on the earth no one wight  
but must resign his breath.   

¶ I see that fair young Absalon,  
beauty did nought avail him:  
The wealthy Glutton eke is gone,  
his riches could not bail him  
And he that had his Barns so thwal●t,  
and bad his soul take rest:  
In one night from his wealth was rapt,  
and so was dispossessed.  
Thus see you plain:  
It is in vain.  
To make any certain account of this life,  
or in yourselves to trust:  
Therefore make you ready to part from this strife,  
for to the earth you must.   
FINIS.   

❧ A Ditty, delivering a friendly admonition to Women, to have care of their own estates, to shun such vain occasions, as oftentimes call their good names in question: and after the example of Sara, to order themselves in all their actions. (⸪)  
This Ditty is sung to a pleasant new note, called Mounsieures Allemaigne.  

LIst a while fair Ladies,  
your friend doth here salute you:  
With notes of elder ages,  
whereto he would impute you.  
As nature hath you framed,  
with beauty in your faces:  
He is loath you should be blamed,  
with any close disgraces.  
But this he wisheth,  
your virtues may be such:  
As no ill tongue may challenge means,  
your credit for to touch.  
For Women once defamed,  
are subject while they live:  
To every lose and light report,  
young heads of them shall give.   

¶ Remember good old Sara,  
though she be dead and rotten:  
She left a lesson to all Wives,  
which should not be forgotten.  
She reverenced her Husband,  
and called him her Lord:  
And feared lest she should offend,  
either in deed or word.  
She did not like some Women,  
her wedded mate despise:  
But as old Abraham had her heart  
so did he please her eyes.  
Neither would she clothe herself  
beyond her Husband's state:  
As now some Women vainly do,  
and rue if all too late.   

¶ She did regard her household,  
lest any thing should lack:  
And would not let her servants want,  
to lay it on her back.  
She did not gad on gossiping,  
for she could never learn it:  
To spend away her Husband's thrift,  
so fast as he could yearn it.  
Nor would she on the Sunday,  
her time so vainly spend:  
In plaiting her apparel on  
till service were at end.  
Her face was never painted,  
her hair laid forth to view:  
Her ruffs were never starched,  
such toys she never knew.   

¶ And when she lay in childbed,  
she used no such cheer:  
To spend so largely on a Feast,  
and lack it all the year.  
Such fine and dainty linen,  
as now some Women use:  
And such vain cost in banqueting,  
all this to her was news.  
She cared not for such fashions,  
as now some Women do:  
That cannot see a garment worn,  
but they must have it too.  
She did regard her Husband,  
and household charge beside:  
Remembering that such vain expense,  
would greater needs provide.   

¶ She spent in youth advisedly,  
lest she in age should want:  
For age hath many miseries,  
yet none so great as scant.  
Beside she had another mind,  
which many Women lack:  
Who jet about in others goods,  
and payment is full slack.  
Wherefore be wise fair Women,  
and where these follies be:  
It is no shame to leave them off,  
as Sara did you see.  
For if you still frequent them,  
your danger is the more:  
And time will root your credit up.  
be well advised therefore.   
FINIS.   

❧ A Ditty, wherein may be seen by many and sundry examples, that no man ought to give overmuch credit to this frail and transitory life: but as all other things soon vade and decay, so the life of man hath no greater assurance. (⸪)  
This Ditty is sung after the note of the flat Pavin, which is played in Consort.  

WHen I sometime begin to think upon  
the frailty of this present life:  
How soon the pomp of man is gone,  
how soon his joys are changed to grief.  
Good Lord (think I) what mind hath man,  
to trust to such a state:  
Which frailty at the first began,  
and knows no certain date?  
Now in joy, than annoy,  
Thus our time we do destroy,  
not minding that we be:  
Like the grass, which soon doth pass,  
Or as our Image in a glass,  
even so good friends are we.   

¶ Behold how Summer yearly bloometh forth,  
the goodly blossoms of the Tree:  
Which wasteful Winter counteth little worth,  
and therefore will not suffer them to be.  
And Nature's mantel which she spread,  
so green upon the ground:  
Upon a sudden waxeth dead,  
that whilom grew full sound.  
Thus are we, if we see,  
To things according as they be,  
for our example left:  
That as they, pass away,  
So hath man as little stay,  
when course hath him bereft.   

¶ Think on the Ship, that cutteth through the seas,  
and on her sudden state with all:  
Now do the Sailors ride on at their ease,  
not fearing what mischance may fall.  
But in a moment then behold,  
when swelling flaws do rise:  
The Ship is split, their hearts were cold,  
and each for mercy cries.  
Thus ere while, they did smile,  
When time their fancies did beguile,  
now, swallowed in the deep:  
Even so we, in health now be,  
Anon, a lump of clay (to see,)  
thus death on us doth creep.   

¶ When thou dost lay thee dow●●… to take thy rest.  
and sleepest sound void of care:  
An Image of thy death is there expressed,  
which steals on thee before thou canst beware.  
What thing so ere thou takest in hand,  
do thus thyself provide:  
That death doth at thine elbow stand,  
and waits no time or tide.  
Young or old, be not too bold,  
For life cannot be bought or sold,  
For friendship or for fee:  
The Lordly mind, the homely hind  
All flesh must yield unto their kind,  
Death spareth no degree.   

Then happy is that man (in sooth) say I,  
that can his time so well direct:  
As at each hour, he is prepared to die,  
and fleshly hope doth clean reject.  
For he that doth regard the place,  
whence all our comfort springs:  
Accounts this earthly, honour base,  
he mindeth heavenly things.  
For there is joy, without annoy,  
Let us then so our times employ,  
that there may be our rest:  
Thus wish I all, both great & small,  
To such repentance they may fall,  
to live among the blessed.   
FINIS.   

❧ A Ditty, wherein is contained a very proper discourse, of a certain wealthy Merchant, who forgetting his profit, gave his mind to pleasure.  
The Ditty may be sung after a pleasant new note, called Prima visto.  

A Merchant of great riches dwelled,  
in Surria (as I read:)  
Whose yearly traffic to the Cair,  
full well susfisde his need.  
For bringing precious Stones from thence,  
the profit rose so much:  
By his account, unto himself,  
as very few had such.   

¶ This Merchant to give greater grace,  
to jewels of such price:  
Compounded with a skilful man,  
both excellent and wise.  
To set these stones in finest Gold,  
agreeing by the day:  
Because he should not slack his work,  
a certain sum to pay.   

¶ This cunning workman every day,  
applied his business well:  
And every night received his wadge.  
At last it so befell,  
Unto the Merchant's house was brought,  
a goodly Instrument:  
Which for the Beauty and the sound,  
did highly him content.   

¶ The workman (as his custom was)  
unto his business came:  
When as the Merchant took the Harp,  
and showed him the same.  
His skill in Music being great,  
did take the Instrument:  
Demanding if that he should play,  
the Merchant was content.   

¶ So sweetly did he play thereon,  
and with such rare delight:  
That thus he wasted forth the day,  
until it was dark night.  
Then for his duty he doth call,  
and as much doth require:  
As if he had applied his work,  
serving for daily hire.   

¶ The Merchant says, he had not wrought  
but played all the day:  
The workman says, you did command,  
than I must needs obey.  
Your bargain is for daily wadge,  
all day I have been here:  
And done what you commanded me,  
my wages then is clear.   

¶ In brief, they fell so much at square,  
and so far did proceed:  
That by the judges of the Town,  
sentence must be decreed.  
Which went against the Merchant flat,  
and so much he must pay:  
The workman, as if he had wrought,  
and laboured all the day.   

¶ The Merchant scant digested this,  
that he so much must pay:  
And might have gotten twice so much,  
if he had wrought all day.  
His folly now he doth repent,  
and bids such gauds farewell:  
He finds more sweetness in the Nut,  
then in the outward shell.   
FINIS.   

In this Ditty, is set down the moral judgement of the great and learned Philosopher Sendebar, on the story before passed: which will be found, both worth the reading and regarding  
This Ditty may be sung to the new Scottish Allemaigne.  

SUch men as betake them to pleasure and ease,  
may see by this story what issue it brings:  
And noting their folly, they may if they please,  
contrary their humour, with durable things.  
Forsaking such fondness as doth them beguile,  
When they should remember their souls in mean while:  
To keep it most pure, lest ought it defile.   

¶ How great is the number that profit forsake,  
and seek after folly, and vanities vain?  
What high estimation do worldlings make,  
of toys and of trifles that cannot remain?  
And all to win credit in wanton folks eyes,  
Whose praises are counted as death (with the wise:)  
Because light conjectures, sweet counsel despise.   

¶ The Greyhound that swiftly pursuing the Hare,  
receives his advanutage, and holdeth her fast:  
And seeing another, doth after prepare,  
and so looseth both, and labours in waste.  
So fares it with covetous men now a days,  
Who gape after all things, which promise them praise:  
And yet are deceived by many like ways.   

¶ May not this world be miserable named?  
nay, rather our wills most wretched and vile?  
That see what attempts will make us be blamed,  
and blindly will let them our fancies beguile.  
But if we remembered how short is our stay,  
And that we possess, must vanish away:  
These worldly affections could not us betray.   

¶ Where is the good beginning of us?  
where is our excellent midst likewise?  
Where may we our perfect end discus?  
O man, learn in dealing to be more precise.  
For even on thy birth day, Death doth embrace thee,  
And all thy life time, at his will doth chase thee:  
And when thou least thinkest, then doth he displace thee   

¶ In darkness and in corruption we are borne,  
and when the light of this world we first enjoy:  
Misery doth compass us, and holds us in scorn,  
and cloggeth us daily with grief and annoy.  
Th' Elements with heat and cold do offend us,  
Diseases oppress us, till Physic do mend us:  
And troubles hang on us, each hour for to end us.   

¶ If we be alone, then sollemnes kills us,  
if we be in company, somewhat doth molest us:  
If we be wealthy, then fear of thieves spills us,  
if we be needy, despair doth arrest us.  
To die we are loath, or to part from our treasure,  
To leave friends, wife and children, we grieve out of measure  
To sin we are ready, but we repent at leisure.   

¶ And what will one man do for an other?  
but grieve and repine, that his neighbour doth well?  
For gain he will cut the throat of his Brother,  
and for preferment his soul he will sell.  
The fools bears aware the credit of the wise,  
Truth is trod down by him that tells lies:  
And ill will for good will is now the world's guise.   

¶ All virtuous actions are in small account,  
Mercy is dead, and Charity cold:  
Self-love doth neighbourly kindness surmount,  
and Usury hurteth both young and old.  
Good Lord amend this, when thy will may be,  
And quicken again true Love and Charity:  
For good men are sick, these disorders to see.   
FINIS.   

¶ A Ditty, wherein is contained divers good and necessary documents, which being embraced and followed earnestly, may cause a man to shun many evils and mischances, that may otherwise fall upon him, ere he can beware.  
This Ditty may be sung to the high Allemaigne Measure, singing every last strain twice with the Music.  

Soft fire makes sweet Malt, they say:  
Few words well placed, the wise will way.  
Time idle spent, in trifles vain:  
Returns no guerdon for thy pain.  
But time well spent, doth profit bring:  
And of good works will honour spring.  
Bestow thy time then in such sort:  
That virtue may thy deeds support.  
The greater profit thou shalt see:  
And better fame will go of thee.   

¶ In talk be sober, wise and sad,  
Fair to thy Friend, kind to the bad.  
And let thy words so placed be:  
As no man may find fault with thee.  
Nor meddle not in any case,  
With matters which thy wit surpass.  
With things that not to thee pertains,  
It folly were to beat thy brains.  
For sudden blame may hap to thee:  
In meddling unadvisedly.   

¶ Take heed in any wise, I say:  
What things thou goest about to day.  
That thou to morrow not repent,  
And with thyself be discontent.  
Speak not such words to others blame:  
As afterward may turn thee shame.  
To day thou speakest and dost not care:  
But of to morrow still beware.  
For than thou canst not call again,  
What lavishly did pass thy brain.   

¶ Keep secret closely in thy mind:  
Things that thy state and credit bind.  
Beware, if thou do them disclose:  
To whom and where, for fear of foes.  
Especially of him take heed,  
Whose truth thou dost not know in deed.  
For hard it is thy friend to know:  
From him that is a flattering foe.  
And many men in show are kind,  
Yet worse than Serpents in their mind.   

¶ Be not too hasty in thy deeds,  
Of too must haste, oft harm proceeds.  
Be sober, mute, take good advise:  
For things too much are full of vice.  
With moderation rule thee so:  
As thou aside no way mayst go.  
For haste makes waste, as proof doth say:  
And little said, soon mend ye may.  
Forecast what after may befall:  
So shalt thou not be rash at all.   

¶ Have mind still of thine own offence:  
Regard thy faults with good pretence.  
Seek not a moat in one to spy:  
First pull the beam out of thine eye.  
And find no fault with any man:  
Except amend thyself thou can.  
And when thy faults amended be:  
The good that others see in thee.  
Will learn them so their deeds to frame:  
As they may likewise scape from blame.   

¶ Of no man give thou bad report:  
Backbite not any in thy sport.  
For words do wound as deep as swords:  
Which many use in jesting boards.  
And slander is a heinous hate:  
Which doth nought else but stir debate.  
And twixt good friends makes deadly strife:  
To hazard one another's life.  
And all this may proceed of thee:  
Except thou wilt advised be.   

¶ Bear friendly with thy neighbour's fault,  
Remember thou thyself mayst halt.  
If he hath aught offended thee:  
Forgive, as thou the like wouldst be.  
And think if thou hast gone awry:  
Thou for forgiveness must apply.  
So with thy neighbour's faults do bear:  
And of thine own stand still in fear.  
Pardon as thou wouldst pardoned be:  
So God will pardon him and thee.   

¶ Be gentle unto every wight:  
Let courtesy be thy delight.  
Familiar be with few, I say,  
For sure it is the wisest way.  
Too much familiarity,  
May bring thy sorrows suddenly.  
Therefore keep gentleness in mind,  
To rich and poor be always kind.  
So pride shall never conquer thee:  
Which is man's chiefest enemy.   
FINIS.   

A pleasant Ditty, wherein is described, what falsehood oftentimes is found in fellowship, verified by a covetous minded man, who laboured to deceive his dear friend, but yet deceived himself in the end.  
This Ditty may be sung to the note of the Spanish Pavin.  

TWo friends that had a stock of Corn,  
one day did part it equally:  
But left it in the Garner still,  
for want of other remedy.  
One of them thought his friend had most,  
which caused him discourteously:  
To seek to steal it thence,  
not minding friendly amity.   

¶ His friend that not mistrusted him,  
did walk about his business:  
The other to the Garner comes,  
to make assured his craftiness.  
And on his friends heap cast his cloak,  
lest he should miss of his devise  
For he that steals in the dark,  
may be deceived twice.   

¶ He being gone, within a while,  
the other partner thither came:  
Who seeing his friends cloak on his heap,  
did very kindly take the same.  
Thinking his friend had left his Cloak,  
to save his portion from the dust:  
Therefore he thought again,  
to show his friendship just.   

¶ Quoth he, how kind a friend have I,  
that deals with me thus courteously?  
His own Corn here he leaveth bare,  
and covers mine full gently.  
I needs must show some love again,  
unto so good a friend and Brother:  
So he takes of the Cloak,  
and lays it on the other.   

¶ At night this false friend comes again,  
who with a Thief compacted had:  
To have half booty of the Corn,  
I judge his friendship very bad.  
Because he would deceive his friend,  
he was content the half to lose:  
They being thus agreed,  
the Thief then with him goes.   

¶ This false friend groped in the dark,  
to find the heap his Cloak lay on:  
And judging it had been his friends,  
became a Thief unto his own.  
Between them they conveyed it thence,  
each to his house where he did dwell:  
Thus was the man deceived,  
the Thief he sped full well.   

¶ Next morning both the partners came,  
according as they were agreed:  
Unto the Garner for their Corn,  
to carry it thence away with speed.  
But when the false friend saw the heap,  
and how himself he had deceived:  
He witted not what to say,  
his wits were nigh bereaved.   

¶ His partner carried thence his Corn,  
and he went home full heavily:  
Not daring to reveal his harm,  
lest all should know his treachery.  
See how deceit deceived himself,  
mark well the practice and the end,  
I would the like might hap,  
to every faithless friend.   
FINIS.   

❧ A Ditty, wherein the brevity of man's life is described, how soon his pomp vanisheth away, and he brought to his latest home.  
This Ditty may be sung to the Venetian Allemaigne.  

THe stately Pine, whose branches spread so fair,  
by wind or weather wasted is at length:  
The sturdy Dake that climbeth in the air,  
in time doth lose his beauty and his strength.  
The fairest Flower that flourished as to day:  
To morrow seemeth like the withered hay.   

¶ So fares it with the present state of man,  
whose show of health doth argue many years:  
But as his life is likened to a span,  
so, sudden sickness pulls him from his peers.  
And where he seemed for longer time to day:  
To morrow lies he as a lump of clay.   

¶ The Infant young, the milk white aged head,  
the gallant Youth that braveth with the best:  
We see with earth are quickly overspread,  
and both alike brought to their latest rest.  
As soon to market cometh to be sold:  
The tender lambs skin, as the Wether's old.   

¶ Death is not partial, as the Proverb says,  
the Prince and Peasant, both with him are one:  
The sweetest face that's painted now a days,  
and highest head set forth with pearl and stone.  
When he hath brought them to the earthly grave:  
Bear no more reckoning then the poorest slave.   

¶ The wealthy chuff, that makes his Gold his God,  
and scrapes and scratches all the muck he may:  
And with the world doth play at even and odd,  
when Death thinks good to take him hence away.  
Hath no more riches in his winding sheet:  
Then the poor soul that starved in the street.   

¶ Unhappy man that runneth on thy race,  
not minding where thy crazed bones must rest:  
But woe to thee that dost forget thy place,  
purchased for thee, to live amongst the blessed.  
Spend then thy life in such a good regard:  
That Christ's blessing may be thy reward.   
FINIS.   

A Ditty, discoursing the communication between Christ and the woman of Samaria, that came to draw water at jacobs' well, according as it is set down in the 4. chapter of Saint john. (⸪)  
This Ditty may be sung to the note of Deem all my deeds.  

AS jesus went to Galilee,  
his journey chanced so:  
Thorough Samaria as he went,  
by jacobs' Well to go.  
Where being faint and wearied,  
with labouring on the way,  
He sat him down on jacobs' Well,  
at mid time of the day.   

¶ Not long had jesus sitten there,  
but (as the text doth tell:)  
A woman of Samaria came,  
for water to the well.  
His Disciples were gone for meat,  
lest faintness should force them shrink:  
When jesus to the woman said,  
Woman give me some drink.   

¶ How is it (said the woman) then?  
a jew thou seem'st to be:  
How happens it, that thou dost thus,  
demand for drink of me?  
The jews make small account of us,  
and we esteem them so:  
They meddle not with Samaritans,  
I think thyself dost know.   

¶ Said jesus then, if thou didst know,  
the gift of God on high:  
And who he is that asketh drink,  
I think assuredly,  
Thou wouldst have asked drink of him,  
to ease thy inward strife:  
And he would have bestowed on thee,  
the sweet water of life.   

¶ Quoth she, thou nothing hast to draw,  
the well is deep likewise:  
From whence hast thou the water of life,  
I cannot well devise.  
Art thou greater than our Father jacob,  
who gave to us this well?  
He and his Children drank thereof,  
and so did his cattle.   

¶ Quoth jesus then, this water here,  
can no man's thirsting slake:  
But who so of the water drinks,  
that I to him shall take.  
Shall never thirst, but shall in him,  
a well of water raise:  
Springing unto eternal life,  
where he shall see good days.   

¶ Sir (said the Woman) give to me,  
of this sweet water clear:  
That I may never thirst again,  
nor come to draw more here.  
Then jesus thus to her replied,  
Thy Husband go and call:  
And then come hither unto me,  
and answer thee I shall.   

¶ I have no husband, Sir (said she)  
Quoth he, Thou sayest well:  
Thou hast no husband, but hast had,  
five husbands I can tell.  
And for the man whom now thou hast,  
thy husband is not he:  
I know as much as thou hast said,  
the very certainty.   

¶ The Woman then amazed was,  
to hear her fault descried:  
Thou art a Prophet, sir I see,  
thus she to him replied.  
Our Fathers worshipped in this Mount,  
so long as they did live:  
But you say at jerusalem,  
that men should worship give.   

¶ Woman (said jesus unto her,)  
the hour draweth near:  
When neither at jerusalem,  
nor in this Mountain here.  
Shall you the Father reverence,  
his worship you abuse:  
We know our worship, and that life,  
proceedeth of the jews.   

¶ But sure the hour is at hand,  
and now it is likewise:  
When the true servants of the Lord,  
shall with themselves devise,  
To worship him in spirit and truth,  
such worship would he have:  
He is a Spirit, and the truth,  
like worship doth he crave.   

¶ Then said the woman unto him;  
I know assuredly:  
That the Messiah soon shall come,  
and Christ his name must be.  
When he is come, as come he will,  
all things he will reveal:  
And he will tell us by what ways,  
our actions we must deal.   

¶ Quoth jesus unto her again,  
take this for certainty:  
I am Messiah and that Christ,  
that talketh here with thee.  
With that came his Disciples strait,  
who marveled much to see:  
That he would with the woman talk,  
and so familiar be.   

¶ The Woman left her water pot,  
and to the City ran:  
Where she disclosed what Christ had said,  
willing them come see the man.  
Which when they did, they by this means,  
were brought unto belief:  
And he remained with them two days,  
to yield them more relief.   
FINIS.   

¶ Of the three wise sentences, which three young men of the Guard of King Darius presented to him. The first said: Wine is strongest. The second said: The King of strongest. The third said: Women are strongest, but Truth overcometh all things.  

The first that spoke of the strength of Wine, began to prove his argument first as followeth, according as it is written in the third and fourth Chap. of Esdras.  
Wine is strongest.  
This Ditty may be sung to the Quadrant Galliard.  

O What a thing of strength is wine?  
of how great power and might?  
For it deceiveth every one,  
that takes therein delight.  
The mind of King and fatherless:  
It maketh equal in likeness.   

¶ The bondman and the freeman both,  
Wine maketh in equality:  
The pooreman and the wealthy wretch,  
Wine knitteth in affinity.  
The Lordly peer and homely hind:  
In Wine but slender difference find.   

¶ Wine turneth every pensive thought,  
to joy and gladness presently:  
So that all they which drink thereof,  
do clean cast out of memory.  
All sorrow, grief, debt or distress:  
Wine sets them in such pleasantness.   

¶ Wine maketh every heart so rich,  
that they forget immediately:  
Their King, their Governor, and all,  
and plead their own authority.  
And all their words weigh very deep:  
Till wine have brought them fast a sleep.   

¶ When men are entered in their drink,  
they have no mind at all:  
Of love to Brethren, friends or kin,  
but some to weapons fall.  
But when they are from Wine at last:  
They not remember what hath past.   

¶ Is not Wine strongest now think you,  
that carrieth with it such a might:  
As forceth men to do these things,  
without regard of wrong or right?  
This said, he paused for a space:  
And to the second man gave place.   
FINIS.   

¶ The second man, who spoke of the strength of the King, after his fellow had ended, began to declare his mind.  
The King is strongest.  
This Ditty may be sung to the Maskers Allemaigne, commonly called the old Allemaigne.  

IF Wine be strong, what strength have men,  
which rule by land and Sea?  
And over all things in them too,  
they needs must strongest be.  
But yet the King far stronger is,  
for he doth rule all men:  
And all things that he doth command,  
they do fulfil it then.   

¶ If he bid war amongst themselves,  
they grant to do it presently:  
Or else against their enemies,  
they go, and that courageously.  
They break down Mountains, walls, and Towers,  
they kill and killed be:  
And look what spoils they win in fight,  
they bring the King to see.   

¶ And they that deal not in these broils,  
but till the earth at home:  
They sow, they reap, and to the King,  
they bring it as his own.  
They one another force to pay,  
their tribute to the King:  
And look what he commandeth them,  
they do it every thing.   

¶ And yet the King is but one man,  
but if he bid them kill:  
They kill: And if he bid them spare,  
they spare with right good will.  
If he bid smite, then do they smite,  
if he bid desolate.  
They do it: and if he bid build,  
they do obey it straight.   

¶ If he say, cut off, they cut off,  
if he say: plant, they plant:  
And all things else that he command,  
in them shall be no want.  
Thus all his people and his Realm,  
one only man obey:  
Mean while, he sitteth, eats and sleeps,  
and if he list may play.   

¶ For these do keep him round about,  
their toils they set apart:  
And do what he commandeth them,  
they reverence him in heart.  
Is not the King strongest of all,  
being honoured in this sort?  
Thus broke he off, and then the third,  
his sentence did report.   
FINIS.   

Then the third, whose sentence was: that, women were strongest, but Truth overcometh all things, and whose name was zerobabel, began to speak as followeth.  
Women are strongest: but Truth overcometh all things.  
This Ditty may be sung after the note of the Queen's majesties new Hunt is up.  

IT neither is the mighty King,  
nor any men beside:  
Nor wine that may be strongest named,  
alas you are too wide.   

Who is it that doth govern these,  
and ruleth o'er them all:  
Women they are, and women's strength,  
may not be counted small.   

The King himself of Woman came,  
and they that rule the earth:  
Men of what state so ever they be,  
of Women had their birth.   

Yea, they that took the pains to plant,  
the Vines that bear the Wine:  
They came of Women at the first,  
and unto them incline.   

They make men's garments, and beside,  
they make them honourable:  
No man without a Woman can,  
long time to live be able.   

They that have Silver and Gold at will,  
or aught that they may deem:  
When they fair Women do behold,  
more dear they them esteem.   

For all those things they do forsake,  
to gaze on beauty's face:  
Not weighing any precious thing,  
fair beauty to embrace.   

A man forsakes his Father dear,  
that kept him all his life:  
Yea, Kin and Country doth forego,  
and cleaveth to his wife.   

For her he ieoperdeth his life,  
and doth great hazards find  
He recks not Country, Dad nor Dame,  
so he may please her mind.   

By this you plainly may perceive,  
Women over you do sway:  
At night you bring them home your hire,  
for labouring all the day,   

Many sticks not to kill and steal,  
and sail upon the Seas:  
To bring home booties for their Loves,  
and glad their minds to please.   

Many for Women have run mad,  
and so have served in thrall:  
Yea, some have sinned and perished,  
and thus (for Women) all.   

I grant the King is great in power,  
all stand of him in awe:  
Yet Apame the King's Concubine,  
not long sithence I saw:   

Her sit on the right hand of the King,  
and very pleasantly:  
She took the Crown from off his head,  
which he endured famlliarlie.   

And on her head she put his Crown,  
and lifting up her hand:  
Therewith she gave the King a stroke,  
all this I stood and scanned.   

And in mean season what did he,  
but on her gaze and look?  
And when she laughed, than he laughed,  
so well he could her brook.   

But if that she did frown on him,  
than would he flatter her:  
That she might into good conceit,  
the King again prefer.   

How think ye now of Women kind:  
are they not strong indeed:  
The King and Princes looked apace,  
as though they were agreed.   

But then again he did begin,  
great is the earth (quoth he)  
The Heaven high, the Sun in course,  
doth pass full speedily.   

For in one day he compasseth,  
the Heaven round about:  
And turns again unto his place,  
where he first issued out.   

Is not he great that made these things,  
so wonderful to see?  
Then say that Truth is strongest of all,  
for very Truth is he.   

All the whole earth doth call for Truth,  
and Heaven blesseth it:  
All things do shake and tremble thereat,  
it is not false one whit.   

The Wine, the King, yea Women too,  
and Men are wicked all:  
Their works are nought, no Truth in them,  
they perish and they fall.   

But Truth doth constantly abide,  
and strongest is for ever:  
She lives and reigns, and ever shall,  
can be confounded never.   

With her no choice of person is,  
she doth the things are just:  
From wicked works she doth abstain,  
men ought in her to trust.   

Her judgements evermore are sound,  
her Majesty ensueth:  
Over all ages by her power,  
Blessed be the God of Truth.   

Thus broke he off, and then began,  
the people all to cry:  
Truth greatest is, and strongest of all,  
and Truth shall never die.   
FINIS.    

A Glass for all men to behold themselves in, especially such proud and prodigal minded men, and such delicate and dainty women who building on the pride of their beauty, and amiable complexion, think scorn to become aged, and that their sweet faces should be wrinkled, or their youthfulness brought into subjection by age.  
This Ditty may be sung to the Earl of Oxenfords Galliard.  
 

YOu youthful heads, whose climbing minds,  
do seek for worldly praise:  
Whose young desires do seem to scorn,  
Old ages slaied ways.  
Bear with she plainsong of my note,  
which is so plain in deed:  
As dainty minds will scant endure,  
so harsh a tale to read.   

¶ As nature hath endued your shapes,  
with exquisite perfection:  
And gives you choice of sweet delights,  
wherein you have affection.  
When Time hath run his course in you,  
the self-same Nature says:  
That all these dainty toys must die,  
whereof you made your praise.   

¶ Mark how the year in course doth pass,  
note first the pleasant Spring:  
The earth by Nature then affords,  
full many a precious thing.  
Of fruits, of flowers, of wholesome herbs,  
we gather as we please:  
And all things else we lack beside,  
our needful wants to ease.   

¶ And likewise in this pleasant time,  
we take delight to walk:  
To run and play at barley break,  
and in our Gardens talk.  
One friend an other doth invite,  
they feast and make good cheer:  
Both rich and poor do make pastime,  
at this time of the year.   

¶ But wreakful Winter drawing on,  
withdraweth these delights:  
And robs us of them one by one,  
as toys and trifling sights.  
The Seith cuts down the goodly grass,  
that grew so green to day:  
And all the sweet and pleasant flowers,  
are changed then to hay.   

¶ The Trees that bragged in their leaves,  
the bitter blasts do bite:  
And change them from their goodly state,  
to old and withered plight.  
And they that flocked to the Fields,  
when Summer was so brave:  
Now closely creep about the fire,  
for Winter warmth will have.   

¶ Compare we now the yearly change,  
with man's appointed race:  
Who in the April of his age,  
green humours doth embrace.  
And as May flowers glad the eye,  
so in his youthful time:  
Man compasseth a world of joys,  
whereto his though is do clime.   

¶ Behold likewise Dame Beauties girls,  
whose dainty minds are such:  
As not the Sunshine nor the wind,  
must their fair faces touch.  
Their Masks, their Fans, and all the toys,  
that wanton heads can crave:  
To maintain Beauty in her pride,  
these pranking Dames must have.   

¶ But elder years approaching on,  
a little every day:  
Their dainty Beauty doth decline,  
and vanisheth away.  
And as cold Winter chaseth hence,  
the pleasant Summer days:  
So withered Age encountereth Youth,  
amidst his wanton ways.   

¶ You that think scorn of ancient age,  
and hold him in contempt:  
To make of Beauty such a price,  
and to vain thoughts are bend.  
Remember Nature yields to course,  
and course his race will have:  
From the first hour of your birth,  
until you come to grave.   

¶ Age is an honour unto them,  
that live to see the same:  
And none but vain and foolish heads,  
will blot old Age with blame.  
Who oftentimes are soon cut off:  
and not so happy blest:  
To see the days their Fathers did,  
before they went to rest.   

¶ Thrice happy they that spend their youth,  
in good and virtuous wise:  
Forsaking all such vain desires,  
as wanton heads surmise.  
And wholly do direct themselves,  
unto his will that made them:  
Then Folly never can have power,  
from virtue to dissuade them.   
FINIS.   

A Ditty, wherein is expressed a notable example of a slothful man, who wilfully suffered himself to be rob and despoiled of his goods by slothfulness, which otherwise he might very well have saved.  
This Ditty may be sung to Dowlands Galliard.  
 

IT chanced on a time, that a lewd Thief:  
Did enter in a man's house for some relief.  
Where seeking busily what he might find:  
At length he found such things as pleased his mind.  
Sorting them earnestly what he did lack:  
At last of all the best he made a pack.   

¶ The good man of the house lay in his Bed,  
And heard how fast his goods abroad were spread.  
He thought to let the Thief take his own pleasure,  
And for to fill his bag at his own leisure.  
And when he suddenly should pack away:  
Then would he manfully cause him to stay.   

¶ For (quoth he) if I should now go and fray him:  
He might escape away, and I not stay him.  
I will therefore suffer him yet for a while:  
And when he thinketh least, will him beguile.  
As he lay thinking thus the Thief to keep:  
He quite forgot himself, and fell a sleep.   

¶ The Thief had filled his bag to his content:  
Which casting on his back, away he went.  
The man at last awaked, and then did see:  
His Chests were broken up, and left all empty.  
And his house rob clean in every place:  
He sat him down and sight in heavy case.   

¶ Quoth he, I wretched man might this have eased:  
And might have stayed the Thief, if I had pleased.  
For when I heard the noise, if I had hasted:  
I might have saved my goods, which now are wasted.  
But thinking to deceive and take him tardy:  
I have deceived myself through mine own folly.   

¶ By this we may perceive how good it is:  
To take time while time lasts, lest we do miss.  
In driving off our time we may repent us:  
When our own rod worthily cometh to shent us.  
Therefore be wary, and use time well:  
Else may it to you as to this man befell:   
FINIS.   

A Ditty, wherein may be discerned the troublesome dangers, & uneasy passages in this world: exampled by a very proper discourse of a travailer in his journey, how many and sundry mischances happened unto him.  
This Ditty may be sung to the Countess of Ormonds' Galliard.  
 

A Certain young man, as I read,  
that traveled on his way:  
On such affairs and business,  
as his occasions lay,  
Passing through waste and desert soils,  
which drew his mind in sadness:  
At last he spied a pleasant plain,  
which gave some cause of gladness.   

¶ Walking along this pleasant plain,  
more merry than before:  
Feeding his eyes with pleasant sighs,  
whereof this place had store.  
At last, on sudden he espied,  
four Lions very fiercely:  
Prepared themselves to run at him,  
which he did brook but scarcely.   

¶ He seeing refuge on no side,  
his life in dangerous plight:  
Did take himself unto his legs,  
to shun them if he might.  
But well he knew that running long,  
his strength perforce must fail him:  
And then his ravenous enemies,  
might easily assail him.   

¶ He thought it better (if he could)  
some where in secret hid him:  
So running on, he saw a place,  
whereof he did provide him.  
A Well beset with little twigs,  
which catching hold upon:  
He thought to hang there by the hands,  
until the Beasts were gone.   

¶ So casting both his legs abroad,  
on either side the Well,  
Where best he might sustain himself,  
what hap so ever fell.  
With hands and feet such shift he made,  
as well he could not fall:  
Nor yet the Lions if they came,  
might come at him at all.   

¶ The Lions having lost the fight,  
of this perplexed man:  
Followed no more, but to the woods,  
again they swiftly ran.  
He looking down into the Well,  
a hideous Dragon saw:  
With yawning mouth weighting his fall,  
to glut his greedy maw.   

¶ The young man now more fearful was,  
then at his first mishap:  
Perceiving where he looked for aid,  
he found the doubtful'st trap.  
If he should fall, the Dragon stood,  
at hand for to receive him:  
The Lions were without (he thought)  
of life for to bereave him.   

¶ In this so great extremity,  
he witted not what to do:  
Seeing his death before his eyes,  
and by such tyrants too.  
Besides, there had he hung so long,  
and in such grievous pain:  
His hands could hardly longer time,  
his heavy weight sustain.   

¶ But as we know that life is sweet,  
and loath we are to leave it:  
So this poor soul was very loath,  
these ravenous beasts should reave it.  
Which made him raise himself aloft,  
desiring long to see:  
Whether the Lions yet were gone,  
or should his Butchers be.   

¶ He saw them gone, but then alas,  
a new mishap began.  
Threatening more danger and distress,  
to this poor wretched man.  
For looking out, he did behold,  
two other Beasts were by:  
The one was white, the other black,  
now thought he sure to die.   

¶ For these two beasts stood gnawing the roots.  
of those two little Trees:  
Whereby he did uphold himself,  
which when (poor man) he sees.  
And still the Dragon was below,  
awaiting for his fall:  
We well may judge this young man's grief,  
may not be counted small.   

¶ He struggles hard to keep his hold,  
because his joints did faint:  
His legs likewise full often slip,  
such numbness did them taint.  
Then looking round about the Well,  
he chanced to espy:  
A pot of Honey in a hole,  
that was to him full nigh.   

¶ This Pot some Shepherd had left there,  
in passing by the way:  
And judging this a place so fit,  
did there the same convey.  
Which when this young man did behold,  
he presently forgot:  
In what hard case he stood of life,  
and lusted to the pot.   

¶ One of the twigs he doth forsake,  
and hangeth by one hand:  
Because he would the Honey taste,  
that did so near him stand.  
Thus having quite forgot the beasts  
that gnawed the twigs without:  
He sweetly of the Honey licks,  
not minding any doubt.   

¶ So long he did delight himself,  
in tasting of the pot:  
The twigs by one and one do break,  
and he so over-shotte.  
That to the other twigs again,  
he could by no means come:  
Nor could his footing longer held,  
because his strength was done.   

¶ So falls he down into the Well,  
and there poor soul he died:  
You that have heard how many woes,  
did this young man betide.  
And yet how many shifts he made,  
the peril to prevent:  
Let his misfortune teach you all,  
whereto this world is bend.   
FINIS.   

In this Ditty, is revealed the moral judgement of this notable and excellent History, set down by the famous and learned Philosopher Tyabonus: wherein may be seen the very full course and wretched race of man in this transitory life.  
This Ditty may be sung to wigmore's Galliard.  

THe Well this man for refuge took,  
the World doth represent:  
Wherein we seek by divers means,  
to work our own content.  
And where we struggle and we strive,  
each one for his avail:  
Living in hope of many things,  
whereof great numbers fail.   

¶ The Lions which did force this man,  
unto his fearful flight:  
Signify the four Elements,  
which seek both day and night.  
To chase man into contraries,  
now well, then sick again:  
With many alterations,  
whereof man feels the pain.   

¶ The Dragon that with gaping mouth,  
did watch this young man's fall:  
Doth represent our earthly Grave,  
whereto in end we shall.  
How brave or stout so ever we be,  
how politic or wise:  
The Grave must shroud our bones at last,  
for so is Nature's guise.   

¶ The Two young twigs whereby he held,  
the one is named Love:  
The other may be Temporal goods,  
whose strength we often prove.  
By Love we bear unto this dross,  
so long we hang thereon:  
That heavy sin doth weigh us down,  
till faith is well near gone.   

¶ The Little Beasts that gnawed the twigs  
of colour black and white:  
May be compared very well,  
unto the Day and Night.  
For they consume the time so fast,  
that goods nor wealth can save us:  
But these two cuts us off at length,  
and then the earth must have us.   

¶ The Pot with Honey may be termed,  
The pleasure in this life:  
Wherewith we glut ourselves so full,  
we reck no storms of strife.  
Nor manifold calamities,  
which threaten man's decay:  
The lust of Pleasure gluttes us so,  
we fear them by no way.   

¶ So at the length, the Day and Night,  
cuts off our Pleasure too:  
And then into our Grave we fall,  
as all mankind must do.  
For be we poor, or be we rich,  
this is the end of all:  
The Grave must be our shrouding sheet,  
when dreadful Death doth call.   
FINIS.   

A Ditty, wherein is lively and amply described, the Mansion or castle of vain exercises & delights, which being maintained by Pride, Prodigality, Lust, Ambition, Contempt of Virtue, and such other, is the overthrow of many that resort thither, rather than to virtuous studies and exercises.  
This Ditty may be sung to the note of La vechia Pavin.  

WHo list to see a pattern of abuse,  
Or read a tale, which many rue with tears:  
Or who will see into the very sluice,  
That leadeth man into a world of fears.  
Let him regard what I shall here report,  
in blazing forth vain Pleasure and her mates:  
Whose odious living (with the virtuous sort,)  
is named the fall of many men's estates,  
And noting well her fetches and her sleights,  
he may himself beware:  
For Vanity hath choice of deep deceits,  
to wrap a man in care.   

¶ First sets she Pride in forefront of her Fort,  
Tricked in her fines, yea, more than super-fine:  
dalliance her wanton gives her choice of sport,  
Some while with Music, then with notes divine.  
The goers by do gaze on this prospect,  
which she perceiving calleth for Delight:  
Whom she commandeth with a subtle beck,  
to feed their eyes with some newfangled sight.  
Which she performs with such a gallant grace,  
as they that see the same:  
What with his toys, and Pride's alluring face,  
their senses are made lame.   

¶ Then coming into this delightful place,  
where all abuses in the world abounds:  
Flattery tells them with a goodly grace,  
Such tales as quite their memory confounds.  
Then launch out younkers while your livings last,  
for Beauty must be brave again.  
He that with sparing shall be here disgraced,  
may not, or aught in this place remain.  
Then spend they that their Parents got with care,  
in riotous excess:  
And launch so far till they be worn threadbare,  
through their own wilfulness.   

¶ Thus having spent, till they can spend no more,  
These dainty darlings bid them then farewell:  
Then Beggary comes knocking at the door,  
To thriftless youth their follies past to tell.  
Thus walk they thence in care and heaviness,  
despised of them on whom they spent so much:  
The world likewise that saw their foolishness,  
doth scorn to moan or pity any such.  
Then how they end their lives in Misery,  
I need not here report:  
Beware therefore my friends of Vanity,  
or any of her sort.   
FINIS.   

A Ditty, wherein the Author giveth his farewell to Fancy, having learned the ancient Proverb: that it is good to take warning by other men's misfortunes.  
This Ditty may be sung to A. Monday his Galliard.  

FArewell sweet Fancy,  
Thou mayst go play thee,  
Wisdom saith, I may not stay thee:  
I am unskilful,  
And thou too wilful,  
And Time doth thy sports denay me.  
Old men have learned:  
And I myself have this discerned.  
That Sports and pleasure:  
Must be applied to time and measure.  
For youthful heads,  
Run so far till blame doth shent them:  
Then their own red,  
Makes them glad in the end to repent them.   

¶ I see that many,  
Have followed Fancy,  
To their own great loss and danger:  
Some in aspiring,  
To vain desiring,  
Wherein Reason hath been a stranger.  
Some thirst for favour,  
And yet find hate in th'end for their labour.  
Some look for living,  
And yet come short when 'tis in giving.  
And some I see,  
Well deserve, yet do speed but badly:  
and others reap,  
The reward (they) should have of duty.   

¶ Thus time is tickle,  
and fancy fickle,  
Never abiding in assurance:  
Who then would trust thee,  
That dealest unjustly,  
With thy friends of longest durance?  
Others men's warning:  
Shallbe sufficient for my learning.  
And thy unkindness,  
Shall make me fear to follow blindness.  
For thou that hast,  
Been a cause to deceive so many:  
Wilt serve me so,  
And therefore far thou well sweet Fancy.   
FINIS.   

A pleasant Ditty, of a familiar communication, that passed between certain Ladies, as they walked abroad into the fields for their recreation: wherein is proved, that Beauty is nothing worth, except it be coupled with virtue.  
This Ditty may be sung to A. Monday his Toy.  

IT was my chance to walk abroad,  
where Ladies were a sporting:  
And youthful younkers on a row,  
from every place resorting.  
And sitting down upon the banks,  
where Flowers grew full sweetly:  
By one and one they did begin,  
to speak their several fancy.  
One did Beauty much commend,  
Saying such a dainty friend:  
deserved estimation:  
And they that were not Beauties friends,  
Should reap dishonour for amends:  
sooner than commendation.   

¶ The second Lady than replied,  
and said, I like well Beauty:  
If virtue be conjoined therewith,  
it than becomes it fitly.  
For what may better bear the name,  
of Beauty's sovereign gracing:  
Then Virtue which so decks the same,  
there can be no defacing.  
But beauty that's maintained by pride  
Hath no assurance to abide,  
but quickly is confounded:  
Let Virtue dwell in Beauty's breast,  
And then must Beauty needs be blest,  
that is so surely grounded.   

¶ We must not name them beautiful,  
which bear a gay complexion:  
And make no reckoning of their states,  
but live without discretion.  
And wound their honour with disgrace,  
in company lascivious:  
Who only praise their dainty face,  
to work them treason treacherous.  
Fair beauty liketh none of this,  
That with pure Virtue joined is,  
but highly doth disdain it:  
Then let us name that Woman fair,  
That of her credit hath a care,  
lest any spot should stain it.   

¶ Your judgement (Sister) quoth the third,  
is not to be despised:  
For Beauty walketh now a days,  
me thinks too much disguised.  
For they that seem in outward show,  
as Saints in their profession:  
So careless out of course do go,  
as it is past suspicion.  
And yet are these accounted fair,  
Who dare not look into the air,  
lest that the Sun should show them:  
Fair Beauty that is fair indeed,  
Accounts this Beauty as a weed,  
and thinketh scorn to know them.   

¶ Methinks those men are worse than mad,  
that do so much abase them:  
To have affiance in such Dames,  
whose very deeds disgrace them.  
But some say men are cause of all,  
who flatter them so kindly:  
Tush, virtuous Women will not fall,  
let men speak near so friendly.  
With that there fell a shower of rain,  
Which made them trudge away amain,  
and so broke off their talking:  
I would be glad the rest to hear,  
If I might meet these Ladies there,  
when they go next on walking.   
FINIS.   

¶ The second service of this Banquet (upon the gentle and good receipt of this first) I will very shortly publish, wherein is many excellent Ditties, and such as I doubt not but thou wilt well esteem of.