THE FOREST OF Fancy.  
WHEREIN IS CONTAINED VEry pretty Apothegms, and pleasant histories, both in meeter and prose, Songs, Sonnets, Epigrams and Epistles, of diverse matter and in diverse manner.  
With sundry other devices, no less pithy than pleasant and profitable.  
Read with regard, peruse each point well, (thee and than give thy judgement as reason shall move For ear thou conceive it, 'twere hard for to tell, if cause be or no wherefore to reprove me.  
¶ Imprinted at London by Thomas Purfoote, dwelling in Newgate Market, within the new Rents, at the Sign of the Lucrece. 1579.   

The Book speaketh to the Buyers.  

To those that be wealthy, and pass by this place.  
My talk only tendeth, so construe the case.   

WHat kind of thing I am,  
my shape doth show the same:  
Not Forest, though my father pleased,  
to term me by that name.  
But Fancy fits me well,  
For I am fully fraught,  
With Fancies such as may correct  
but not corrupt the thought.  
In me my friend thou mayst,  
(though thou be young or old)  
Rich, poor, of high or low degree,  
thy duty here behold.  
For Yonkers I have fond,  
and foolish trifles store:  
For ancient sires, such seemly sights,  
as shall content them more.  
If thou a Lover be,  
come learn thy lesson here:  
Where wilful works of witless wights,  
shall perfect plain appear.  
What treason is in trust,  
how fickle friends are found:  
How wretched is the state of man,  
what mischief doth abound.  
What follies fond we frame,  
our foolish fancy to:  
Here mayst thou see, and so discern,  
what best beseetes to do.  
Sigh then such profit may,  
by means of me redound:  
To thee my friend, before thou pass,  
this present plot of ground.  
Put hand in purse for pennies,  
to purchase me withal:  
What fool a Forest would forsake,  
that seas the price so small,  
A Shilling is the most,  
a very slender share:  
Not hurt to him that hath enough,  
so small a piece to spare.   
Finis.  
quoth. Fancy.   

The Author to the Reader.  

THe Husbandman when meetest time shall serve,  
doth blow his ground, and sow good seeds therein,  
Then seeks he how he should the same preserve,  
From carrion crows, that gape the grain to win,  
Until that it to ripen do begin.  
And being ripe, he makes no more delay,  
But reaps it up, so soon as well he may.   

His corn thus cropped, and scattered on the ground,  
Strait into sheaves he doth the same divide,  
And to his Barns he bears it ready bond,  
Whereas a while he suffers it to bide.  
Till at the last he thrashers doth provide,  
Who from the corn the straw and stubble take,  
And on a heap the grain together rake.   

Which as it is, they put into a Fan,  
And so devise to drive the chaff from it.  
Myself I count to be the Husbandman,  
For in this book, as in a ground most fit,  
To sow the seeds of my unwieldy wit,  
I scattered have my fancies in such wise.  
And senst them so, as I can best devise.   

All being done that doth thereto pertain,  
Good Reader I present to thee the same,  
Desiring thee that thou will't take the pain,  
All things amiss to put in perfect frame:  
And bear with me although I merit blame,  
Considering that I sought of mere good will,  
in all I might thy fancy to fulfil.   

In Forest wise here fancy's I present.  
To thee, with heart that fervently doth crave,  
Each courteous wight to way my good intent,  
And note the cause why I presumed have,  
To thrust myself amidst the surging wave.  
Not glory vain, or hope to purchase praise.  
But sloth to shone, my mind thereto did raise.    

R. W. to the Reader, in the Authors behalf.  

What led Leander to presume,  
so often to swim through surging seas:  
But hope to find his Hero there,  
where he arrived his heart to ease.  
What moved the Trojan to attempt,  
to go to Greece, but hope to have  
The princely pearl, the promised prey,  
which most of all his heart did crave?  
And what procured Aesans soon,  
to put his life in peril so,  
To fetch the Fleece from Colcos' cost?  
where to augment his grief and woe,  
So many perils were prepared,  
but that he hoped thereby to gain:  
Such glory great as after death,  
should make his fame for ay remain.  
If all these hoped, and had in fine,  
the thing that they did hold most dear:  
Let him that hath this pretty book,  
for thy delight compiled hear,  
Good Reader, reap his just reward,  
to recompense his mere good will,  
Receive his gift in grateful wise,  
and of the same conceive none ill.  
For evil none he meant thereby,  
(what ever envious mates surmise:)  
Right sure I am: conceive therefore,  
of him and his none otherwise.  
So shalt thou make him think his pains,  
employed well in each respect.  
And happy count his hap that some,  
will with good will his work protect.   
Finis.   

The Epistle to the Reader.  
SO variable are the minds of men (gentle Reader) and so diverse their opinions, that amongst twenty, it is hard to find twain that agreed all in one thing. For commonly that which one man liketh, another loatheth, that which one man praiseth, another reproveth, that which one desireth, another disdaineth, and whatsoever pleaseth one, doth as much displease another. The young man taketh pleasure in all youthful excersises, as Dancing, Singing, playing on instruments, dallying with dainty dames, and such like, whereby his pleasure may be procured, and increased, without respecting any peril that may ensue thereof. The ancient Sire, whom experience hath taught to be more wise and wary of such vain vanities, hath an eye to his profit, and rejecteth pleasure as a thing unprofitable. The courageous Captain accounteth it for his greatest glory to be in the field, marching among his men of war, or skirmishing with his enemies, to try his strength and courage, with the hazard of his life, for the furtherance of his fame, and increase of his commodity. The man likewise that is inclined to learning, is always best at ease when he is settled in his study, there to toss and turn his books, perusing the works of ancient wrighters, whereby he may in time be able both to profit his country, and purchase such praise to himself as is due to his good desires. But as these great clerks do not all delight to study one only science, but some apply themselves to divinity, some to Philosophy, some to physic, some to Astronomy, and some to every one of them alike, not making any special choice of either of them. So likewise the common sort whose learning nor capacity cannot attain to the full perfection or perfect understanding of such deep mysteries, have their several delights, as well in reading such works, as are in their vulgar tongue, as in any thing else. For one will peruse pleasant Histories, and other poetical devices, this man merry tales, and other like toys: that man divine and moral matter, every one severally, according to his several affection, and natural inclination, and there is no man be he never so well stayed, that will addict himself to one thing only, and refuse all other. For as the stomach is quickly cloyed with feeding continually upon one kind of meat, so is the mind greatly grieved, to be always musing upon one matter, and therefore desireth change.  
Which considered, after I had gathered together in one small volume diverse devices, as well in prose as meeter, of sundry sorts, and several matter, which at idle times (as well to sharpen my wits, and shake of sloth, as to satisfy my friends, that had occasion to crave my help in that behalf) I have heretofore as occasion served, diversly framed, supposing the same to be fit for this present time, and agreeable with the minds of most men, I have (as well for the disordered placing of every particular parcel thereof, being rudely and dispersedly divided, as also for the several fancies therein contained, fit for every degree, & agreeable to their diverse affections) thought good to name it The Forest of Fancy, and so causing it to be imprinted, I do here friendly Reader, present it unto thee as a gift, of my good will, desiring thee to accept it. And though my young years and small experience, will not permit me to wright so pithily as some have done heretofore, whose worthy works are extant, and in great estimation, yet considering that I have not done it either for gain or glory, but partly to make myself more apt in other matters of more importance wherein I may happen hereafter to be employed, and partly to procure thy pleasure and profit (which may easily be obtained) if thou do duly consider, and rightly conceive of that which shall be offered to thy view, I beseech thee construe my doings to the best, take this my small labour in good part, amend the faults escaped. Let my good meaning serve to excuse my rashness, in presuming thus boldly to publish a thing of so small value, and vouchsafe me thy friendly assistance against the slanderous reports of envious Zoilus and his malicious mates, and in so doing, thou shalt encourage me hereafter to search my wits, and apply my travail to contrive some thing more worthy thy reading.   

The Forest of Fancy.  

¶ A moral of the misery and mischief that reigneth amongst wicked worldlings, with an admonition to all true Christians, to forsake their sin and amend their manners.  

WHo so he be that silent sits,  
and sets his mind to see,  
The subtle slights that wily wights  
do work in each degree.  
shall surely find full great abuse,  
In every place committed:  
And virtue voyde and out of use,  
all reason quite remitted:  
Might maistereth right, the poor are pinched,  
almost in every place,  
Fraud, flattery, gold, and greedy gain,  
each where doth purchase grace.  
But truth and plain simplicity.  
reaps hatred every where:  
Good deeds are dead, and charity,  
hath hide her head for fear.  
Whores hold the place that Matron's ●●lde,  
do merit most to have:  
And flattery flocks about the Court,  
in steed of father's grave.  
The covetous carl doth scrape for coin,  
the royotous son spends all:  
The true man cannot scape the thief,  
but in his hands must fall,  
The Usurer now doth use his trade,  
The Landlord raise his rent:  
The powling Lawyer plays his part,  
the truth to cirumvent.  
Our Gentles now do jest it out,  
in bravery passing measure,  
Till they have lost by vain expense,  
both credit, land and treasure.  
The yeoman's son not liking of,  
his father's honest state,  
Will climb to be a gentle man,  
and every Gentles mate.  
The Gentleman will be a Knight,  
the Knight a Lord likewise,  
The Lord an Earl, the Earl a Duke,  
the Duke will higher rise,  
And make himself a puissant Prince,  
the Prince will Monarch be,  
So no man now will be content,  
To bide in his degree.  
The son doth seek his father's death,  
his living to obtain,  
Faith fails in all, few trusty friends,  
do any where remain.  
The master seeks by rigorous means,  
his servants to suppress,  
And servants work all means they may,  
their masters to distress.  
Now mother's train their Daughters up,  
In loathsome liberty:  
Whereby often times their honest names  
they bring in jeopardy.  
Excess is used in every place,  
the poor no whit releude,  
Labour is loathed, and Idleness  
each where his web hath weude,  
The taverns tipplers ply a pace,  
each alehouse hath his knights:  
In dice and dancing, devilish trades,  
are all their whole delights.  
All law is left for liberty,  
all virtue changed for vice:  
All truth is turned to Trecheryen,  
all things enhance their price.  
Each crafts man now hath craft at will,  
his neighbour to defraud,  
They swear, and often forswear themselves,  
for every foolish gaude.  
But is it well where every thing,  
doth seem so much amiss?  
Not doubtless no: a wicked world,  
and wretched state it is.  
A world in deed, divided quite,  
from godliness and grace:  
A world that greatly God abhors,  
from which he turns his face.  
A world it is, which will not last,  
a world whose end is nigh:  
A world that shall his fury taste,  
that fees our sins from high.  
A world that will full well content,  
the enemy of our joy.  
A world that works his lewd intent,  
that would our souls destroy.  
Therefore let each true christian heart,  
his secret sins forsake:  
To God let him with speed revert,  
and meek subjection make,  
Committing all his actions still,  
to his divine protection,  
So shall he surely shun all ill,  
and live without infection.   
Finis.   

After the death of Oedipus King of Theabes, his two sons Ethiocles and Polynices striving whether of them should succeed him, in the end it was agreed, that they should reign by course, one year the one, the next year the other, But Ethiocles reigning first, when his year was expired, would not give place to his brother Polynices, which caused him to writ unto him in effect as followeth.  

THy cruel dealing hath prue●●de,  
thy Brother's trembling hand,  
O Etheocles for to writ,  
and let thee understand  
what injury thou dost offer me,  
in going thus about  
To break the promise made to me,  
wherein thou dost no doubt,  
Both God and nature much offend,  
for when we were at strife,  
when deadly discord twixt us twain,  
and envy was so rife,  
That each of us the Kingdom craude,  
our father then decest,  
It was by counsel grave decreed,  
to 'cause our countries rest,  
That each should yearly reign by course,  
whereto thou didst agreed,  
Then drawing Lots who should be first,  
the lot did light on thee.  
I gave thee place, as right requyrde,  
thou hast a year and more,  
Enjoyde the same most peaceably  
without annoy, therefore  
Thou shouldst permit thy brother now,  
thee therein to supply,  
To rule as thou haste done before,  
but thou dost it deny,  
So much ambition doth thee blind,  
and filthy lukers' lure,  
That to resign to me my right,  
thou mayst now now endure,  
For when I did the same demand,  
thou proudly didst refuse,  
To tender it, wherein thou dost  
thy brother much abuse,  
But dost thou think I will receive,  
such answers at thy hand  
And suffer thee against my will,  
to rule the Realm and land.  
Which I should do, that will I no  
for all thy power and strength,  
But in despite of thee I hope,  
to have the same at length.  
And make thee feel the smake thyself,  
of this thy offered wrong,  
If that to yield to my request,  
thou dost the time prolong.  
Adrastus is a mighty King,  
whose Daughter is my wife,  
And for that cause which all his power,  
will aid me during life,  
whose force conjoined shith mine own,  
doth far surpass thy might,  
Therefore let reason in me the rain,  
do yield to me my right,  
Let us like brethren live and love,  
each other as we aught:  
Let us not stray from nature's bounds,  
and stir up strife for nought.  
Lest that Report reproach 〈◊〉,  
on us do rumour raise,  
And so the race of Oedipus,  
be wicked deemed always.  
what though our father did offend,  
in taking to his fere  
Jocasta fair unwittingly,  
that was his mother dear,  
Shall that to us a pattern be:  
to teach us to offend.  
Nay rather let it be a mean,  
to make us to amend.  
Shall it be said that we have wrought,  
the ruin of our land,  
And of ourselves so wilfully,  
let all things well be scanned.  
Consider well what dangers great,  
we may incur thereby,  
And what great mischief may ensue  
if thou this thing deny,  
Thou knowest that from the mighty jove,  
decendes our royal race,  
Let us not therefore do the thing,  
that may our birth deface,  
Let not the Thebans justly be  
compelled to curse us both,  
For thy ambitious greedy mind,  
whereof I would be loath,  
For what if in this cursed strife,  
we both should chance to dye,  
what great contention should there be,  
who should our place supply?  
what great disdain? what priny grudge?  
what tumults then would grow?  
what hurly burly would there be?  
what treason then would flow?  
Through civil war the country would,  
be topsy turuy turude  
Strong holds would then be battered down,  
whole Towns and Cities burnt,  
What clamours then. what doleful cries,  
would be throughout the land?  
Now many Orphans would be made?  
who should in safety stand?  
chaste Virgins would be then deflowered,  
young infants would be slain,  
The rich men should be spoiled and robbed,  
the poorer put to pain,  
O what disorder then would grow?  
what murder made of men?  
what sacraledge, what raunsack rude,  
what bloodshead would be then?  
way well these things, my brother dear,  
which if thou do proceed,  
Is likely for to come to pass,  
therefore I say take heed,  
For if thou be the cause thereof,  
then truly shalt thou try,  
Their blood on thee for thy deserts,  
from heaven will vengeance cry.  
And I not to be blamed at all.  
sith that I nothing crave,  
But that which doth to me pertain  
and I of right should have,  
Take heed in time, advise thee well,  
hereafter comes not yet,  
The house can not stand long, that is  
on ill foundation set,  
The ship that at sure anchor lies,  
is safe in every place:  
Twirt back and tree, thrust not thy hand  
beware in any case  
Thou put not fire unto the tow,  
sharp not thy knife I say,  
If thou therewith will't not be hurt,  
but take this by the way.  
That if thou tread upon a worm.  
she will turn back again:  
Care Stead be stolen, shut stable door,  
else is it all in vain.  
For he that takes not heed before,  
shall afterwards repent it:  
Wherefore I say look to it well.  
whilst that thou mayst prevent it.  
A man when he doth see the stroke,  
may soon avoid the same,  
So thou if that to reason's lore,  
thou will't thy fancy frame.  
Thou mayst this mischiefee easily shun,  
that hangs over thee:  
But who so blind the proverb saith,  
as he that will not see.  
Thou knowest all this as well as I,  
I need not make relation  
Thereof to thee, words are but wound,  
where will hath domination.  
Rain nothing profit can the corn,  
which on dry stones is sown:  
Nor council, him which doth mislike,  
all counsel save his own,  
I can and do bide wrong enough,  
but cannot to much bear:  
Look ear you leap, for fear you catch,  
awrong sow by the ear.  
As by his Trump, the trumpiter  
doth show his meaning plain,  
So bymy letters in likewise,  
my purpose I explain.  
Do therefore as you shall see cause,  
the blame shall bide in you:  
If any thing amiss do chance.  
and so I say adieu,   
Finis.   

A warning to young men to fly the flattery, and shun the deceipts of dissembling dames.  

WHat hard mishaps doth hamper youth,  
when cursed Cupid list to frown:  
And yet he will not credit truth,  
Till froward fortune fling him down.  
But when he is with dole distressed,  
Then all to late he can perceive,  
what madness did his mind mollest,  
His wretched woe by wrong to weave,  
yea then he doth all Dames defy,  
And vows in vain their fraud to fly,   

Must hoary hears needs make us wise,  
Discovering naked treasons hook,  
whose glittering hue by slight device.  
Doth make them blind that thereon look,  
And till in trap they taken be,  
That turns their pleasure all to pain,  
Their folly fond they cannot see,  
Such madness moves their busy brain,  
In wisdoms ways they think they walk,  
And so for cheese do champ on chalk.   

If living wights might plainly see,  
The wily works of women's wits,  
which covered close in bosom he,  
Disclosed at last by frantic fits.  
Then would they learn to leave their looks,  
And glance no more their glaring eyes,  
Upon those baits on hidden hooks,  
Which whoso shall attempt to taste,  
Is like for ay in woe to waste.   

Where suitors serve with long delay,  
In daily hope of some good hap,  
Tormenting griefs at length doth pay,  
Their pension with an after clap,  
For such rewards they daily find,  
That fix their fancy faithfully,  
On any cat of Cresseds kind.  
That never counts of constancy,  
whom Eve instructed long ago,  
To work to man all grief and woe.   

Behold the guerdon due to love,  
Bestowed upon a fickle Dame,  
As good of xotten reeds to prove,  
Some precious iem in form to frame,  
For why repentance comes at last,  
And gripes his heart with grisly grief,  
That erst fond fancy followed fast,  
which left him void of all relief:  
A just reward for reckless wights,  
That will not shun such vain delights.   

Youth bends his net to catch the pray,  
which some enjoy that take no pain,  
Ht toils, yet seethe every day,  
His labour wasted all in vain,  
He beats the bush, and in mean space,  
Another bears the birds away,  
He fiercely doth pursue the chase,  
whilst others do possess the prey,  
And so the end of lovers gain,  
Is loathsome labour for their pain.   
Finis.   

A plain description of perfect friendship.  

TRue friendship unfeigned  
Doth rest unrestrayned,  
No terror can came it:  
Not gaining, nor losing.  
Nor gallant gay glozing,  
can ever reclaim it.  
In pain, and in pleasure,  
The most truest treasure.  
That may be desired,  
Is loyal love deemed.  
Of wisdom esteemed,  
and chiefly required.   
Finis.   

An invective against covetous people.  

AS after Summer winter comes,  
so age doth youth ensue:  
And after age comes sickness in,  
than death doth life subdue,  
And after death the winding sheet,  
which brings us to the grave,  
This is the state of mortal men,  
this is the end they have.  
Wherefore do men than heap up coin,  
and hoard it up so fast,  
why do they care for worldly much,  
as life would ever last.  
why do they take such pains for thee.  
which they must leave behind.  
To them that will disperse the same,  
as chaff against the wind.    

Of feigned friendship.  

AS Swallows do in Summer time appear,  
And in the winter cold cannot be seen,  
So faithless friends will unto us draw near,  
so long as wealth doth flourish fresh and green,  
But when that fails, then farewell friendship to,  
All is for gain, that these vile vipers do.    

The commodities of Marriage.  

IF marriage bring a wife,  
the wife good children brings,  
Those children happy life,  
of happy life love springs,  
Of love eternal joy,  
of joy doth health proceed,  
Of health long life for ay.  
lo this is marriage meed,    

In contrarium.  

If marriage bring a wife,  
the wi●e ill children brings,  
Those children endless strife,  
of strife all hatred springs,  
Of hatred care and grief,  
through care doth sickness come,  
Through sickness death in brief.  
lo this is all the sum.   
Finis.   

Of the wickedness of women and how prove they are to the procatious of the flesh.  

Jove on a day disposed to jest,  
with juno for delight,  
The wicked wiles of women's wits,  
in words did plain recite.  
And said that they to fleshly lusts,  
more subject were then men.  
juno denied, to have it tried,  
they craved judgement then.  
And for because Tiresias had,  
both man and woman been,  
Supposing him the meetest man,  
and most expert therein,  
They did elect him for their judge,  
the truth thereof to try:  
He sentence passed with jupiter.  
and boldly did reply,  
That women were the wantonner,  
although for shame they sought,  
For to conceal from open show.  
what was their secret thought.  
But juno as the nature is,  
of all the femine sect,  
When as she see Tiresias did  
her wished will reject,  
In giving so his sentence grave,  
contrary to her mind,  
(Inflamed with ire to work revenge,)  
she made Tiresias blind,  
Therefore I must of force conclude,  
that neither fury fallen,  
Nor Serpent dire, not Tiger fierce,  
nor all the fiends in hell.  
May more torment the mind of man,  
or work his wretched woe:  
So much as can one wicked wench,  
in whom doth fury flow.   
Finis.   

What small trust there is to be reposed in friends or kinsfolks.  

SIth friendship is as rare a thing to find,  
As 'tis to see a Swan all black of hue:  
Wise Esope in his Fables as we find,  
Doth warn us well to think no friend so true.  
That will be priest, our pleasure to fulfil,  
So readily as we the same require,  
For why in trust is treason tried still,  
And fairest looks do lack the best desire:  
Wherefore (says he) let no man trust his friend,  
To do the thing which he himself may do,  
For fear he be deceived in the end,  
By those whom he hath leaned most unto,  
For proof whereof a Fable he resightes,  
which who so notes, shall found to great effect,  
The fraud of friends he plainly there resites,  
who to their promise have but small respect.  
A Lark there was upon a certain time,  
That trained up her young one's in a field,  
Where Corn did grow, which then was even in prime,  
To be cut down as ripe, the Lark to shield  
Her little one's from harm, when as she went  
Abroad to get such meat as should suffice  
To feed them with, did give commandment,  
That they should have regard in any wise  
To that they herded, and at her back return,  
To tell her all: it happened on a day,  
whilst she was forth, that thither came the Born,  
which aught the field, which to his son did say,  
This gear is ripe and ready to be cut,  
wherefore to morrow go thou in my name,  
Unto our friends, and them in mind do put  
To come and help me to dispatch the same.  
which charge his son discharged in each respect,  
whereto his friends in friendly wise did frame  
Their answer strait, that they would not neglect,  
To work his will when night approached was,  
This Lark come home her birds did flitter fast,  
About her all and showing what did pass,  
Desired her, that she in all the haste,  
would them transport unto some other place,  
But she persuading them to be content,  
Commanded them next day to lend good ear,  
To that they herded, and so away she went.  
Next day in Field the farmer doth appear,  
with Sim his son, where all that day they spent,  
But of his friends there came not one of all,  
wherefore unto his son again he said,  
To morrow to my Cosines go you shall,  
And say that I require their friendly aid,  
To reap my corue: the young one's hearing this,  
Moore earnest were with their beloved dam,  
To be removed from thence, but she iwis,  
Did let it slip until the next day came,  
For why quoth she, no cousins are so kind,  
That by and by will come at kinsman's call,  
To morrow therefore mark what news you found,  
And then if need require, I'll help you all.  
Next day the Cousins came not into place,  
wherefore the good man said, all friends farewell,  
And kinsmen to, now will I change the case,  
And trust no trifling tale that they shall tell,  
Trust to ourselves we will, go thou my son,  
Provide to sickles for thyself and me,  
And by ourselves it shall to morn be done.  
when as the Lark hard this, nay now quoth she,  
'tis time indeed to pack away from hence,  
Unless we will each one destroyed be,  
And so she bore her little one's from thence,   
Finis.   

A Letter written by a young maiden to a Lover of hers, wherein she detecteth the treachery of many men, and their great dissimulation.  

THe crow would seem a milk white swan to be,  
So likewise would the prattling rook appear,  
Like junos' bird, which cannot well agreed,  
For kind bewrays his craft, this is most clear  
yea Copper often in Silver is enclosed,  
In glittering gold, great store of dross doth bide,  
In purest shells, as trial hath disclosed,  
Carnels corrupt, themselves 〈◊〉 often hide,  
The wily wolf we diverse times do find,  
In sheeps skin clothed, and eke the dusty brickwall,  
with hangings fair is hide, in humane kind,  
We also see the like effect to fall,  
For many a one there is, that makes a show,  
Of perfect love, when he means nothing less,  
Men seek to bring poor women to their bow,  
And in the end to leave them in distress.  
And for because I thought you one of those,  
whose pleasure is poor women to deceive,  
with tattling tongue you flatteringly can gloze,  
As by your deeds I daily do perceive,  
I sent to you a flower for Flatterers fit,  
Regarding nought how you the same would take,  
So free I am from biting on the bit,  
As yet not drenched in Lady Venus' lake.  
If aught beside be done that you like ill,  
And that the same in evil part you take,  
Go seek your mends you may whereas you will,  
I reek you nought, this answer do I make,  
And though before, offence were none committed,  
yet this your writing fond would it procure,  
which hath full well with your demeanour fitted,  
Being rude, and imprudent, and ill to endure,  
Not more I need at this time here to say,  
For well you may by this my mind perceive,  
yet of one thing I warn you by the way,  
That with vain hope yourself you not deceive,  
And so to conclude, I bid you adieu,  
wishing you advisedly my letters to view.    

A young man enamoured of a very fair Gentlewoman, declareth the dolorous passions that he suffereth for her sake, and craveth mercy at her hands.  

THe more I look upon her lovely face,  
whose like before dame nature never framed,  
The more I like, and long to live in grace,  
Of her that may Pandora well be named,  
whose deeds as due, the highest place have claimed,  
A Phenic rail, she may be termed right,  
That so surmounts each other earthly wight.   

Of Silk and Silver, seems her hear to be,  
Her teeth of pearl, her eyes of Crystal clear,  
Her lips of Ruby, wrought in each degree,  
She doth excel, and vaunteth void of peer,  
Her like did never live, that I could hear,  
who would not then account himself in bliss,  
That might enjoy, so rare a iem as this,   

Sir Aleran as may by books appear,  
A silly Sacon, sought her love to gain  
That was the Emperor Otho's Daughter dear,  
And did in fine his wished will obtain,  
She granted grace to quite his careful pain,  
And fearing naught her fathers furious ire.  
Did yield her heart all whole at his desire.   

And Acharisto he but basely born,  
Besought the love of fair Euphimia  
who seemed naught his courtesy to scorn,  
Though she were Queen of rich corinthia,  
Young jason eke obtained Medea,  
who though she known not him nor his estate,  
Forsook her friends to be his matched mate.   

A million more I might allege of those.  
That did by seeking soon obtain their will,  
And when they were bewrapt in wretched woes.  
Had speedy help to shield themselves from ill,  
which otherwise their youthful days would spill,  
yea some we see from servile state advanced,  
By worthy dames whose grace to gain they chanced.   

Then speak and speed, be still and want thy hire,  
For many a time and often I have hard say,  
And sometime proud, that he that would aspire,  
To that which will doth wish, the wisest way,  
Is to expulse despair which makes men stray,  
far from the path of perfect peace and rest,  
Sigh Fortune still, doth help the boldest best.   

For can the Leech recure his pacientes pain,  
Before he see from whence his grief doth grow,  
Or can the Lawyer plead a matter plain,  
Unless to him, his case the client show,  
Then should this dainty dame on me bestow  
Her loyal love before she try my truth,  
The meetest mean to move her mind to ruth.   

Then welcome hope, and foolish fear farewell,  
Farewell all care, and welcome pleasant joy,  
That guileful gest no more with me shall devil,  
That would my health and happy hap destroy.  
What should I doubt, sith she is nothing coy,  
Her gentle heart can not his hurt procure,  
That for her sake would any death endure.   

On her my health, on her my happy days,  
Do whole depend, on her my mirth or moan,  
My wealth or woe, my pain or pleasure stays,  
My life and death doth rest in her alone,  
By her I must, alas, or else by none,  
Receive relief, and hope to have redress,  
Of all the pains that do my mind oppress.   

And as her beauty bran binds me to love,  
So doth her courteous countenance comfort yield,  
And as the pain I feel my mind doth move,  
So hope persuades that grace shall gain the field,  
But hap what may, both love and pain that build  
Their bower in breast, my sorrows so renew,  
That forced I am for grace to seek and sue.   

Behold therefore dear dame thy servant hear,  
Lies prostrate at thy feet to plead for grace,  
O rue my state let pity plain appear,  
For thou alas haste brought me in such case,  
As if I found not favour in thy face,  
Like one that loathes his life I wish my grave  
To quench the cares which do my health deprave.   

The bale I bide, I would right happy count,  
And think myself in Paradise to be,  
Yea in good hap all others to surmount,  
might it but please you once to deem of me  
As I deserve, and graciously agreed,  
To take me for your servant, slave or swain,  
Whose mind to please, I would refuse no pain.   

Few words will serve a righteous cause to plead,  
If judge be just, by whom it must be tried,  
How said I? what shall I her dealing dread,  
Not not, I know she will not shrink aside,  
From reason's rule, at any time or tide,  
But tender me my due deserved hire,  
Which is the some of all my whole desire.   

Who serves, deserves, his recompense to have,  
Who truly loves, aught to be loud again,  
Whose griefs are great, must needs a medicine crave,  
Or else permit himself to pine in pain,  
Let me dear dame my guerdon then obtain,  
And do not now in lieu of lasting love,  
with deep disdain, my rash attempt reprove.   
Finis.   

Certain Verses written in commendation of the Nut cornel.  

AS late for my delight,  
when dumps oppressed my mind,  
I walked abroad the pleasant fields,  
in hope some help to find,  
By chance I lighted then,  
Upon a huge great wood,  
whereas in ranks right goodly trees,  
of sundry sorts there stood,  
There were of large and lofty Okes,  
great store in every place,  
Of Asp and Elm, with byrche and Box,  
where ever I did trace.  
There was great store of Holly to,  
of willow asp and ewe,  
And all the ground was clad with flowers,  
of sundry sent and hue.  
Amongst the rest of Philberts fair,  
was plenty every where,  
And every thing that heart could wish,  
a man might found it there,  
Then from this Philbert tree I plucked,  
A cluster that were clung,  
Together fast in seemly sort,  
as on the tree they hung,  
And when I had them in my hand,  
not knowing how to use them,  
I was at last by reason taught,  
betwirt my teeth to bruise them,  
which having done I found therein,  
A cornel fair enclosed,  
which for to be of pleasant taste,  
I also then supposed.  
And found it so, for in my life,  
I never tasted thing,  
Moore pleasant than the cornel was,  
which from that tree did spring,  
The Philbert Cornel is a dish,  
for any Princes meet,  
And they that of the same will taste,  
shall found it wondrous sweet.  
Above all other kinds of fruit,  
the philbert in my mind,  
Doth seem most pleasant in the taste,  
as they that prove shall found,  
Such virtue in this cornel is,  
that I have herded men say,  
Physicians use it many times,  
their patientes pains to stay,  
For many things this cornel is,  
commodious yet beside:  
As they can witness wondrous well,  
that have the virtue tried.  
And therefore as I did begin,  
even so I will not miss,  
To say that of all fruit the best,  
the Philbert cornel is.   
Finis.   

A Lover having long concealed his love, at the lastre. ●uealeth it, and craveth favour at the hands, of his beloved mistress.  
Often have I seen in others, and sometime proved it in myself, that want of audacity, and fear of repulse, hath brought many cares into the mind, and grievous thoughts into the head. which being revealed and manifested to the causer thereof, the party grieved hath fed on joy, wholly bathed in pleasure, and received worthy consolation, wherefore calling to remembrance this saying of Seneca, that he which fears, and suffers opportunity to slip, when he knoweth the wight that can cure him, may well be accounted a wilful destroyer of himself.  
Expulsing fear, I have at the last adventured to crave a remedy at your hands, on whom my help wholly dependeth, whose wisdom and courtesy being such as can easily by outward gestures, perceive the inward meaning of the mind, and by secret signs and privy practices, soon perceive where good will and affection is fixed. It were superfluous to use any large discourse in declaring what great love I bear unto you, which by howmuch it is of longer continuance, by so much is it more extreme, and my torments thereby the more intolerable. For as fire the longer it lieth covered, the more forcible it is, when it bursteth out, and harder to be quenched, so love the longer it is lodged in any man, and concealed, the more vehement it is, and more difficult to be suppressed. Seeing then that my life being only sustained by the favour of your devinegraces, cannot be maintained one only minute of an hour, without the liberal help of your sweetness and virtue, I beseech you, (if the hearty prayers of any mortal tormented man, may ever have force and power to move you to pity) that it may please you of your rare clemency and accustomed courtesy, with the dew of grace proceeding from your seemly self, to redeem from henceforth your servants most miserable and afflicted mind from death or martyrdom, by reaping the fruit of his unfeigned affection, as his heartchieflye desireth.   

A Lover whose friend for his sake was frowardly dealt withal, writeth unto her, to persuade her with patience, to suffer it for a season.  

AS one bewrapt in wasteful woe,  
in dryry dread I stand,  
Lest that my ship on Rocks should rend,  
or perish in the Sand.  
Lest blustering blasts should drint my bark.  
to unacquainted shore,  
Lest swelling waves should soak it so,  
as nought may it restore,  
To former state and strength again,  
lest foes of foreign land?  
should make encounter with my men,  
that may not long withstand.  
Or lest with song some Siren should,  
the pilot so allure,  
As by that means, his loss and mine,  
unwisely he procure,  
A thousand thoughts in head do swarm,  
which will not me permit,  
Ne night nor day my rest to take,  
as nature deems it fit,  
You are the ship, whose safety so,  
my heart hath ever sought,  
you are the Bark for whose mishaps,  
my head with care is fraught.  
Such craggy cliffs, such greedy gulfs,  
such sundry sorts of Sands,  
Such dangers great, such perilous ports,  
am idst your passage stands,  
Such whirling winds, such blustering blasts,  
which clean contrary blow,  
Such tempests strange, such wallowing waves,  
about you still do flow.  
Such sirens with their subtle songs,  
allure your pilot still:  
I mean your mother that thereby,  
she seeks to work you ill.  
Such homebred hateful hellish hags,  
such friendly fawning foes,  
whose privy malice pricks far worse,  
than bryre amidst the rose.  
which breeds my bale, and to my mind,  
doth daily bring unrest,  
For fear lest you by their despite,  
should be to much oppressed,  
But sith as yet I see no way,  
these evils to prevent,  
with perfect patience arm yourself,  
till help from God be sent,  
And pray to him with heart and voice,  
to further my desire,  
which once obtained, doubt not to find,  
such rest as you require,  
And thereby be in such estate,  
as they that now devise,  
To work your woe, to gain good will,  
shall then all means devise,  
Thus leaving now for lack of time,  
a long discourse to make.  
I bid adieu, and kiss this scroll,  
that you in hand 〈◊〉 take,  
Hoping it shall as thankfully,  
of you received be,  
As I desire most willingly,  
your heart from harm to free.   
Finis.   

An admonition to Masters, how they should behave themselves towards their servants.  

THose whom we fear we cannot love,  
And whom we love, not them we hate,  
And whom we hate, we would remove.  
From former health and happy state,  
And trapping them in traitorous snare,  
In steed of joy enjoin them care.   

Let such therefore as masters be,  
And have the charge of many men,  
To them be courteous, frank and free,  
And well they shall be served then,  
Loud and obeyed with faithful heart,  
As they do merit by desert.   

But such as seek by rigorous wise,  
To be obeyed and feared of all,  
Their servants will them much despise,  
And seek all means to work their thrall,  
Although for fear they do obey,  
Thus proof shows plainly every day.   
Finis.   

A young man finding her to whom he had plighted promise, to be fraught with another man's fruit, wrighteth unto her as followeth.  

ALl is not Gold that glistereth fair,  
Nor all things as it seems to be,  
Fair hangings hide the dusty brickwall,  
So doth the bark the hollow 〈◊〉,  
The flower that fairest seenes in sight,  
Hath not always the sweetest smell,  
But time that brings all things to light,  
And doubtful dread from mind expel,  
Hath tried thy treason and my truth,  
Thy secret slights it doth detect.  
Yea time hath now bewrayed thy w●iles,  
Thy wavering wit, thy small respect  
To plighted vow, thy cloaked craft,  
Thy filthy life so close concealed,  
Thy double dealing devilish drifts  
And 〈…〉 I'd desires it hath revealed,  
Unto my praise and thy reproach,  
But who would look for other gain,  
At hands of her in whom no truth  
Did ever yet vouchsafe to rain,  
Like as the Siren with her songs,  
And Crocodile with doleful cries,  
Procures the Pilate to approach.  
The place where greatest peril lies,  
So hast thou longled me to love,  
And like of thee above the rest,  
By flattering words by feigned vows,  
And mere good will which thou professed.  
But words are wound I well perceive,  
And women's vows are made in vain,  
Their wavering wits delight in change,  
And reason never rules the rain,  
Excuses now shall serve no more.  
To blear mine eyes as they have done,  
Thy filthy fact bewrays thy lo●e,  
For which great shame thou shalt not shone,  
The wine another 〈…〉 joyed,  
To me the dregs thou mind 〈…〉 to leave,  
But think not so, for if thou do,  
Thou greatly dost thyself deceive,  
No mistress, not, to yield to that,  
Be sure you shall not me compel,  
I need not one to taste my meat,  
Myself can serve the turn full well,  
Let him therefore that sowed the seed,  
Enjoy the fr 〈…〉 e thereof ac will,  
His last is fittest for thy foot,  
To ro●● thy Barge he best can skill.   
Finis.   

A Letter written to a young widow, that was before matched with a very old man, persuading her to make choice of one whose years wear more agreeable with her own.  
Mistress, if I thought it necessary for you to morn for the death of your dead Husband, or if his life had been so delightful unto you, as his death was happy for himself, (because thereby he was not only rid of the great torments that his poor afflicted body sustained in this world, but also attained to a more blessed life in the kingdom of heaven) I would neither blame you for wishing him alive again, or persuade you from lamenting his death (though I know it is nothing available) but rather would exhort you thereunto, and with tears, (as an unfeigned friend) help you to bewail the loss of so comfortable a Companion. But seeing he was old, angry, weak, impotent, and continually so afflicted with sickness as he was; and you so young and comely a gentle woman as you are, you have no cause to lament his loss, or be sorry for his death; seeing it pleased God, by calling him to his mercy, both to release him of pain, and 〈…〉 se yond of 〈◊〉 great trouble long sustained with him, and therefore I would wish you to shake of the vain Ceremonies, that in such causes are commonly used, and frame yourself again to that blessed estate of matrimony, chase one, who as well in years as otherwise, may be more agreeable to your seely self, than your late husband, whose old age, was rather & corsy then a comfort to your heart, being in nothing correspondent to your mind, or meet for your parsonage, for so aught every true christian woman to do, as well for procreation of Children, as for other necessary commidities incident thereunto, whereof by means of your greater years, and more often excercise in worldly affairs, you have better experience than I, and as you are not ignorant how convenient it is to marry and how inconvenient to lead a single life, so am I well assured that you are not to learn what kind of person were most meet for you to match with all.  
The Discommodities growing by the company of an old man you have already, to your pain, over long experimented, and therefore I doubt not, but you will beware how you light on the like again.  
And to marry with a young man, unless it be one, of whose demeanour you have made some trial, may be as perilous as the other, for if he be rich, he will over rule you, if he be prodigal, he will waste your substance, and his own patrimony, if he be covetous, he will keep you bore, and withhold from you that which is necessary to be had, if he be la●iu●●u●he will leave you, and like better of others: Finally, if he be viciously bend, how rich or young sooner he be, yet were you better to be buried then matched with him.  
Let n 〈…〉 them the vain vanities of the world so allure you, or the persuasion of your friends bear such sway with you, as you will thereby be moved to take one for his w 〈…〉 whom you cannot love, and to refuse him whom you well like of, for want o● 〈◊〉▪ considering what incon 〈…〉 groweth by the 〈◊〉, and what pro 〈…〉 may arys of the other, weighing withal, how great an offence both to Bad and your own conscience it is, to do a thing so contracy to your own liking.  
Wherefore it were best for you to make choice of some poor young man, whose conditions and behaviour is already partly known unto you to be good; with whom you may with a contented mind, lead a quiet and peaceable life, and have all things at your own desire, without interruption.  
And if I thought not myself to sy 〈…〉 le, for one so worthy as you are. I would both offer myself 〈◊〉 you, (not as a Husband, but as a Steward, to do all things at your direction,) and also hazard my life to obtain such favour at your hands, assuring you, that if it might so please you, to accept of me, you should of a poor friend, find me so faithful, so conformable to your will, so careful for your welfare, so ready to please you, and so loath to offend you, as you shall not have cause either to think your love evil imploted, or repent you of the election of so base a parsonage.  
And although in birth I be far inferior, and in wealth nothing comparable unto those that I know you may have, if you please, yet dare I thus much vaunt of myself, that there is not in the whole world, any one that would more love, esteem, and cherish you, than I would do, if my hap might be so good to enjoy you.  
And if my purpose be not as my words do pretend, and my deeds agreeable with my promises, I wish the earth might gape and swallow me up, or fire from heaven consume me, for I protest unto you before God, from whom no secrets are concealed, that it is not so much for your wealth or living that I desire you, as for your wisdom, courtesy, comely behaviour, and other commendable virtues that abound in you, wherefore long before your husbands departure, I was so greatly enamoured, as if fear of your displeasure, and mine own infamy had not detained me with the rains of reason, I had long since revealed it unto you. But now that time hath offered me so meet opportunity, as I may more lawfully, and with less danger do it, I have presumed though peradventure more rashly than beseemeth me, yet not without urgent cause, to manifest my meaning unto you, craving both pardon for my bold attempt and easement of my sorrow so long sustained for the love of you, which without yours grace or mine own great peril, cannot possible be repressed, wherefore hoping of your accustomed clemency, to found you favourable in the furtherance of my desire. I do wholly commit my health life and liberty unto you, whom I do and will faithfully serve and obey for ever, as your most humble servant.   

A pretty fancy of the finding of a white, wherein is collourablely included the course of a Captive Lover, in purchasing his desired purpose.  

NOt long ago with bow in hand,  
and arrows by my side:  
An Archer like I went abroad,  
my cunning to have tried,  
And being entered in the field,  
〈◊〉 cast mine eye a 〈◊〉,  
And loc a goodly glistering white,  
before my face did glance,  
Which pleasant sight did please me so,  
as to survey the same,  
Me thought it did my heart much good,  
and was my greatest game,  
Narcissus fond did never ga●●,  
Upon his shadow more,  
Nor by the Image which he made,  
Pigmallyon set such store.  
As I did by that 〈…〉 y wbyte,  
which so reviude my heart,  
As whilst it was within my sight,  
I felt no pain nor smart.  
But if I once did turn away  
from it my dazzling eyes,  
Good Lord: what cares within my breast,  
did by and by arise.  
So that as one bereft of sense,  
as still as any stone:  
I stood at last and could not stir,  
But stared still upon,  
This passing white, much like to those,  
whom worthy Perseus made,  
For to behold grim Gorgon's head,  
that caused their force to fade.  
And turned them all to stocks of stone,  
for their outrageous pride,  
In seeking causeless his decay,  
whom jove himself did guide,  
Then rushed in reason by and by,  
in comely colours clad:  
And called aloud, to 'cause me hear,  
that erst no hearing had,  
And when I was again revived.  
with countenance grave and sad,  
why stand'st thou senseless thus,  
beholding of the thing,  
That still the more thou lookest thereon,  
the more thy pain doth spring.  
Looks will not serve, to suage thy grief,  
they rather 'cause thy care,  
Therefore to put my words improofe,  
see thou thyself prepare:  
Resort with speed to pities place,  
entreat her for to wright,  
Some piteous plaint in thy behalf,  
to show thy painful plight,  
To Lady beauty, that she may,  
When she hath tried thy truth,  
Receive thee as her servant just,  
and on thy woe have ruth,  
Then teaching me which way I should,  
the path to pity find,  
And how I might in each respect,  
declare to her my mind.  
She went her way I know not how,  
but I to gain relief:  
And purchase that which was in deed,  
my joy and comfort chief.  
Did every thing as she had wild,  
and when I had obtained,  
At pities hand my bill of plaint,  
Strait ways my steps I strained,  
To beauties bower and there arrived,  
and knocking at the gate,  
Strait started out an ongly wight,  
whose heart did harbour hate.  
He asked me what was my will,  
and why I did resort  
Unto that place, to whom in brief,  
I made a true report  
Of all my state, and why I came,  
which done he said to me.  
Alas poor Lad thou art unwise,  
and void of skill I see:  
what thinkest thou hear to purchase ease,  
no not thou art deceived,  
Therefore departed, or else be sure,  
thy woe will soon be weave,  
My mistress she to lofty looks,  
to lend an ear to thee,  
She will not hearken to thy sut●,  
but if thou earnest be,  
And move her mind with many words,  
in Dungeon deep be sure  
Thou shalt be cast, and during life,  
with danger there endure,  
where sadness shall assail thee still,  
and sorrow seek to share  
Thy vital thread, yet shalt thou live,  
and lead thy life in care.  
So long as destinies do permit,  
beware therefore I say,  
Take heed in time, turn back again,  
and seek some surer way.  
These words did fill my heart with fear,  
and made me doubt to do  
The thing which comfort did command,  
and fancy forced me to.  
And had not hope been hard at hand,  
to harte● me herein:  
Despair had put me from that place,  
such force his words did win:  
And in this sort said Hope to me,  
Fond fool why dost thou fly,  
The pleasant plot wherein thy rest,  
and happy health doth lie.  
Return again, and fear thou naught,  
thy practice put in proof,  
To Lady beauty move thy seat,  
as best for thy behoof.  
For such her gracious goodness is,  
as never will she bide,  
That any suffer bale for aught,  
but that when time hath tried,  
His true intent she will vouchsafe,  
to him his hearts desire  
In each respect, assure thyself,  
then hope for happy hire,  
I gave her thanks for good advice,  
and said I would obey:  
Wherewith she brought me to desire,  
who made no longer stay.  
But led me unto Beauties bower,  
and bade me there attend:  
Till she with all her train came forth,  
and meekly then to bend  
My knee, in offering up the bill,  
unto her gracious hand,  
desiring her to view the same,  
my mind to understand.  
Which I observed in each respect,  
my bill she doth detain,  
God grant it work so good effect,  
as I some hope may gain.  
To purchase that which pleaseth me,  
much more than all the Gold  
That Midas or King Crossus had,  
my joys might not be told,  
If I enjoyed that jewel rars,  
That pearl, that precious whyfe,  
Which though it clad my corpses with care,  
doth yield me great delight,  
And if Dame beauties courtesy,  
commit the same to me,  
How much I would account thereof,  
she would perceive and see,  
As Diamond dear I would it set,  
in colour of my heart,  
And keep it still with busy care,  
till death do clean convert,  
My corpses to clay from whence it came,  
and leave me void of life,  
You heavenly powers than grant it me,  
to make my joys more rife.    

How Altamenes having unwares slain his own Father Cartareus died for sorrow, when he had knowledge thereof.  

IN Crete which now we Candie call  
a fertile fruitful Land,  
One cartareus sometime reigned,  
and sceptre bore in band.  
Who had to son a noble youth,  
a stout and valiant knight,  
In prows proud to have no peer,  
and Altamenes hight  
This young man's name, who being then  
desirous for to know  
What destiny should to him betide,  
the Oracle did show.  
That he should 'cause his father's death,  
which sentence when he herded,  
Desirous for to shun the same,  
with speed himself prepared  
To go and devil at Camiros,  
which town in Rhodes doth stand,  
But that which God pretended hath,  
no Creature may withstand:  
For after in a little space,  
Cartareus for to see,  
His son desiring very much,  
such luckless lot had he,  
That he by might at Camiros,  
arrived on this sort;  
But with the there inhabitants,  
as wrighters do report,  
His men then falling at debate,  
whereby a tumult rose,  
In which was Altamenes then,  
to 'cause his triple woes,  
And sieve his Father unawares,  
which when he understood,  
A shamed sore, and half dismayed,  
he went with heavy mood.  
To wander in the wilderness,  
and dangerous deserts wide,  
Where after many piteous plaints,  
at last for dole he died.   
Finis.   

The Author writeth this in commendation of his mistress.  

YOu Ladies now leave of your strife,  
For Golden fruit without delay,  
And thou that art Vulcanus wife,  
resign the same with speed I say,  
To mistress mine, that doth deserve,  
for to possess the same by right,  
From this my hest seem not to swetue,  
Lest thou be forced in open sight  
Perforce to yield it unto her,  
and so be put to open shame,  
Let not thy God head make thee err,  
If thou will't shun all blot and blame,  
It is not all thy glory great,  
Nor yet thy son Cupid he,  
That makes thee so with pride replease,  
Or else thy father's high degree,  
That may my mistress once distain  
In any point, who doth thee pass  
As far as Gold doth copper plain,  
Or perfect Emrod brittle glass.  
As far as Phoebus doth surmount,  
The star that lends least light of all,  
Above thy reach then do not mount,  
Lest thou receive the greater fall,  
To her good grisel may give place,  
Though great her pacicnce were in deed,  
And constant Constance in like case,  
For Constance doth them both exceed,  
Her name and deeds so well agreed,  
That they do vary in no thing,  
In sooth it is a joy to see,  
The virtues that from her do spring,  
I know when she meet time shall see,  
On any one to fix her heart,  
She will like chaste penelope,  
Continued his till life departed,  
That flattering words or filed phrase,  
Or golden gifts, or greedy gain,  
Her constant mind shall never crase,  
Or make her change her former frame,  
That valiant deeds done for her sake,  
Nor fetured for me, nor fine device,  
Shall 'cause her fly from choose make.  
Or to fond folly her entice,  
That neither Fortune good nor bad,  
Nor store of wealth nor woeful want,  
Nor smile cheer, nor countenance sad,  
Nor absence shall oblivion plance.  
That neither threats nor lowering looks,  
Nor dread of danger shall her draw,  
From him whom first for friend she takes,  
No man may keep her so in awe,  
No grief can gripe her heart so sore,  
No pain can pinch her so, that she  
Will leave her faithful friend therefore,  
How base of birth so ear he be▪  
Though this I have not yet seen proud,  
I am right sure it will be so,  
For never see I her mindemoude,  
With trifling tales for friend nor for,  
That she would take in hand the thing.  
Which was contrary clean to right,  
but even as under virtues wing,  
She had been trained, she seems in sight,  
Thrice happy therefore shall he be,  
Whose hap shall be so good to get,  
This precious jewel frank and free,  
That will by him so highly set.  
And will not any time neglect,  
The duty of a loving wife,  
but please her mind in each respect,  
Still studying to enlarge his life.  
And blest am I above the rest,  
That have obtained to be her man,  
who purpose still to do my ●ett,  
To please her mind in all I can   
Finis.   

An Exhortation to Patience.  

WHen gripping ge●efes do grieve the mind,  
The nicetest means that men may find,  
which God and nature hath assigned,   

Is patience well applied:  
For patience puts all pain to flight,  
Yea patience makes the heart delight,  
And doth revive each dulled sprite,   

by reason's rule and guide.  
For every sore, a salve it is.  
It turns all bitter bale to bliss,  
And he that hath it, shall not miss.   

To taste of heavenly joys.  
Through it the miser likes his life,  
Through it he bides his brawling wife,  
Through it he flies all hate and strife,   

And nothing him annoys.  
Through it he suffers false reports,  
And loathes to live in lawless Courts,  
Yea patience daily him exhorteth,   

To hold himself content:  
And though his hap be good or ill,  
Yet being armed with patience still.  
Not evil once he shall fulfil,   

But be to betrue bend.  
Therefore for paclence let us pray,  
To drive all drowsy dumps away,  
That every hour doth us anndy,   

Through froward frowning fate,  
For ●ext we are on every side,  
Not knowing safely where to ●yde,  
And therefore lack so good a guide,   

To better our estate.  
God grant us ever of his grace,  
That perfect patience to embrace,  
We may be moved in every case,   

And fly all ●utious ire.  
Let patience put us still in mind,  
And make us hope good hap to find,  
when most with cares we are combined,  
To kindle good desire.   
Finis.   

A Lover writing to his choose friend, who for his sake sustained much sorrow, exhorteth her to continued constant, and patiently to tolerate her present adversity in hope that better haps will ensue.  
MIne own good Pamena, when on the one side I consider with myself, thy incomparable courtesy, in requiting my faith full and unfeigned affection with the like, and granting me principal possession of thy heart, and on the other side remembering the sorrow thou sustainest, through the unnatural dealing of such, as under show of friendship, intend nothing but fraud.  
And therewithal weighing my unhabillity at this present, which will not serve to provide for thee as I would, my joy, for enjoying thee that art my only salace is not half so great, as my griefs are grievous for the sorrow thou sustainest, but for as much as patience as Cicero says, is such a virtue as it comforteth the heavy, rejoiceth the sad, contenteth the poor, helpeth the sick, easeth the painful, and hurteth none, but helpeth all, I exhort you to embrace it, and to the uttermost of your power to use it, comforting yourself in this calamity, with assured hope, that after these hard haps, will follow a more blissful and quiet estate, considering the mutability of Fortune to be such, that she never standeth long at one stay, but as after a most terrible storm, always ensueth a more pleasant calm, so she seeming most extreme, will on the sudden wax most favourable, as appeareth by the Example of one Adulatia Daughter to Otho, the third Emperor of that name, who firing 〈◊〉 fancy upon one Aleran, a Gentleman of small account, and the youngest of all the brethren of the Duke of Saxony, who likewise loved her intyrely, left her father, friends and country, for his sake, and wandering with him, unto whom she wholly committed herself, into places unknown, and in the way as they fled, being taken and spoiled by thieves, and robbers, and afterwards forced for extreme need, to make coals, and cell them for their own sustenance, patiently suffering that miserable adversity, and comforting themselves with hope of better hap in time to come, in the end by God's providence, and the vallyaunce of their young Son, who by that means was made known to his Grandfather Otho, they were removed from that miserable estate, advanced to high dignity, and made beyres to the Empire.  
By this worthy Example, it appeareth how careful God is for the preservation of those, that patiently suffering adversity, do put their whole trust and confidence in him, nothing at all despairing of his mercy, but hoping by his only means to be delivered from all their calamity, which hope he will not leave frustrate, and though he suffer them for a season so to be a fllieted, yet will he not give them over, but in the end, when they least look for it, will to their great joy and comfort, bring them to a more happy and blissful state, as he did the good Earl of Engers, and in any other that patiently suffered the Cross that god had laid upon them, and reposed their whole trust in his mercy, which never faileth the faithful.  
By this History of Adulatia we are also admonished faithfully to love, when promise is plighted, and neither for pleasure nor pain, for joy nor annoy, for wealth nor woe, for force nor fear, for fraud nor flattery, for friend nor foe in prosperity or adversity, to altar our first firm and faithful determination, or forsake whom we have once choose, so long as life lasteth, but constantly to continued, and faithfully to persever in the same so shall God bless us and prospero all our doings, and after the mists of misery if any happen to assail us, bring us to the clear light of felicity as he did fair Adulatia, who neither for fearro● father's displeasure, or care to continued his good will, for love of Imperial dignity, or dread of any danger, not, not for the fierce assaults of froward Fortune, or for any other cause would forsake her Aleran, but preferring his loyal love, before all worldly pleasure, and his presents before all princely Ornaments, both in health and sickness; in wealth and woe, and finally at all assays continued his true and faithful companion, for term of life. Be firm therefore my good Parmena, and fail not, but as I intent still to continued as loyal a lover to thee, as ever was Aleran to his Adulatia, so be thou as faithful a friend unto me, as was Adulatia to her beloved Aloran. So shall no enmity but am 〈…〉 no repentance but contenentment, no 〈…〉ing, but joy be ever between us, and though one friends frown upon us, or hindered contemn us, and our Parents reprove us, yet through patiented 〈◊〉, in trace of time which breeds change in all things, we shall by Codes help, and our own diligent iudultrye, recover all former good will and favour, and after all the assaul 〈…〉 of adverse Fortune, attain to the happy port of rest and tranquillity, with which hope I purpose always to comfort myself, wishing you also to do the like, as I 〈◊〉 you will, and heartily require you to do, so near as you can as well for your own relief, as for the rest and comfort of him that loveth you, no less than his own proper life, Far you well.  
Finis.   

The Author wrighting to a friend of his, that was toward marriage, exhorteth her to make choice of a wise and virtuous person.  

THere is nothing wherein we aught to take,  
So great advise, as sayeth 〈◊〉 wise,  
As when we mind a marriage for to make,  
wherein we must be careful and presise,  
Or else thereby great peril may arise,  
Because the knot once 〈◊〉 in 〈◊〉 do,  
May not be broken, whatever chance in sue.   

But some there are, that will without respect  
Of future harms that may to them befall,  
The council of their aged friends reject,  
As frantic wights, to foolish fancy thrall  
And hearkening to the S 〈…〉 s●● the call,  
Procure thereby, their 〈◊〉 and decay,  
Where else they might have lived in lasting 〈◊〉.   

Yet would I not that women so attend,  
To friends advice, or so by them be led,,  
That fancy fix upon some faithful friend,  
They should forsake the same for fear or dread.  
For so they may won bring a fool to bed,  
And being linked, to one they cannot leek,  
be moved amiss revengement due to seek.   

Some sorts there are, that wealthy husbands choose,  
Because they should maintain thomsine and brave,  
Some sorts there are, that others all refuse,  
A comely wight desiring most to have,  
A valiant venter●ns youth some 〈◊〉,  
Some like of those that be most frank and free,  
And some of those that hard and sparing be.   

The gallant gay some chiefly do esteem,  
In one that courteous is, some most delight,  
A cunning crafts man, some for best do deem,  
But few or none esteem the virtuous wight,  
By wise and prudent men they set but light,  
Few link for love, but all for greedy gain,  
Though in the end it turn them most to pain.   

beauty doth fade, when crooked age creeps in,  
And like a Flower the summer season past,  
Nipped with the cold when winter doth begin,  
Doth whither soon, and wear a way at last,  
And sickness makes the mighty man aghast,  
And takes from him all strength and courage quite,  
But virtue still abides in perfect plight.   

In wealth or woe in pain or pleasure still,  
Virtue remains without reproof at all,  
Not dreadful death that doth the Carcase kill,  
The power of virtue may in aught appall.  
It lives with praise; and never perish shall,  
For after death his glory reflech rise,  
That whilst he lived, did lead a virtuous life.   

Therefore my friend I friendly thee advise,  
To match with one that is to virtue bend,  
For beauty brittle is and of no prize,  
Money but muck, and quickly will be spent,  
Strength soon destroyed, if sickness so consent,  
But virtue still in perfect state doth stand,  
It keeps his course as well by Sea as land.   

Moreover I would wish thee for to make,  
Thy choice thyself whereas thou likest best,  
And though thy friends persuade thee for to take,  
Some other wight with greater wealth possessed.  
Yet if thy mind and fancy be not priest,  
To like of him, than would I thee advise,  
To leave that loathsome lot if thou be wise.   

For whereas love doth lack, twice man and wife,  
There harred needs must harbour in their heart,  
Where hatred hath his hold, is endless strife,  
where strife is stirred, there pleasure hath no part,  
where pleasure is displaced; ear keeps the mart,  
where care doth keep, life cannot long endure,  
Then ear thou link let love be settled sure.   
Finis.   

Of the great patience and clemency of King Antigonus.  

WHen as Antigonus did hear,  
His Soldiers cursing him apace,  
Because that in an evening dark,  
He led them through a miry place,  
That thence they hardly could escape,  
He came himself to them unknown,  
And very well did help them out,  
which friendship when he had them shown,  
He said now curse Antigonus,  
That led you lately in the mire,  
But pray for him that helped you out,  
According to your hearts desire.   
Finis.   

What misery and misfortunes mankind is continually subject unto.  

WHat kind of state can any choose,  
but he there in shall find,  
Great bitterness and endless woe,  
to move his troubled mind,  
In field much toil, at home great care,  
and fear in Foreign Land:  
If aught, we have, by fortune lent.  
In youth Dome Follies hand  
Doth hold us fast, her she embrace,  
and wisdoms lore do leave,  
In age doth sickesse us assail,  
and so our strength bereave.  
In marry age is unquietness,  
in lacking of a wife  
All solitary we remain,  
and lead a loathsome life.  
If God to us do children send,  
we have continual care.  
If none, then are we half dismayed,  
far worse do we far.  
Therefore one of these twain is best,  
desired for to be:  
Not to be born; or else to dye,  
before these days we see.   
Finis.   

A lover having long concealed his love, at the last revealeth it and craveth grace at the hands of his beloved mistress.  

LIke as the silly soul,  
That feels himself distressed,  
With heavy burden on his back,  
doth seek to be at rest.  
So I whom love longtyme,  
hath led in Captive hands,  
Enforced am at last to sue  
for favour at thy hands,  
That hast my heart in hold,  
who only mayst apply,  
Some pleasant potion to a sewage  
the grievous malady,  
Which long with little ease,  
and most incessant grief.  
Hath me conserude, twixt life and death,  
denoyde of all relief.  
But needs I must confess,  
There is no fault in thee:  
That I do want my wished will,  
the blame doth bide in me.  
For fear, loves mortal foe,  
which caused me to hide  
My secret sorrows long sustained,  
from thee in whom doth bide,  
The cure of all my care,  
hath made me fail to find,  
The thing that most might joy my heart,  
and ease my troubled mind.  
But now all fear expulsed,  
Love, hope; and hot desire,  
Hath forced me in lieu of pain,  
to crave deserved hire.  
Which guerdon either grant,  
else shalt then shortly see,  
That life will leave my leathsome corpses,  
and all by means of thee,  
Which loath I am should chance,  
lest to thy great reproach,  
It blazed be, that thou art she,  
that set my bale abroach,  
Take pity on my pain,  
peruse my doleful verse.  
Let trickling tears and secret sighs,  
into thy entrails pierce.  
O rue my rueful state,  
my youthful years respect,  
And let the torments I sustain,  
enforce thee to reject  
All reckless rigour, take, embrace,  
love; like, and never leave,  
The wight that will in spite of spite,  
to thee for ever cleave,  
Who hear in lieu of love,  
doth vow himself to thee,  
Thy slave, thy servant, and thy friend,  
till dying day to be.   
Finis.   

Certain verses written in commendation of the Rose.  

AS sundry sorts of men in world there be,  
So sundry minds in them also remain,  
And in one point they sieldome do agreed,  
That one thinks good, another thinketh vain,  
That one desires, another doth disdain,  
And I that do in Flowers great pleasure take,,  
Desire the Rose, my nosegay sweet to make.   

The valiant man doth most delight in war,  
The coward craves to live at home in peace,  
Thastronomer to view each twinkling stars,  
The covetous carl his substance to increase,  
The prisoner poor doth covet most release.  
But I that do in Flowers great pleasure take,  
Desire the Rose my nosegay sweet to make.   

The husbaudman full barns desire to have,  
The Falconer doth in Falcon most delight,  
The Hunter be good hounds doth chiefly crave,  
The mighty man rejoiceth in his might,  
The amorous Deign to show her hewry bright,  
But I that do in Flowers great pleasure take,  
Desire the Rose my Nosegay sweet to make.   

The pretty colour I commend.  
Though in the same no sweetness rests at all.  
From basil doth a savour sweet ascend,  
yet doth the same the senses sore appall.  
The appetite is marred much withal.  
Therefore do I, in Flowers that pleasure take,  
Desire the Rose my Nosegay sweet to make.   

distilled it makes a water wondrous sweet,  
Of virtue great, and good for many things,  
The oil thereof, full many think more meet,  
Because much case in them it often brings,  
The Flower is worn of ladies Lords and Kings,  
And I that do in Flowers great pleasure take,  
Desire the Rose my Nosegay sweet to make.   

From point to point, to praise this pleasant Flower  
And yield it that it doth deserve by right,  
For learnings lack it lies not in my power,  
Therefore to them that better can indighte,  
I leave the same to put in perfect plight,  
But still I will in Flowers that pleasure take,  
Desire the Rose my nosegay sweet to make,   
Finis.   

The Lover after long absence having onewed his love, by beholding the beauty of his beloved mistress, sueth unto her for grace, for the appeasing of his passions.  
whether it were by my good of evil adventure, that of late I beheld you, I know not, but surely at the same time; I did so contemplate the rare beauty and other excellent Ornaments of nature. Where with you are most plentifully enriched, as ever since I have 〈◊〉 in myself, so cruel and continual a Combat, as I fear me without your special grace and favour, for furtherance of my servant desire, I shall not be able long to continued; love on the one side assaileth me, Reason on the other side invadeth me, Hope pricketh me forward, and fear pulleth me back from attempting that which may either reave my life, or restore my liberty, according to the good or evil success that it hath.  
But love at the last vanquishing reason, and hope abandoning fear, the rather by means of the good intertemment, friendly faviiliarity and undeserved courtesy, which I have hither to found in you, I am the more emboldened by these few lines, to make you privy to the passions, which I continually suffer for your sake, thereby to case my mind of the griefs that grow by concealing it, and to purchase remedy for the grievous malady that putteth me to such importable pain, which being only in you to grant, I hope you will not be so cruel hearted as to denay it me. For as my love towards you, far excels all others, and as my faithful service, and true intent deserveth better recompense, than a rash and rigorous refusal. So am I fully persuaded to find your pitiful heart ready to rue my calamities, and with the balm of your benevolence, faluing the sore that so afflicieth me, tender me a recomdence worth my deserving, wherein referring myself wholly to your clemency I leave to trouble you any further for this time.   

Of a Soldier who for covirousnesse of a little money, lost his own life.  

WHen Prenest had been long besiegne,  
by enemies strength:  
With hunger and thirst they were full sore,  
oppressed at length,  
That many a one for lack of food,  
was forced to dye.  
Among which sort there then was one,  
did likewise lie,  
As did the rest in extreme pain,  
untillhe caught,  
A little Mouse, which one of him,  
for money bought.  
A hundred pennies he more esteemed,  
than life to save,  
Although long time the use thereof.  
he might not have.  
So conitons was this miser's mind,  
of worldly muck,  
That when he might have saved his life,  
such was his luck,  
For love of money he lost the same,  
but was not he,  
Requited with a just reward,  
as he should be.   
Finis.   

The complaint of one Sidaspo, who was imflamed with love through the beauty of his servant Aletha.  

OL●thsome life, o 〈…〉ning fate,  
O Fortune most unkind,  
O death come pierce my painful breast,  
to ease my troubled mind.  
O love, nay lust, o foude desire,  
o cursed blinded boy,  
What meanest thou thus to work my w●,  
and breed my great annoy,  
I burn alas continually,  
in such ercessive heat,  
That nothing may therewith compare.  
it seems to me so great,  
Moore hot it is a thousand times,  
then Loathsome Limbo lake,  
Or Aetna hill, whose flashing flames,  
no thing hath power to slake,  
And yet some time more cold than ye.  
I am poor wretch again,  
Then by and by abundantly.  
the raging heart doth rain,  
Whereas I was a master late,  
and had each thing at will,  
Now must I serve as servile slave,  
to please my servant still,  
What remedy, it booteth not  
for me at all to strive,  
Against the mighty power of love,  
or any man alive,  
The Prince for all his Princely power,  
cannot his force withstand.  
The valyauntest wight that ever lived,  
dared not hold up his hand,  
Against Cupid for to strive,  
or combat for to make,  
The wisest can not shun his wiles.  
he causeth all to quake,  
yea even the Gods themselves I find,  
do rest at Cupid's grace,  
And be but Subjects unto him,  
in every kind of case,  
Then how should I amortall man,  
devise to shun the same,  
Now dare I once resi●● the wight  
that every thing can tame.  
Aletha o my darling dear,  
thou thou alone art she,  
which so hast laid thy snares abroad,  
for to entangle me.  
Thou art the dame that I desire,  
to serve and honour still,  
Thou art the jewel of my joy,  
thou mayst me save or spill.  
But stay: what words be these I speak,  
shall I become a slave,  
And bondman to my servant so,  
her favour shall I crave,  
That should by reason still remain,  
at my desire and will,  
To do the thing that I command,  
though it be good or ill.  
Not no I rather first will choose,  
unto the naked knife  
My throat to yield, that so I might,  
bereave my loathsome life,  
What if I should attempt the same,  
what if I should require,  
The same of her, I am not sure,  
to purchase my desire,  
But why do I misdoubt the same,  
before I have it tried,  
why he that loveth fervently,  
fears not to be denied,  
why should I any dangers dread,  
to win so fair a dame,  
well hoping for to gain some grace,  
my letters will I frame.  
In doleful wise unto my dealee,  
whose splendent beauty rare,  
Hath so inflamed my heart with love,  
and cloyed my mind with care,    

A Letter which the said Sidaspo sent to his servant Aletha.  

THy beauty brave O Aletha,  
thy breasts like driven snow,  
Thy Coral lips, thy crystal eyes,  
and hear which to the show,  
Appears like gold, thy fingers small,  
with skin as ivory clear,  
And eke thy worthy qualities,  
which make thee to appear,  
Moore like a Goddess for to be,  
than any earthly wight,  
would sure allure a stony heart,  
in thee to have delight.  
For as the Fowler in his net,  
the silly birds doth take,  
So hath the same entrapped me,  
which makes my heart to quake,  
The Adamant stone would never draw,  
the iron to it more.  
Then hath your beauty drawn my heart,  
which makes me now deplore,  
For love of you I live in care,  
my sorrows do abound,  
And death will shortly end my days,  
if help there none be found.  
By you I have received this harm,  
which none but you can cure;  
In you it rests to ease the pain,  
that I do now endure,  
Therefore I crave you, show some grace,  
to cure me of my greet,  
Let pity in your heart take place,  
to bring me some relief,  
O who is able to resist,  
the fervent force of love,  
Or who once wounded with the dart,  
is able to remove  
The same from him, now surely none,  
though Hector's heart he have,  
Or Hercules' strength it will not serve,  
from Cupid him to save.  
Therefore O loving Lady dear,  
how down thy eyes of pity,  
Consider in thy skilful brain,  
that art both wise and witty  
What torments for thy sake I bide,  
which by no means will cease.  
way well how like a wretch I live,  
till thou do me release.  
By granting me my hearts desire,  
to cure my deadly smart,  
whereby no harm may grow to thee,  
but all to joy convert,  
My life my goods and all things else,  
shall rest at thy desire,  
Even as thy own at every time,  
if thou the same require:  
Let reason therefore O my dear,  
persuade thee for to yield,  
To my request by means thereof,  
from sorrows me to shield,  
Thus for this time I make an end,  
and wish thee well to far,  
In woeful wise, desiring thee,  
to think upon my care.   
Finis   

The abject Lover complaineth of the cruelty and disdainful looks of his Lady.  

THe most incessant painful pangs,  
that I have long sustained:  
By sundry means my feeble hand,  
to writ hath now constrained,  
Thereby to let thee understand;  
o stony hearted Dame,  
The thing that this my doleful heart,  
(to thy eternal shame)  
Cannot conceal, and seeing that  
thou rather seek'st to be,  
My mortal foe, then faithful friend,  
I do the like by thee,  
If (as I am) thou were a man,  
than weapons would I use,  
For to revenge my wrong on thee,  
that dost me so abuse,  
But sith the tongue the weapon is,  
wherewith fond women fight,  
My tongue and pen shall now suffice,  
to work the like despite.  
Who strives against the stream I see,  
or sails against the wind,  
Or soweth seed in barren soil,  
but little gain shall find,  
So he that sets his love,  
where pride hath taken place,  
shall sooner catch his bitter bane,  
then win one spark of grace,  
As I unto my pain,  
have proud to late alas  
By serving thee, o scornful dame,  
that naught therefore dost pass.  
For when by letters I,  
my meaning do declare,  
Thy answer seems as bitter gall,  
for to increase my care,  
When as I smile, thou frownest,  
and eke when I am sad,  
Then greatly seemest thou to rejoice,  
as one whose heart is glad,  
If I do thee salute  
in friendly wise, I see  
Thou turnest then thy head aside,  
and windste away from me,  
The Tiger fierce in time,  
is made both meek and tame.  
The stone through often drops of rain,  
that fall upon the same,  
Doth wear, the mountains buy,  
and strongest holds of all,  
In time may by some casualty,  
be forced to ground to fall,  
Yea Nilus may in time,  
(for all his scope of streams)  
Be dried up, and clean consumed,  
through heat of Phoebus' beams,  
There is no thing on earth I think,  
but may in time convert:  
Except it be in woman's breast,  
a haughty stubborn heart.  
Which neither reason, gentle words  
nor pity can procure,  
For to revoke her wilful mind.  
that settled is so sure,  
My wound was wondrous deep,  
the pains I did endure,  
By means of thy great cruelty,  
my sorrows did procure,  
For thou in whom it only lay,  
to remedy the same,  
In steed of salve didst poison yield,  
my ruin for to frame,  
O cursed reckless race,  
of wicked woman kind,  
How can your hearts so cruel be,  
to them that you make blind,  
what heart of flint hath he,  
who having hurt a man,  
That is his friend, to cure his pain,  
will not do what he can.  
But thou a cruel Crocodile,  
Engendered in the flood,  
Of foul Onilus will't not grant,  
to do thy patient good.  
Few women at this day do live,  
that guide themselves so well,  
But if one virtue good there be,  
which in their breast doth devil,  
Two worse vices for the same,  
is found in them to be,  
which do the virtues clean deface,  
and force them for to flee,  
They can conditions change,  
to 'cause their friends unrest,  
As the Chameleon changeth hue,  
When as it likes him best,  
If that they be disposed,  
poor lovers to allure,  
They can as wily ways invent,  
their purpose to procure,  
As the Hyena can,  
by learning of the name,  
And calling them whose present death,  
they purpose for to frame,  
Such pitiful complaints,  
the Sirens can not make,  
As can these wicked women do,  
if once they undertake,  
No beast so brute as they,  
if once they fall to vice,  
No ass more foolish than they are,  
yet do they think them wise.  
If one their beauty praise,  
then do they look so high,  
As though they strait ways would presume  
to scale the lofty sky.  
Yet do I not condemn herein,  
all women to be ill,  
But some yea even the greatest part,  
are subject to their will,  
As I have had just cause to say,  
who proved have the same,  
Through thy unkindness showed come,  
O most disdainful Dame,  
And therefore humbly do I crave,  
of heavenly jove above.  
That thou for this thy cruelty,  
like grief to mine mayst prove,  
And thus I make an end as now,  
of this my bitter verse,  
As one compelled by woman's pride,  
their dealings to rehcarse.   
Finis.   

A commendation of the Cock.  

WHo can such worthy praises give,  
unto the Cock as he,  
Deserves to have, now surely none,  
for first of all we see,  
How careful of our healths he is,  
who lest we should be harmed,  
At midnight with his crowing often,  
doth warn us to be armed,  
And at the dawning of the day,  
to lerify our mind.  
He doth the like, and biddeth us,  
good morrow in his kind,  
Again were not the Cock I pray,  
what Poultry should we have,  
What other bird or pleasant foul,  
that we so much do crave,  
Our dainty Dames should be content  
to feed on courser fare,  
If that it were not for the Cock,  
that dainties doth prepare.    

A commendation of the Robin red breast.  

WHen Hiems with his hoary frosts,  
and blustering Boreas blast,  
Had run his race, and Lady Ver,  
his pleasant course had passed,  
Then Aestas entered in by course,  
and Phoebus' golden rates,  
Whose scorching heat mild Zephyrus,  
asswagde at all assays,  
were spread abroad through every cost,  
which caused each thing to joy,  
Then was it pleasure great to see,  
the little Fish play,  
And friscoes fetch about the banks,  
to find some pleasant bait,  
while they unwares entangled are.  
by Fisher's foul deceit,  
Then every tree is fresh and green,  
than Flora on the ground,  
Her mantel spreads, and fertile fields,  
with pleasant Flowers abound,  
The dainty Dames from every place,  
do thither fast resort,  
And Garlands make of cropped flowers,  
of sundry sent and sort,  
In every street great stirring is,  
some quasse and make good cheer,  
Some leap, some dance, some sing, some play  
some chase the light foot Dear,  
Here Orpheus with his pleasant Harp,  
there Amphion with his Lute,  
Do make most pleasant melody,  
and carping cares confute,  
The amorous youths do stray the streets,  
and with their Ladies walk.  
And some again do pass the day,  
with passing pleasant talk,  
So every man to please his mind.  
some pastime doth frequent,  
To drive away all drowsy dumps.  
and sluggish sloth prevent.  
It chanced so this time,  
that as in bed I lay,  
Oppressed sore with painful pangs,  
about the break of day  
I started up, and forth I walked,  
into the fields so fair,  
Myself to solace there at will,  
and take the pleasant air,  
The ground that garnished was with flowers,  
did yield so sweet a smell,  
That noisome savours none were felt,  
It did them all repel,  
Then past I forth with stealing steps,  
and looked about me round,  
To take a view of every thing,  
wherein I pleasure found,  
And by and by from far me thought,  
I seemed a sound to hear,  
which still the further that I passed,  
more pleasant did appear,  
It was so sweet a melody,  
that sure I thought some muse,  
Or else some other heavenly wight,  
did there frequent and use.  
But as I cast mine eye aside,  
on branch of willow tree,  
A little Robin redbrest then,  
there sitting did I see,  
And he it was, and none but he,  
that did so sweetly sing,  
But sure in all my life before,  
I never hard the thing,  
That did so much delight my heart,  
or caused me so to joy,  
As did that little Robin's song,  
that there I hard that day,  
That did so much delight my heart.  
or caused me so to joy,  
As did that little Robin's song,  
that there I herded that day,  
The Poets feign that Orpheus made,  
both stones and trees to dance,  
When he upon his Harp did play.  
They also do advance  
So much Arion for his skill,  
that when into the seas  
He should be cast they said that he,  
a Dolphin so did please,  
That safe she brought him unto shore,  
when death he did aspect,  
And from all perils perilous,  
did him right well protect,  
Mercurius made the hundred eyes,  
of Argos all to sleep,  
With elsying on an Oren pipe,  
his knowledge was so deep,  
Yet sure I think their harmony,  
might not coequal be,  
With that this little Robin made,  
it so delighted me.  
Nay sure I think the Muses nyve,  
may not with him compare,  
Nor yet Apollo for his skill,  
whose music was so rare.  
Full often 〈◊〉 my heart doth wish,  
this pretty bird to have.  
For more than any worldly thing,  
the same I still do crave.  
And if my luck might be so good,  
this Robin once to gain.  
Then greatly would my joys abound,  
and heart should feel no pain,  
For never did I see the thing,  
that I so well could leek,  
Therefore above all other things,  
to have the same I seek,  
For colour and for ●omlinesse,  
all birds he doth surmount,  
His flesh as very delicate,  
full many men account,  
God grant therefore that I may gain,  
this Robin at my will,  
Then do I hope to use him so,  
that he shall tarry still.  
For rather would I loose my life,  
and all things else beside,  
Then from my Robin I would part,  
at any time or tide.   
Finis.   

The long acquainted Lover writeth to his beloved, whose grace he desired.  

LIke as no fire doth yield so great a heat,  
As that which longest lies in kindling this is sure,  
So can no love so vehement be and great,  
As that which doth the longest time endure,  
For why the fire that by and by doth flame,  
Is strait consumed, that none may see the same.   

Even so the love that on a sudden grows,  
Doth strait ways waste, and vanish as a shade,  
As very well this ancient Proverb shows.  
Hot love soon cold, and soon away doth fade,  
But as a ton doth still the taste retain,  
Of that which first did in the same remain.   

So I my dear whose love in tender age,  
Hath taken root cannot the same suppress,  
Or else the grief thereof by skill assuage,  
For It I can by no means find redress,  
But as your thrall I rest in woeful case,  
Expecting still with great desire some grace.   

O Lady dear do not therefore disdain,  
The humble suit of him that loves you best,  
but arm yourself to show the like again,  
For otherwise you breed his great unrest,  
Forget not my good will think on your friend,  
And thus with tears my humble suit I end.   
Finis.   

Of one Vrbina a Virgin vestal, taken in adultery,  

VRbina a Virgin vestal in adultery being taken,  
with rods about the city was whipped therefore,  
And of all her friends then being forsaken,  
was buried alive, whom none did deplore,  
And of the Adulterers that did her deflower,  
The one did stay himself that present hour,  
The other the oversecers of the temple then,  
Caused to be executed in the market place,  
That he might be a warning to all other men,  
To teach them the path of virtue to trace.   
Finis.   

Of one Cianippus, who in his drunkenness deflowered his own daughter ciane.  

OF Siracuse cianip  
Behause that he did offer,  
His Sacrifice to all the Gods,  
and none to Bacchus proffer,  
was stroke with such a drunkenness,  
that meeting in the dark,  
His Daughter Ciane, her deflowered,  
but what did follow mark,  
She to the end to understand,  
and know who did the deed,  
From of his finger p 〈…〉 his ring,  
whereby she see with speed,  
That it had been her Father dear,  
and after when the City,  
was plagued all for this foul fact,  
and that by sentence witty,  
Of th' oracle it wined was,  
the Author of the act,  
For to be sacrificed up,  
for this foul filthy fact,  
whereas none known who it should be,  
or what did 'cause the same,  
Ciane with afflitted mind,  
remembering it die frame,  
Her Father's death, who being dead  
herself she also 〈◊〉,  
And on his corpses her corpses she 〈◊〉,  
for every man to view.   
Finis.   

Of one Ceselius Bassus a Carthaginian, who deceived the Emperor Nero.  

Ceselius' Bassus on a time,  
unto king Nero told,  
That in a Lane within his ground,  
was hide great heaps of Gold,  
which he (he said) supposed. to be,  
of Dido's hiding there,  
Unto which words he credit gave,  
and from that place to bear,  
The same, he did full many sand,  
the Orators in mean space,  
〈…〉 dead Nero saying that,  
he stood in fortune's grace,  
And that he was of all the Gods,  
beloved and favoured most,  
within whose time such wealth was found,  
That had so long been lost,  
And hidden in the bo 〈…〉 le of  
the earth full many a day,  
Wherefore in hope of new found Wealth,  
this Emperor made away,  
The store he had but in the end  
when they were at the place,  
whereas thy 〈…〉 should 〈◊〉,  
〈…〉 lives ma●● them trace,  
From this to that place up and down,  
to seek the foresaid ●aue,  
And miners many one did seek,  
by 〈◊〉 the same to have,  
If any there should hidden lie,  
but laboured all in wain,  
He said sort spirit had him dertaude,,  
and did a fury fayrte,  
But to avoid the present tear,  
and should 〈…〉 that should arise,  
He slow himself and N 〈…〉 ft,  
still gaping for his prize.   
Finis.   

The Lover woried with long love; taking assurance of succour, enduceth his Lady to receive 〈◊〉 to her service.  
FOr as much as every thing by nature enforceth itself with all diligent industry (so much as it may) to resist the great enormities wherewith it is afflicted, I am now constrained (after long sufferance) to let you understand the ardent desire which by little and little cons 〈…〉 me; as may plainly appear by many manifest tokens, which show suffieiente testimony of my true intence. And think not that I have been moved her 〈…〉 at all adventures, or without some hope and assurance that I have, in time to obtain that which by the liberal help of your accustomed clemency may bring me such comfort as shall well content me, assuring myself, that from a thing of such excellency as is your seemly self (in whom besides your ●euine bowty there are assembled so many good graces and heroical ve 〈…〉) man may not expect any other but a sincere and good inclination to imitate almost in all things the customs of amorous humanities, making him to appear pitiful in deed and word, and ready to impart his liberal favour to all those that crave it, and by their good behaviour do duly deserve it. This also yieldeth some satisfaction to my troubled mind, that my words which were of late restrained, have now found free issue, whereby I require help at your hands, whilst I yet feel in myself sufficient habillitye to receive it, assuring you that it will be to late for so sitall a benefit, if you delay the time to let me enjoy the formine of your friendly ●●uour, whereof being very desirous, I attend your courteous answer, with assured hope that your good pleasure will be to accept me for your humble servant, that so long as any spark of life remains in me, have vowed myself to your service, and cannot but account you for my only mistress. Assure yourself therefore that my life may not long endure, if my 〈…〉 destiny do deny me the favour to find you agreeable to my affectionate desire.  
Finis.   

The Lover having long time loved a fair Gentlewoman, at whose hands he had received small hope of obtaining his purpose, wrighteth unto her as followeth.  
TO use any long discourse my dearly beloved Parmenia, in the declaration of my great good will and servant affection towards you, I count it but frivotous, seeing I am well assured that you have long since perceived, and from time to time made perfect oryall of my true ●uer towards you yet to the hope so uncertain that I have hitherto received from you, as I cannot assure myself of any further favour at your hands, than he that hath never deserved any at all, and as it is the property of all those that love faithfully so fear the worst, so do I many times misdoubt lest through my own evil destiny, or the feigned flattery of some false dissembler, I shall be deprived of that comfort which doth more content me then the Conquest of a whole kingdom: wherefore being greatly grieved with the uncertainty of my present estate, by means 〈◊〉 the mutability, that many times I found to be in you, not able any longer to sustain the torments that it putteth me unto, I have thought good to writ these few words unto you most humbly beseeching you to dissolve me of this doubt without delay that if I find not your answer agreeable with my desire I may seek if I can to suppress the seruente affection that is now so deeply rooted in my harft, as I fear me I shall hardly remove it.  
Do this my good Parmenia, and fear not any inconvenience that may grow thereby.  
For, I hope that by granting me your friendly favour, you shall have no cause to repent you of any thing that shall happen unto you unless it be because you have so long lacked the company of so comfortable a companion, by whose means with the help of God you shall not only be deliurred of your long and grrevous sickness, which cannot be otherwise cured, but also leaving the life that now you ●eade be rid of all these your malicious Enemies, that with their envy on devil dealing do daily undeservedly devise to do you displeasure, and withal purchase to yourself so faithful a friend as for any adventure will never forsake you but using his diligent & careful industry to provide for your maintenance, which need I hope shall never happen unto you, howsoever you esteem my present state to be, for I know there is nothing so difficult, but the wit of man if will be with it may well bring it to pass, comforting myself with this assured hope, that God will never suffer them to perrishe that put their trust in him.  
Thus much my good harmena, I have thought good to write unto you because I could not find convenic 〈…〉 time or meet opportunity to deliver it unto you in 〈◊〉 I pray you consider of it advisedly, that I may know your resolute answer therein, And so far you well.   

The Lover being promised a resolute answer to that he desired, wrighteth to his beloved Mistress, in this manner, wherein he persuadeth her, to pity his passions.  
THe poor miserable wretch that hath long continued in Captivity, and knoweth not what shall become of him cannot be more troubled in mind, or tossed with more intolerable torments to increase his calamity than I am at this present, for fear to find your answer contrary to my expectation. And surely were it not that I know your clemency to be such as cannot with cruelty countervail the courtesy of so faithful a friend as I to my small power have always showed myself to be towards you, I  
should long since rather have bereaved my life to prove my loyalty, then by attending the dreadful sentence of my condemnation, be adjudged to dye without desert, by her whose welfare I have preferred, before all worldly Treasure.  
The law of nature bindeth you to bend most to him that loveth you best, and bideth most sorrow for your sake. justice also enjoineth you to tender to every one his right which if you perform accordingly, as you must needs do if you desire to be deemed worthy of the estimation which belongeth to such a one as you are, I doubt not but I shall receive from you that comfort which I have long time coveted, I mean your friendly favour and frank consent in love, to knit with me the knot of perpetual amity, as with him that for his loyal love, hath above all other best deserved it, and desireth rather to die, then live and lack it.   

The tragedy of Meleager, son to Oeneus King of Calcedonia.  

Parthaons' son, Oeneus King  
of calcedonia land,  
To all the Gods did institute,  
and offer with his hand,  
His sacrifice save only to  
Diana dire, whom he  
For hatred or forgetfulness  
remitted, wherewith she  
Full greatly gretude, a huge great Boar,  
did sand to waste the land,  
That made much spoil in many a place,  
and no man might withstand,  
Until Oeneus at the last,  
in mind oppressed with grief,  
A general hunt ordained had,  
whereof his son was chief.  
That Meleager height, with whom,  
besides his uncles twain,  
That ●oxeus and Plexippus height,  
there went as books show plain,  
A Virgin fair the Daughter,  
of jasius great of Fame,  
Through alf Arcadia where he reigned,  
Atlanta was her name,  
who with a stroke she gave that Boar,  
Did make him first co bleed,  
And therefore when the Boar was slain,  
to recompense that deed,  
To her the head and humbles both  
did Meleager give.  
which soon from her his uncles took.  
so much it did them grieve,  
Wherewith Meleager sore displeased,  
did therefore slay them both,  
Which when his mother Althaea known,  
she waxing wondrous wrath,  
Into the fire the brand did cast,  
whereon his life depended,  
Which being wasted clean away,  
then strait his life it ended,  
For whose decease his Sisters all,  
full lamentably mourned,  
Till they at last amidst their woe,  
to Turkey Hens were turned.    

Envoy.  

THese foresaid things who noteth well,  
to fire them fast in mind,  
He shall not fail for his avail,  
good fruit therein to find.  
first by Oeneus are we taught,  
at no time to neglect,  
The duty which we own to God.  
but chiefly have respect,  
To honour him, and laud his name,  
that leddeth life to all,  
which errth cont●ines, who lists us up,  
and likewise lets us fall,  
whom Seas obey, whom heavens a door  
and all things else beside,  
who seas and knows our secret thoughts,  
though we the same would hide,  
And as he is a God most just,  
so justly will he tender,  
His grace unto the penitent,  
although a great offender,  
Deserving death most damnable,  
so merciful is he.  
That as he says, he doth not seek,  
a sinner's death to see,  
For when from depth of heart we will,  
our heinous crimes confess,  
And crave forgiveness at his hands,  
we soon shall find redress,  
But when no mendment he perceives,  
nor warnings to prevail,  
Then with his mighty hand he doth,  
us wicked wight as assail,  
And us and all our progeny,  
unto the death pursues,  
Then praise we God, and unto him,  
all reverence let us use,  
And you O Captains that do guide,  
and govern Armies great,  
You Magistrates and Rulers all,  
that are with pride replete,  
Leave of like lawless Lords to live,  
Of Meleager learn,  
To yield to each his due desert,  
as reason shall disearne,  
Who merits golden gain to get,  
for worthy works committed,  
In countries cause let his reward,  
in no wise be remitted,  
So shall you surely reap renown,  
and purchase people's love,  
Yea valiant minds to valiant acts,  
thereby you soon shall move,  
you envious sort at prosperous state,  
of men that do repined,  
That grudge to see another gain,  
with most malicious eyen,  
Forsake that foul infirmity,  
that hurt with virtue heal,  
Which vexeth every vain of you,  
for grace to God appeal.  
Else shall confusion come to you,  
and that which you did crave,  
To light on others that be sure,  
yourselves alone shall have,  
By Meleager murderers may  
a good example see,  
To 'cause them shun to seek their blood,  
with whom they grieved be,  
Lest that the same to heavenly jove,  
from earth do vengeance erye.  
and so their souls be damned in hell,  
when corpses in grave do lie,  
For God so much a murderer hates,  
that be he Priuce or pear,  
yet blood craves blood, and unto God  
the Beggar is as dear  
In all respects, as is the King,  
that rules in regal reign,  
Who murdereth shall be murdered,  
who slayeth shall be slain,  
What measure men to others meat,  
with that they shall again,  
Be measured this find we true,  
by trial every day,  
Now last of all let s●sters learn,  
where virtue bears chief sway,  
To love their brethren fervently,  
as nature doth require,  
So shall they purchase praise of all,  
that know their good desire.   
Finis.   

A letter written by one to a rich Widow, wherein using earnest persuasions he soliciteth his suit, and craveth to be accepted.  
LIke as the Captain may well be counted a Coward, and unworthy of victory, that for a small discomfiture at the first encounter will be clean discouraged, so may he be deemed but a dissembling Lover, that for one denial will be drawn clean away, neither doth he deserve to reap so great a commodity, as the consent of her that he loveth may bring unto him.  
But my love being grounded upon good occasions, and settled on so sure a foundation, as it cannot be easily overwhelmed, so long as any spark of life abideth in my body, it were great cruelty to contemn me, or carlessly to cast me of, without rendering me a recompeuce worthy my deserving, which I am fully persuaded that your courteous condition cannot consent unto, and therefore am the more emboldened once again to trouble you with my Letters. And although you words have hitherto given me small hope of any further favour than I have already found, yet am I so blinded with affection, as I cannot but still persever in the same.  
It pleased you at our last conference amongst other things, to inquire of my estate, which being in deed very simple, in comparison of that which it hath pleased God to call you unto. If I should have made it better than it was, when you should afterwards have proved the contrary, you might well have deemed me a Dissembler, and worthy of great blame, for dealing so dublely with you, and therefore I sought rather to abase then better myself, as I trust your seely self have well perceived.  
Yet would I not have you think me so simple, but that I shall be able always to get an honest living to maintain me withal, although I had none other helps then that which God hath given me by nature, much more than being matched with such a one as you are, whose wealth is better known to others, then wished of me for mine own private profit.  
For as I know myself altogether unworthy of so great a benefit, so must I needs acknowledge the Favour that I have already found at your hands, far to exceed my deserts.  
And yet, if you were privy to my purposes and known my true intent, and the great god will and unfeigned affection that your clemency constraineth me to bear unto you, I doubt not but I should find that friendly favour at your hands, that otherwise were unmeet for one of my degree.  
But peradventure, because I am a young man, and have but little to take unto, you think I would if I were once possessed of you, seek only to live upon that which you have, and not being careful for your commodity, nor respecting your person as I ought to do, would carelessly consume your substance, and when nothing remains to maintain my riots, would leave you to to shift for yourself, (as many vild varlets do at this day the more is the pity) But they be such as have in them neither honesty nor wisdom, or will do well.  
And if you so conceive of me (as I hope you do not,) how far this imagination differeth from my good meaning, God and mine own conscience only knoweth, I beseech you therefore suffer no such thoughts to sink into your mind, for if my derdes be found any thing different from my words, I wish that the earth may gape and swal low me up, or Fire from heaven consume me,  
diverse are the reasons that induce me thus earnestly to solicit my suit unto you.  
First your parsonage, which pleafeth me more than any that ever I saw.  
Secondly, your courteous condttions, virtues, and wisdom, being such, as would well content any honoste and well minded man, though the rest were wanting.  
Teyrdelye, your years which being at the full perfection, neither to young a wanton, or to old a Dotard, but one that are both able for your experieuce, to minister good council to such an unskilful young man as I am, and also sufficiently satisfy me in all other things requisite for my young years.  
Fowerrhlye, your wealth to supply my want, which being so well ordered as I assure you it should be, if I enjoyed it, it might not only be conserved, but also increased to the great commodity and comfort of us both.  
These be the causes that encourage me so effectually to prosecute my purpose, wherein if I find you favourable as I hope I shall, I will not only be readdye to perform my promises in all respects, but also would be most humbly at your commandment, as your most bound and obedient servant,  
Finis.   

The first Letter written to the same widow, extolling her virtues, which he allegeth to be the cause of his ardent affection, he requireth marriage of her.  
THe commendable qualities together with the incomparable courtesy that I have heard and partly seen to be in you hath in encouraged me thus boldly to presume to present you with my disordered Letters, thereby to let you understand the hearty good will and untained affection which I have long time born unto you though tear to offend you have caused me hitherto to conceal it, hoping that although my degree be far inferior to yours, in every respect, yet will you not scorn my courtesy, or requited my good will with cruelty.  
My request is reasonable, and my desires not dishonest and therefore deserve the rather to be favoured, marriage is the mark I shoot at, which is a holy thing, and ordained by God, from the beginning.  
And although I crave to be matched with you, yet if I might find the favour at your hands to be so accepted, considering our inequality, and not desiring the Privilege which pertaineth to those that enjoy their equals, to were, obedience in the wife toward her husband, I would refer myself wholly unto your discretion, and yield you the pre-eminence in all things as reason willeth, & being but as it were your steward, would discharge you of those weighty and troublesome affairs, that are incident to your calling.  
As for my qualities and conditions what they are, I will leave tooth report of others. But in deed my wealth is very small, yet is that w 〈…〉 so supplied with good will, as I hope you should have no cause to repent you of the choice of so base a persovage, but rather rejoice that it was your lot, to light on so loving a friend, For I am sure that the man liveth not on earth at this hour, that would more esteem, love and cherish you then I would do, & if it would please you once to make trial of me, I hope you should find me in all things according to your hearts desire, which considered, I doubt not but I shall find you ready to relieve me, by recompensing my good will with the like, with which hope I will comfort myself, till I hear the contrary, and so craving pardon for my boldness, I commit you to God.   

A young Gentlewoman wrighteth this for answer to a Gentleman's Letter, that craved her love, and exhorteth her to keep promise with him, wherein excusing herself, by her over young years, and his unhabillitye, she prayeth him to cease of his suit.  

YOur Leeters sir I have received,  
and pondering well the same,  
Have now prepared myself thereto,  
an answer fit to from,  
Though in your writ you room and range,  
about the bush a while,  
And use huge heaps of needless words,  
my senses to beguile.  
I see you seek, but all in vain,  
to win me to your wife,  
Which I may not vouchsafe to grant,  
for fear of further strife.  
Because it is not in my power,  
to do it, though my will,  
were wholly bend thereto: but in  
their hands whose prudeut skill,  
And wisdom great is such,  
as knowing what for me,  
Most meetest is; to your demand  
will never once agreed,  
And as their care is very great  
to do me good, so I  
(As duty binds) in all things will,  
myself to them apply.  
your wealth likewise is very small,  
as you yourself confess,  
And mine not great, and am right sure,  
it would be so much less,  
If following fancies flattering words,  
or feigned vows, I should  
Contrary do to friends desire,  
and that which worst I would,  
Their love and favour loose thereby,  
therefore cease of your suit,  
Content yur self with reasons rule,  
and do no blame impute  
To me at all, whose tender age,  
ne wit ne wealth will serve,  
To take in hand so great a charge,  
but I therein should swerver.  
And for that cause I do not mind,  
to match with any one.  
Until I be of riper years,  
nor promise' plight to none,  
yet when I do, I will apply  
myself in all I may,  
To choose a wise and prudent mate,  
That walks in virtues way:  
Providing therewithal,  
that wealth do never want,  
sufficient always to maintain,  
the fruit o● such a plant:  
For whereas living lacking is,  
to maintain such estate,  
Their perfect love will soon pervert,  
to cruel cankered hate,  
And whereas rooted rancour reigns,  
all things to ruin run,  
yea virtue changed to vice most yilde,  
decay they cannot shun  
That shall be matched so, wherefore,  
doth wisdom always will,  
In time convenient heed to take,  
if we will shun such ill,  
But though I know right well, the use  
of many men to be,  
With flattering words, and filed phrase,  
as did Aeneas he,  
To Dido, and false Demophon  
to Phillis fair his friend,  
For to deceive us silly souls,  
that never hurt pretend,  
But credit all their cloaked craft,  
that bears a simple shoe,  
Till we be caught in Cupid's snare,  
so fast, that forth to go  
We have not power, and then unkind  
they leave us in the lash,  
A just reward no doubt for such,  
as will be over rash  
In that they take in hand, yet I,  
not judging so of you,  
But thinking that your love professed.  
both perfect is and true,  
Do yield you thanks therefore,  
and humbly pardon crave,  
For that I may not give consent,  
to that you seek to have,  
The cause and reasons told before,  
that do in deed detain me,  
Persuading still the contrary,  
at all times do restrain me,  
As for the promise which so much,  
you urge me for to keep,  
Assuring me by breach thereof,  
to run in danger deep,  
No promise have I made, whereon  
you may so much take hold,  
I am right sure, but that I may,  
to break the same he hold,  
But if I had, yet every one  
would judge you far unwise,  
To challenge any all my hands,  
in whom it nothing lies  
For to perform the same, sith of  
myself nothing I have,  
Nor wit to know what thing is ill,  
or what is good to crave,  
And therefore aiming very wide,  
and as one wanting sight,  
Doth throw his staff, so do you shoot●,  
but shall not hide the white,  
And therefore now to make an end,  
I humbly you require,  
Not more to move me in such sort,  
but brydeling your desire,  
And pondering rightly this reply,  
which here to you I make,  
To feed no more on foolish hope,  
But this for answer take.   
Finis.   

A. B. wrighting to his sister C. B. admonisheth her of such things as he findeth amuse in her, and instructeth her how she should behave herself to preserve her good name.  
Well-beloved Sister, for as much as both nature and conscience bindeth me to be careful for your commodity I have thought good (as a friend) to admonish you of such things as I find amiss in you, which I pray you take in good part, and judge none evil in me for the same, for I protest unto you before God, that it is not of any envy or malice that I bear unto you, but of mere good will, and to discharge my duty both towards God, and you,  
I see and hear and am sorry to understand, what reports are daily raised against you, for that you keep company, and make yourself acquainted with so many lewd disposed people as you do.  
In deed it is a great presumption of an evil life to be conversant with those that be evil, for commonly like will to like.  
Peradventure you think it a goodly grace, and greatly to your commendation, with friendly looks, and courteous entertainments to draw men unto you, but it is not so, and surely if you did consider the issue that it hath, and the inconvenience that groweth thereby, you would rather shut yourself up in some secret chamber, and live a solitary life for ever, then set to the show so often as you do, for trust to this, and surely you shall find it most true, that as the Fowler with his feigned notes, bringeth the the birds to his Net, so those subtle serpents, whose minds are always bend to mischief, will with their flattering speeches, and false feigned fetches, allure you to their lubidious lusts, if they can.  
But lend no ear unto them, nor give no credit unto their words, for he that amongst them maketh the greatest show of good will, will be the man that shall soonestdeceive you.  
It is not any honest love that they intent, but their desire is to despoil you of that which is the jewel, wherein you ought cheefelye to joy, whereof if they fail, they will then raise the most wild and slanderous reports against you that can be devised, and will not stick to report their pleasure of you, in every place where they come, to your great reproach and infamy, & though it be never so faice that they feign, yet the report thereof, entering into the ears of the common sort, (that are readier to believe leasings, than credit the verity,) they will soon imagine it to be true, and blaze it abroad for a certainciye, into the ears of all men, and so where by good government you might have got great commendation, through this your disordered liberty, you grow in great defamation. Leave then to lend care to the lewd persuasions of those corrupt Caterpillars, be not in any wise cenuersaunt with them, but fly from them, as from a most pestilent evil, so shall you preserve your good name unspotted, and give no occasion to be ill thought of, which in my poor opinion, will be more beneficial to yourself, and less hurtful to others, then by following your former course it would be, and so far you well.  
The lamentable complaint of a lover, who not withstanding his diverse dangerous travails, and continual sorrow sustained could find no favour at all at her hands that was the causer of his calamity, but cruel contemt, to countervail his courtesy.  

OF many torments, strange and tedious toils,  
That grisly ghosts in Limbo lake sustain,  
Of fearful facts, and bloody beastly broils,  
That there are used, the pleasant Poets feign,  
As how that Phlegias to his triple pain,  
Upon a turning wheel is fixed fast,  
which makes him loath his life, that long doth last.   

How Sisyphus doth roll the restless stone,  
which to the top attained, turns back again,  
How silly Titius making mostful moan.  
Unto a Rock fast tied, doth still sustain,  
The gripping griefs that raverring birds constrain,  
who on his entrails daily feed their fill,  
And yet he lives, to try these torments still.   

How Tantalus amidst the stream that stands,  
Up to the chin, is like for drought to dye,  
And goodly Apples, almost in his hand,  
with hunger nipped, in extreme pain doth lie,  
How Danaus' daughters do themselves apply,  
with pails that bottoms want, a tub to fill,  
That wanteth bottom to, which passeth still.   

But all their paives may not compared be,  
To that which I do every hour abide.  
For all at once assembled are in me,  
There is no torment that I have not tried,  
To me the heavens have happy ha' 〈…〉 denied,  
The Planets all appointed me by fate.  
to live and lead my life in loathsome state,   

All day my mind with fancies fond is fraught,  
which greatly wastes my wit and breaks my brain  
To no effect at all, when sleep hath caught  
Some hold of me at night, alas my pain  
Grows greater far, for dreadful dreavies restrain  
My quiet rest, all mirth is moan to me,  
All pleasure pain, I loath the light to see.   

Of all the wights that ever lived in love,  
was neveralone whose 〈◊〉 was like 〈…〉 my 〈…〉,  
though grief them gripped, though pain they long 〈◊〉 prove  
yet did they gain their wished will in fine,  
Their Lady's liking did it love ●iclyne,  
And they enjoyed their joy and hearts delight,  
At wished will their wretched woe to quite.   

Though pastor Paris past the surging Seas,  
And many perils more for Holl 〈…〉 sake,  
yet he at last his heavy heart to ease,  
Enjoyde her love, and reft her from her make,  
which deed the Greelies so gréevousely did take,  
As Troy therefore they did to ruin bring,  
The fittest fruit that of such love doth spring.   

when Peseus had with tedsous foil distressed,  
The Monstet huge that laboured to devoke,  
Andromada, that 〈◊〉 Rock did rest  
Fast bond with chains, expecting every hour,  
For dread ul death, he cropped the costly flower,  
which fancy forced him seek, with such annoy,  
And after led his life in lasting joy.   

And many more such like advenge jeoulde,  
who after pain did 〈…〉 hast their desire,  
I might bring in Nastagio if I would,  
Hippomanes that fried in Cupid's fire,  
And Pelops to if cause did so require,  
But these will serve my saying true to try,  
That none for love hath led such life as I   

For jalas of all men most a 〈…〉,  
Have spent much time with care and busy cure,  
And when I thought me best, my ha● was worst,  
when safe I seemed, then sat I most unsure,  
Not deadly dole that I did long 〈◊〉,  
Not trickling tears 〈…〉 could serve,  
To purchase that which I do well deserve.   

When as I glance my glaring eyes on her,  
She bends her looks upon some other thing,  
When as I would with words my suit prefer,  
Then angry she away from me doth fling,  
Saying take heed; the Siren now doth sing,  
And when with pen my passions I depaint,  
She rents my writ and scorns my piteous plain.   

If messengers I sand with her to treat,  
And plead my caufe as they can best devise.  
Their words so set her haughty heart in heat,  
who causeless still doth meso much despise,  
As when she hears me narnde, her blood doth rise,  
a when my friends do her present with aught,  
She frets and fnmes as one with fury fraught.   

Through places scarcely known, both day and night,  
through woods, through groves, & marish grounds I road  
Through Forests, fens and furrows void of light,  
yea over haughty hills where I abode,  
Full many bitter blasts before I trod  
The trustless where I this Tiger found,  
whose devilish deeds doth 'cause my cares abound.   

Then cursed be the hour and eke the days,  
wherein I did to her my journey frame,  
I would I had been murdered by the way,  
Before I came to see that cruel Dame,  
who for good will doth yield me bitter blame,  
For then the death had me deprived of all,  
The dangers dire, wherein I daily fall.   

But all to late to shut the stable door,  
When, so says the prover be old,  
I wisely should have thought of this before  
I did attempt her beauty to behold,  
Who hath my heavy heart so hard in hold,  
As needs I must both love and serve her still,  
Though she me loath, and seek my blood to spill.   

you yonglinges all, where ever that you be,  
That sibiect are unto the laws of love,  
Take heed in time, be wisely warned by me,  
On whom you look, lest looks that liking move,  
Engendering love, make you more pains to prove,  
Then I poor wretch, that daily wish to dye,  
And yet do live, these torments strange to try.   
Finis.   

A young man being in love with a fair Gentlewoman, that was but his equal, desireth to be accepted for her husband.  
THe passions extreme which for your sake I have long sustained, being now through continuance of time, so wonderfully augmented and increased, that being no longer able to collerate the extreme pain thereof, I am coacted and perforce constrained in most humble wise to crave grace at your hands, which is the only mean whereby I may be cured of this most grievous and in fupportable malady: Refuse not therefore I pray you this my petition, which is both honest and reasonable let not my good will be required with disdain, nor my courtesy with cruelty, for that were a point void of all humanity, and far different from all maydenlike modesty: Dido Queen of Carthage loved Aeneas a stranger and a banished man, Euphinia Daughter to the King, and heir to the crown of the Kingdom of Corinth, matched herself with Acharisto her father's dondman. The Duchess of Malsey chose for her husband, her servant Virico. And Venus also, (if we may give credit to the fixions of Poets, who for he surpassing hewry was cavonized a Goddess,) refused no to be the wife of lame Vulcanus.  
Much less need you then, that are mortal, and but of a mean progeny in comparison of the worst of all those princely Dames before repeated, to think scorn of me that am no Stranger, but your own native contreyman, no wandering exile, but a true and faithful Subject, continuing in the country where I was first born and fostered, neither servant to you, nor slave to any other, but utterly free from the yoke of servitude and bondage, until such time as by contemplating the bright beams of your surpassing hewry, my poor heart was so captinated, that I was constrained to commit myself wholly unto your clemency, nor yet so monstrous and misshaped a creature, whereby you might have just occasion so mislike of me, but God I give him thanks for it, as plentifully enriched with the gifts of nature, as another man.  
All which being well and advisedly of you considered. I am persuaded and fully resolved in my cogitation, that you will not refuse my gentle offer, or disdain to elect and accept me for your loyal lover, and lawful husband. who (above all other earthly Creatures) am most desirous for term of life to be linked with you in league of perfect love, and amity.  
Thus hoping that by means of your bountiful henignitie, and accustomed clemency, I shall not fail to find all things correspondent, and according to my hearts desire, I leave to trouble you a ny further for this time. And so far you well.  
Finis.   

C. D. Being enamoured of a fair and virtuous young Gentlewoman he craveth speedy comfort.  
dearly beloved, without whose grace and good will, nothing seemeth sweet or pleasant unto me, not not to enjoy my life, unless I may therewith obtain thy love which my heart above all things terrestial doth chiefly covet and desire.  
Love only hath caused me to wright unto you, your surpassing beauty hath perforce procured me to love you, and your rate and singular virtues have chiefly kindled my affection towards you, which affection doth so greatly abound in me, and so incessaunclye torment my poor captive carcase, that if you in whom it only rests to redress the same do not speedily tender some pleasant and precious potion, to assuage the intolerable anguish of this my most grievous and painful malady, my life is like to be put in great peril thereby.  
The plant whilst it is yet young and tender may be easily cut down. but if it be let alone untouched, it will in time grow so great, as with much labour it shall be almost impossible so to roof it out, but that some small sprigs shall still abide behind in the bowels of the earth which may afterward receive again the former force, and accustomed greatness.  
The wax whilst it is warm, may be easily redused into what form or fashion that a man will, but being let alone till it be cold, it waxeth so hard and brittle, that it will sooner brea●●, then be brought to any perfect proportion, or uniformity.  
So likewise is it in love, for the lover that loveth faithfully, being daily fed with fair words, if he do not in short time obtain the full effect of his desire, the flame already kindled in his breast, will in the end wax so wonder full great, as all the water in riber and Nilus, shall not suffice to qu●●●● the same, until the body of the poor miserable lover, be dissolved into dust.  
Consider therefore I beseech you of my sorrowful state, way my good will and faithful affection towards you, po● de●● my piteous plaints, and deny not grace to him that loveth you more heartlye than his own proper life, who to obtain your love would not fear to pass the perrilious waves of unhappy Hellespont, but as a faithful Leander to please my beloved Hero, would be ready to attempt it how dangerous soever the adventure were.  
Refuse not then this my reasonable request, seeing that by yielding thereunto, you can no way be pr 〈…〉 any 〈◊〉 hindered, and yet by 〈◊〉 it, shall put my life in great peril, purchase yourself an evil report, and be of all men accounted for cruel.  
Thus hoping that your pitiful heart will, through this my most humble submission be moved to take pity and compassion upon my sorrowful state, I do for this 〈◊〉 commit you to the tuition of the Almighty, whom I pray still to protect you.  
Finis.   

The Lover perceiving the love of his beloved mistress, not to be so perfect as before time it had been, wrighteth unto her as followeth.  
BEing of late my dearly beloved Mistress, by means of your comely parsonage adorned and garnished with so many good gifts of nature, alured or rather procured to love you, and 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 ●●●ion or ●●●en of disdaynefulnesse to appear in you, but that rather as it seemed to me you burned with the like flame, and had as fyrinly fixed your fancy upon me, as I was fully determined for term me of life to love you.  
But alas, at this present, to my great grief and continual vexation both of mind and body. I 〈◊〉 the contrary.  
For now your mind, upon what occasion I know not, is clean altered on a sudden, so that in steed of friendly looks I find a scowning countenance, and in s●eede of the gentle words, and courteous communication which before you used with me, I have now nothing else but froward and unfriendly answers, ungrateful words and privy poisoned nips, which seemeth to me far more bitter than gall so is my good will requyted with disdain and my courtesy with unkindness.  
O who would think that in one endued with so many 〈◊〉 virtues as you are, there should be abiding so foul a vice as is ingratitude, who would judge that in so comely a body, there should remain so unconstant a heart, what have I done that misliketh you; wherein have I offended you? whereby have I deserved this great discurtesy at your hands? Are you entrapped with the love of any 〈…〉 on● 〈◊〉 our love in suspicion, have you at any time been upbraided with the same, or else hath some malicious person practised by slanderous reports to raise reproach upon me in my absence, or vitered 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 words against me, thinking thereby to hinder our love, and 'cause you to conceive some evil opinion of me.  
If it be so, or howsoever it be, I pray you let me have intelligence, and before the truth of the matter be thoroughly tried, to their great shame that shall report it (as I hope it will fall out in the end, when my answer is hard,) condemn me not without desert, for certainly to my knowledge, I never yet did any thing wherewith you should be offended, neither have I offered any occasion whereby you might be justly moved to think evil of me, if I have it was unwittingly, and being heartily sorry for the same, I do most humbly crave pardon at your hands.  
Great is the love I bear unto you, and so grievous is the wound that I have received thereby, that if you, who are the jewel of my joy, preserver of my health, and the very lengthener of my linger life, do not minister some comfortable consarne, or pleasant potion, to mitigate the intolerable torment of my most mischievous malladye, I am not able long to abide it, and therefore I most humbly beseech you to have go●● 〈◊〉 to my sorrowful state, and seeing I am so firmly bent, for term of life, to love you above all other, cast clean from you all disdainfulness, and tender me like love again, on your part.  
For thereby you shall purchase to yourself so faithful a friend, as will always continued most constant.  
Needless it is for me to make any plainer declaration of my desire, for I am certain that my good meaning is already well known unto you, but this I say, and I take God to witness, I speak it unfeignedly, that the woman liveth not on the earth at this hour, which I could so will like of, as I do of you, or with whom I had rather match myself, so greatly have I been affectioned unto you, even from the very first hour that I beheld you, until this present time, and therefore committing myself into your hands, in whom it only rests to redress my sorrows, and comfort my careful heart in hope to receive such answer from you, as shallbe greatly to my contentation I leave to trouble you any further for this tyme.  
Finis.   

A Lover being doubtful of the good will of his Lady; by means of the mutability that many times he found to be in her, craveth more assurance at her hands.  
HOw great good will I have long time born you, my well-beloved Parmenia, both by my words and deeds you have plainly perceived and albe it that you have diverse times in plain speech professed the like unto me, yet have I to my greet 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 so variable in all your actions as I know not bow to conceive of you.  
I pray you deal with me as a friend, feed me not with fair words unlessedeedes do follow accordingly, promise' no more than you mind to perform, give me not hope to putme afterwards in despair, nor receive me into your favour, and afterwards reject me, for surely in so doing, you shall not only deceive me, but also greatly defame yourself, when your double dealing shallbe known to others.  
If you can fancy me, then without any exceptions consent to take me for him whom you determinete love and live with all for over.  
If you like not of an) then answer it directly, that I may know what to trust unto, and so by refraining your company, prove to repress my fund affection, which is so firmly fixed upon you, as I fear me, I shall hardly reprove it.  
feign would I more often frequent your company, but fearing to purchase your displeasure, and wishing rather to suffer myself the greatest sorrow that may be sustained, than you by any means should abide any blame at all for my sake I have hitherto restrained my desire with the rule of reason, and satisfied myself often times with the only sight of the place where you frequent, as if yourself had been present with me, such is the force of affection, but yet desiring rather to have it so in deed, then to dame it so, to the end I may have conference with you, for verse occasions.  
I most heartily, pray you let me either understand your mind by writing or else devise some means that I may have access unto you to talk with you in proper person till which time I shall never take rest, but be continallye troubled with a thousand imaginations.  
Thus wishing you as well to far, as your heart would desire, I commit you to the tuition of the Almighty whom I pray still to protect you.  
Finis.   

The Author writing to his sister that was towards marriage, teacheth how to make choice of a husband and how to behave herself being a Wife.  
dearly beloved Sister, understanding that you are disposed to enter into the blessed state of Matrimony, but with whom I know not; and remembering the sage sentence of that wise Emperor Marcus Aurelius, that the greatest reward which one friend may impart to an ●ther is to secure him with good council, knowing also that there is nothing wherein council is more requisite then in marriages, for that whosoever falls in the perrilles there of can find no remedy for it, without far greater peril, I have thought good, as far as my weak wit, and slender skill can serve me, to show you my simple opinion therein.  
Like as fire my well-beloved Sister, which lieth long in kindling, yieldeth far greater heat than that which by and by taketh flame, so love which hath had long continuance is of much more force than that which groweth upon the sudden; for as fire that flameth at the first blowing is but as a flash that by and by vanisheth, so is the love which groweth on the sudden like unto a shadow that whilst the son shines, showeth plain and perfect to the sight of every man, but when it is darkened, cannot be discerned at all. So are there some men of so lewd a condition that so long as her beauty abideth, to whom they profess good will, her wealth not diminished and her countenance seemeth cheerful, they continued their love, but if the contrary happen, then by and by their love waxeth-colde, for if her beauty by sickness be abated, her wealth through any casualty diminished, or her cheerful countenance by sorrow changed to the contrary, then forgetting her virtues which still remain perfect, they are clean changed to another likeness, their sweet meliferons words, become as bitter as wormwood; their seeking plain misliking, & their great love disdain. This is the fruit of such sudden love, this is the best commodity that may thereby be reaped, for this we see by experience, that the fruit which is soonest ripe, is soonest rotten, and the Fire which is soonest kindled, is soon quenched, and so likewise is the hottest love soonest cold. wherefore I pray you, and friendly advise you; in any wise to take good deliberation in the choice of your husband, try him thoroughly, before you trust him that shall make you any offer of his love.  
And though his outward behaviour seem honest, though his proffers be large, his persuasions great, and his person please you never so well, yet till you have well considered of the matter and consulted with your friends, who will neither advise you to do any thing that is hurtful, nor persuade you from that which may be profitable unto you, yet give not your consent in anyewyse to their flattering enticements.  
For as the Fowler with his feigned Notes deceives the silly birds, and brings them to their have, so be there some that under a fair show of feigned friendship, seek by all means possible to corrupt the minds, of honest maidens, and entice them to folly, which they shall hardly withstand, if they lend care to their lewd language. But were it so that you should light upon one that indeed loved you dearly, and meant to deal plainly, and honestly with you, if you have not respect as well to other matters as to that, it will in the end redo 〈…〉 d to your great discommodity, for although in the beginning, few marriages seem unpleasant, yet being made only for love without further advisement they cannot choose but have a sad and sorrowful ending: and therefore I would advise you to choose such a one as should not only be wise & wealthy, but also well inclined wealthy to maintain you, according to your desire, & his degree, wise to govern those goods that God hath sent him, with reason & discretion, and of a good conversation to the intent that he may not only order you as he aught to do, but also bring up his family virtuously and in the fear of God for so shall God bless him the better, and all his actions shall have a good & prosperous end, whereas if he be vicious, & of a lewd disposition, his inferiors following his example; willbe the like, for such husband such wife, such father; such children, & such masters such servants, so is it commonly seeney & so were he neverso subtle witted or endued with never so great abundance, one way or other all would quickly go to wrach, & come to nothing, & for as much as the wealth of the husband doth chiefly depend upon the good behaviour of his wife, in the disposing of his household affairs, I would advise you to be careful in all honest order to conserve & increase the which your husband shall get, & not to spend supper fluously upon such trifles & toys as are but spurs to provoke pride, which is the pathway to perdition, whereof the wife (being the chiefest member of her husband's body,) shall be the first that shall feel the smart of it, when exchanging her gorgeous garments for a poor patched cote, her sine delicate dishes for such scraps as she can get for God's sake, her soft featherbeds, and beds of down, for a Pallet of straw, her gorgeous buildings, for a silly sheep cote, or such like, to be brought to that extremity, that she shall rather wish to dye then line in that miserable estate, when having been a mistress of many servants in her youth, she shall herself in her old age, be feign to be a slave and servant to such as sometime she could command, for it is no doubt, a right miserable and wretched state, atorment intolerable, and a grief in erplicable, after so great plenty, to feel such extreme pennry, but it is thee meetest reward for them that will not take heed before hand, to repent them afterward when it is to late, for when the steed is stolen, it is no time to shut the stable door, and it is most certain, one far from their good, are near to their harm, for every man basteth the fut hog, but the lean shall burn before he be basted, my meaning is, and it is daily seen, that he that hath enough shall have more, he that hath a little shall have less, but he that hath nothing at all of himself, let him be sure that he shall get nothing of another, wherefore (if you covet to be accounted wise and virtuous) knowing how great an enemy she is to herself, and into how many dangers she intrudeth herself that is negligent and care to conserve her husband's goods, you will rather forbear things necessary than you would be any hindrance to your husband's profit, yea, & travail all that you can to increase his stock, rather than one whit to diminish it, wisely weighing that if any thing happen to her husband, otherwise then well, she is not one of the last, as I said before, which shall feel the smart of it. And thus praying you to print these precepts in your heart for fear to be o●e● cedious, I leave to trouble you any more at this time.  
Finis.   

A poor young mau being vehemently vexed for the love of a fire young Gentlewoman, craveth her favour for the conservation of his life, almost consumed.  
SO rare is your beauty, bounty and grace that as the Adamant draweth iron unto it, so doth the same draw the minds of men unto you, and like Cirses charms, transport them into what likeness you list.  
What marvel is it then though many worthy Gentlemen being bleared with the bright beams thereof, be enforced for the appeasement of their pain, to seek all means possible to purchase your gracious good will and favour.  
But my good mistress, amongst so many that have made suit unto you, I marvel you make choice of none, peradventure it is because you cannot conceive any constancy or faithful fidelity to be 〈◊〉 in them, if it be so, behold I am he that can and will, if you please, supply that want in you, & as you should well know, if you made proof of me, I doubt not but you should found me such a one, as in all respects, would sufficiently satisfy your mind, yea, and so content you, as the choice of me, should not once move you to change, the baseness of my birth be any blemish to your dignity, or your gentle accceptance to my offered courtesy, move you to repent you of so gracious a deed. Pardon me I pray you, if in this my rude writing, I have committed any crime, or done that which is contrary to duty, and impute the fault only to love, whose burning flames having long time boiled in my breast, not being able now, any longer to conceal the same, I am thorough vehemency of the pain, that thereby oppresseth my poor pensive heart, enforced at the last, in hope of redress, to reveal my hidden griefs unto you, being the only Mistress of my health, life and liberty, without whose grace or mine own great peril may not possibly be repressed, nor my pains appeased, for if they could, than either fear of your displeasure, reason or duty would have detained me from this my present purpose, and presumptuous attempt, and not have permitted me with woe to wade so far, in so dangerous a Sea, seeing therefore that the passion which oppresseth me is so painful, the fire that wastes me so vehement, the cause proceeding from you, and the remedy resting only in your hands, I think you cannot be so cruel hearted, but that pity will move you in the end, to rue the callamitye that your poor Servant hath for your sake so long sustained, and to hasten the remedy for his relief, that with the dew of grace issuing from your most delicate body, you may speedily quench that consuming fire, which so continually inflameth his heart with desire to do such seely service as shall be acceptable unto you, who accounting all pain but pleasure that he sustaineth for your sake, yieldeth himself wholly unto your clemency, to tender him the final sentence of life or death, which her daily expecteth.  
Finis.   

How foolish women are in the choice of their Lovers.  

THe Smith whose toiling trade,  
besmeared his face with sweat,  
And made him like a Croyden Knight,  
with working in the heat,  
Moore lucky was in love,  
than Hercules the stonte,  
The one enjoyed a dainty Dame,  
the other went without,  
Vulcanus had to wife,  
the Lady chief of love,  
Whose passing beauty peerless was,  
as Paris plain did prove.  
But long Alsides served,  
fair jole at her will,  
In woman's weed, and yet did fail,  
to find her favour still,  
For often it is the trade  
of women, to ellect  
Lewd lumpish louts devoid of wit,  
and wiser wights reject,  
A Clown that from the Cart,  
is come in court to serve,  
In whom there is no kind of cause,  
good liking to deserve,  
Shall catch a gallant girl,  
and purchase at her hands  
That others lack, whose faithful hearts,  
were scorched with Cupid's brands,  
Then let him love that list,  
for I will leave the lure,  
Of those lewd Dames whose devilish drifts,  
such cursed cares procure.   
Finis.   

Damion wrighteth to his friend Sulippo exhorting him to seek preferment whilst the time serveth.  
Surely my Sulippo, when I remember the poor estate wherein thou presently standest, and compare it with the misery of this our age, I cannot but greatly marvel to see thy slackness in seeking preferment considering how hard a time it is to attain to any thing, or to keep the which we have with quietness, every one being ready to pull the meat out of an other man's mouth, that happy is he who hath any thing to stay unto, for if he want he shall find few friends in his necessity that will pity his poverty or set to their hands to help him, be his need never so great, and therefore in my poor opinion, it is good (as they say) to hold open the poke whilst the pig is proffered, and taking the time whilst it serveth, to strike whilst the iron is hot, and not with Esopes' Dog, leaving the flesh for the shadow, forego a thing certain, for a hope uncertain, lest repentance follow, when it is to late, for better it is to have one bird in hand, than two in the Bush, seeing that often times whilst the Gratie grows the steed starves, for he that hopeth after dead méns shoes many times goeth barefoot many things happen between the cup and the lip, and therefore diverse means there may be hereafter to hinder that which may now without any great difficulty, be achieved seeing there is nothing but only the want of master Moliscus good will, to prevent your purpose, which by good persuasion and earnest entreaty, may possibly be obtained the rather or that he seethe master Glomerok so desirous to do you good, I pray you therefore find some good time, so soon as conveniently you can, to talk with him about it, for as it grieveth me to see the life that now you lead, without either profit or pleasure, so am I very desirous to have you provide in Summer, against the extremity of the winter, and seek somewhat in your youth, to maynetain you in your age, to the end that you may be a comfort, and not a corsie, to the hearts of such your poor friends, as wish you well, who will not fail to do their utturmost endeavour to further your preferment in all they may.  
Thus praying you to remember what I have written unto you, and to put it in practice so soon as you may, I bid you safe well.  
Finis.   

Varinus having found in the night time that which pleased his fancy he commends it much, and craveth to be accepted for her servant whom he intyrely loved.  

THough many much mislike the long  
and weary winter nights,  
I cannot but commend them still,  
for diverse dear delights,  
The night we see, brings silver sleeps,  
sleep courseth care away,  
Cares being cast from out the mind,  
there harboures happy joy.  
Where joy abounds, there health hath place,  
where happy health doth bide,  
There life lasts long, this proof shows plain,  
and may not be denied:  
Lo this the happy night procures,  
which wrought my wished will,  
Therefore I must before the day,  
prefer and praise it still,  
But some perhaps will marvel much,  
my fond effect to hear,  
Let them not spare none knows the cause,  
why I so strange appear,  
In this my unacquainted verce,  
such dark conceits to writ,  
Nor never shall, but only I,  
and she whose beauty bright,  
Did in the dark beth blear mine eyes,  
and lend me perfect light,  
She she it is that knows full well,  
from whence my Muse proceeds,  
Yea she it is that both my bliss,  
and hale together breeds,  
Her presence doth procure my rest,  
her absence works my woe,  
Her cheerful looks do cheer my heart,  
her sorrow makes to flow  
Whole floods of tears from out mine eyes,  
and kills my heart with care,  
Whose comely grace and courteous deeds,  
do make her seem as rare  
As in the world the Phoenix is,  
and blessed would I count  
Myself, and say that in good luck,  
all others I surmount,  
Might I but once such grace obtain  
at her sweet hands, to be  
Accepted as a servant still,  
no more is craude of me,  
Which if I might achieve, no doubt,  
I would myself apply,  
To please her so in each respect,  
as she should truly try,  
And so confess, she never found  
so firm a friend before,  
Or servant of such secrecy,  
that did esteem her more:  
What so she could command or will,  
by day or else by night,  
On sea or Land I would fulfil,  
though death appeared in sight;  
Or all the griefs that griefly ghosts,  
in Limbo lake sustain,  
Should me assail with furious mood,  
to make me to refrain:  
Yet should it not withdraw my mind,  
from doing her desire,  
Hap good or ill, what so beside,  
I would thereto aspire,  
And wages none at all jerave,  
but leave it to her will.  
According to her courtesy,  
her fancy to fulfil.  
But when she hath made proof of me,  
as she shall best devise,  
And seas my service what it is,  
if she in any wise  
Mislike thereof, let her withdraw  
From me her favour quite,  
And use what kind of way she will.  
to work me more despite,  
For as my health on her depends,  
So if I want her grace,  
I loath my life and wish for death,  
to reave my rueful race.   
Finis.   

A poor young man being in love with a rich Gentlewoman, finding it somewhat difficult to obtain any favour at her hands, sought to suppress his fond affection, but could not, wherefore he wrighteth unto her in effect as followeth.  
THere is nothing in the universal world, that may more aptly be compared to the hateful Hydra, than the painful passions of lawless love, for the Hydra being assailed by Hercules, always when he cut of one of his heads, there sprung two in the place of it: so love, the more it is suppressed, the more it increaseth and groweth still the greater, as is plainly proved by me, though to my pain I report it, for considering on how high a place my mind was settled, whereunto to attain without great pertill, I found it almost impossible, I sought by reason to remove it, if I might, but love so abounded, that reason bore no sway and therefore being, ordained as it were by destiny to live and dye your loyal lover, and poor faithful Servant howsoever it shall please you to dispose of me, yea, though I never gain any grace at all at your hands, yet must I perforce still persever in the same, what soever betide me, desiring rather to dye to confirm my constancy, then live and lack your friendly Favour, whereby I am only sustained, knowing that when my unhappy death, shall happen to come to your hearing, it will move such remorse in your heart, considering that the cause proceeded from yourself, as you cannot but be greatly grieved, for the small regard you had of so faithful a friend, and then, when it is to late will repent you of your great ingratitude.  
Be not therefore so obstinately bend (I beseech you) to seek his confusion that would account all pain but pleasure, which he should suffer in seeking your safety, consider in what case your divine beauty hath brought him; and be not so careless of his welfare as you will suffer him to perish for want of pity that cannot receive any comfort but by your clemency, which to deny him, wear extreme cruelty, and would procure your perpetual infamy. The rather for that the remedy rested in you, and that my grief being taken in time might be easily cured, to my comfort and your contentment, as you shall be forced in the end of yourself to confess, if you have pity upon me, as I hope you will, wherein being fully resolved, I rest for ever.  
Your poor faithful friend and obedient servant.   

The great love that Itafernes wife bore to her brother.  

WHen I tafernes with all his family,  
Were taken captive By Darius' army,  
And cast into prison with great extremity,   

His wife every day,  
Came to the king's gate making pitiful moan,  
That these her plaints to take pity upon,  
At last he was moved with 〈…〉 rcye alone,   

As wrighters do say,  
In so much a● one unto her he sent,  
Who willed he then with right good intent,  
In the King's name to ●cast to lament,   

And freely to choose  
The delivery of one, and she should him have,  
Then she 〈◊〉 the rest, her Brother did crave,  
Whose life and liberty she most sought to save,   

To lessen her woes.  
The King then wondering that she would prefer  
Her Brother before the rest that were there,  
〈…〉 and children most dear,   

This answer she gave,  
another husband I may get quoth she,  
And other Children if Gods will it be,  
But my Parents being dead, more brethren than he,   

I never can have.    

A Lover that stood at an uncertain stay, wrighteth this for answer to a Letter that he received from her whom he loved.  
Mistress 〈◊〉 I received your Letters which 〈◊〉 unto me so 〈◊〉 as I a 〈…〉 thereby brought as it were into a 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 of which I know not well how to wind me. Some time you give me hope, and by and by cross me with the contrary, your words are so obscure, as my simple capacity cannot conceive the meaning of them, plain dealing is best among friends, good meaning must not be covered with a counterfeit colour, I have made you an honest demand, but can receive 〈◊〉 certain answer of it, if you think me unworthy of you, let me understand it in plain speeches, and I will soon cease my fute, for if you cannot fancy me, I neither may, nor will enforce you to it.  
If you like of my demand, drive me not of with doubtful delays, for that is very dangerous.  
Your virtuous education, and commendable quallityes, are the only causes that have constrained me to love you. for the which I more esteem you (being as you are) then otherwise I would do, wear you never so wealthy, you say my suit is reasonable, and yet you reprove it as unprofitable, you confess me to be worthy of you, and yet refuse to tender yourself unto me, being the party, whom above all other I chiefly desire, and would most willingly possess, if so it pleased you. In deed I confess, that good deliberation and careful consideration is to be had in so weighty a cause which I had in remembrance, before I made any motion thereof unto you, yet if there be any thing that I have neglected, if you would let me understand wherein, and what it is, it should be better respected, and being amiss, most willingly amended. And whereas you refuse to yield your consent without the counsel of others, to ask council in any thing, it is commendable, and to follow it (if it be good) is right profitable, but whose counsel you crave I know not, ●●les it be your parents, which if it be, the same I hope will not be contrary to my contentation: yet do I not so much depend upon that, as I will therefore seek to them, before I have assayed you, & have some assurance the thing, I seek for, which is only in 〈◊〉 to grant, and without you cannot be obtained, or if it be, it must be by compulsion, & then were a man better be without it, for forced marriages have never good effect: But peradventure you have some further purpose in it, than I am privy unto, it may be that you imagine my good will to be grounded upon so light an occasion, as gaining my purpose, I would quickly fly from my former professions, make more haste in the matter then reason requireth, or use some drift to deceive your present expectation, but how far my good meaning is from these imaginations, God and mine own conscience only knoweth, you challenge me as if I had been over lavish of my language in blazing things abroad, that are not yet brought to pass which if I should do (as I take God to witness. I have not) I might worthily be condemned for a fool, & serve as a laughing stock to all men, that shall see it fall out otherwise hereafter. And therefore I beseech you put such imaginations out of your mind, and condemn me not as guilty before you have cause to accuse me. And in conclusion I heartily beseech you, not to trifle out the time any longer, but to tender me a ready answer to that which I demand of you, howsoever it be, I care not, for I can better brook a flat refusal, then suffer myself to be fed with foolish hope, for a thing so uncertain: and therefore where subtly you say at the foot of your letter (yours, for so it may be) henceforward either refuse me flatly or else put down plainly in the place of it (yours I am & willbe) so shall you both satisfy me sufficiently, and also greatly ease yourself of the trouble that my tedious writing (if so you account it doth presently put you unto, and so far you well.   

The strange pangs of a poor passionate Lover.  

NOt as I am, nor as I wish to be,  
But as false Fortune frames mytroward fate,  
Even so I am not bond nor fully free  
Not quite forlorn, nor yet in quiet state,  
I wish for death, and yet the death I hate,  
This life lead I, which life is wondrous strannge,  
yet for no life would I my life exchange,  
I seek the sight of that I sigh to see,  
I joy in that which breeds my great unrest,  
Such contraries do daily cumber me,  
As in one thing I found both joy and rest,  
Which gain he gets that is Cupidos' guest,  
For whom he catcheth in his cursed snare,  
He gives great hope yet kills his heart with care,   
Finis.   

Of the thankfulness of a Dragon towards a man that had brought him up.  

AS Bruson mention makes,  
one Thoas in his youth  
Brought up a Dragon young,  
and of a certain truth,  
when as he greater grne,  
fearing his nature fallen,  
Conveyed him thence into a wood,  
and left him there to devil,  
It happened after Thoas was,  
within that wood beset  
with many thieves, at which self time  
not making stay or let,  
when as the Dragon heatd his voice,  
which he remembered tho,  
He rushed forth and rescued him.  
from those that wished his wo.   
Finis.   

R. D. Being inflamed with the love of a very beautiful Gentlewoman, by a sudden view that he took of her, doth colourably declare his case unto her.  

AS late I walked abroad for my delight,  
To put all ●oolish fancies from my mind,  
It was my chance upon a plot to light,  
Wherein I did great cause of comfort find,  
A goodly Garden garnished every where,  
with fragrant flowers of sundry sort and sent.  
Not strange device could be that wanted there,  
That ever wit of man might well invent,  
A goodly crystal spring ran through this place,  
whose banks with sundry trees was bravely dec●●,  
To show each thing by course, would crave long space,  
And yet some part I should of force neglect,  
But that which made me most of all to muse,  
was to behold each thing so well conveyed,  
And could not find that any one did use,  
To make abode therein, yet half afraid  
(Though cause were none) I dared not enter in,  
But stood as one amazed, this sight to see,  
That whosoever then had present been,  
would not have thought that life had lodged in me,  
My senses failed, my feet were fixed fast,  
My sight waxed dim, yet staring stood I still,  
But coming to myself again at last,  
And seeing there no sign of any ill,  
Nor none that would my passage once restrain,  
But that the gates wide open stood to all,  
I banished fear which erst procured my pain,  
And did determine what so should befall,  
To enter in, and view it round about,  
And so I did in deed without anoyt,  
For nothing was there which I need to doubt,  
But all things turned unto my triple joy.  
when as I fully had each thing surveyed,  
And fed my fancy as it liked me best,  
Into an Arbour I myself conveyed,  
And there lay down to take my quiet rest,  
Into a heavy sleep strait ways I fallen,  
And then me thought there did appear in place  
Two gallant Dames, whose beauty did excel,  
whereof the one beholding long my face,  
At last with stealing steps approached more near,  
And drawing forth a knife in dreadful wise,  
Did pierce the part which I esteemed most dear,  
which done from of the ground she 'gan to rise,  
And by and by did vanish out of sight,  
which way or how, I could not well perceive,  
Wherewith I wakened (being sore affright)  
So much it did my quiet rest believe,  
And then my naked body I behold,  
To sec if any wound would there appear,  
But every place with flesh was fully filled,  
No wound was seen, each place was fair and clear,  
But when I rose, with mind to walk from thence,  
Such gri●ly grief did gripe my tender heart,  
As for a time it hindered my pretence,  
And from that place I scarce had power to part,  
yet as I could, although my pace were slow,  
I at my lodging did at last arrive,  
And laid me down in grief which still did grow,  
And greater wax, and happy health deprive,  
I sought Physicians help, my hurt to heal,  
But Physic could no whit at all prevail,  
And therefore still I must the same conceal,  
And as a wight forlorn my we bewail,  
Until the lovely Dame that did the deed.  
Vouchsafe her grace to ease my present grief.  
In her it lies my bitter bale to breed,  
Or if she please to tender me relief,  
which if she once refuse I am right sure,  
My loathed life that hope doth now prolong,  
Shall not long time be able to endure,  
But die I must, because she doth me wrong.   
Finis.   

An answer to a Letter that was not only dark, but also so disordered, as their could no sense be perceived in it.  

VNloked for, I did receive of late,  
Such lines as led me into double doubt,  
first whence they came, and from what minion mate,  
And secondly I mused where about,  
And for what cause they should to me be sent,  
But when I had perused them over well,  
was near the near in knowing thy intent,  
For such a senseless tale thou seemdste to tell,  
And so confuse, as what I should couceive.  
Of any part thereof I known not I,  
To stayed Studients I the same will leave,  
By learned skill the secret sense to try,  
Unless that thou that didst devise the same,  
will't take the pains to gloze upon the text,  
And set to show the figures thou didst frame,  
Whereby it seems thy mind is much perplexed,  
For neither doth the matter match aright,  
Nor yet the vearce but varies every where,  
I speak in sport, no cause I have to spite,  
And as thou wished, so with thy want I bear,  
Love is a lawless Lord, both he and his  
Are free from blame what so they do or say,  
And therefore though they sometime roam amiss,  
That once have leaned to his luckless lay.  
The fault is in the troward fits they feel,  
which leads their minds to like of many things,  
And still to turn as doth the whirling wheel,  
where of the fruit of folly freely springs,  
Thy worthy work may well compared be,  
Unto A building bravely decked without,  
The inward parts whereof, who so shall see,  
May find it framed of clay and dirt no doubt,  
For on the same when first mine eyes I bend,  
The entrance bore so brave a modesty,  
That sure I thought some Muse the same had sent  
From Helicon to please my fantasy,  
But when I had a little further passed,  
Such paltry pelf presented was to me,  
As brave me into other thoughts at last,  
So great a change so suddenly to see,  
But borrowed ware will bear no better show.  
Au Ape's an Ape, though robes be near so rich,  
The good from bad a man may easily know,  
This makes thee claw whereas thou dost not itch,  
well galdback well, although I rubd thee now,  
If that thou winch, I weigh it not a might,  
Such cloaked cunning can I not allow,  
Halt not henceforth when Cripples are in sight,  
For trust to this thy peacocks borrowed tail,  
Cannot so craftily be couched on thee,  
But that the fine device thereof will fail,  
If it be matched with those that kindly be,  
In fine I wish thee if thy mind be moved,  
To bear the matter more at large set out,  
which to provoke thou hast so blindly proud,  
Then make it plain, and clear it clean of doubt.  
Let fineness go and use no secret slight,  
To cover that which cannot be consealde,  
And then will I as well pluck up my spirits,  
To open that I have not yet revealed,   
Finis.   

C. L. Wrighting to a special Friend of his, that was somewhat grieved in mind, for certain troubles that were happened unto him, geneth him such friendly consolation as was riquisite for one in his case.  
SIr I am well assured, that in seeking to give council to one so wise, and consolaon to one of such constancy as you are, I shall rather reap reproach for my rashness then any ways purchase praise for my good meaning.  
And although you that know what cause moved me there unto, do not so conceive it, yet they that shall hear report thereof, being ignorant of the great good will that I hear unto you, will be ready to imagine the worst of it.  
But let them think what they list, I had rather that all others should accuse me of presumption, then that you should have just cause to condemn me of ingratitude, or think my friendship to be of small effect. And therefore though that I wright, be not such as should seem to proceed from a man endued with great learning, and wisdom, yet being well assured that whatsoever it be, you will acceptablely receive it, and construe it to the best, I will not fail either by that or any other mean I may, at all times to manifest my good meaning unto you, and the willing mind I have to do you good, so far forth as my weak wit and small habillitye can reach unto. It is not at all to be doubted, but the miseries that rain in this wretched world are very many, and very great, but as they are necessary means to make us know ourselves, and acknowledge the weakness of our humane nature, so should we patiently tolerate the troublesome toils and cormentes thereof, as it is the part of a wise and well disposed person always to do.  
What though you be now forbidden the court whereyou have long time lived in great estimation▪ will you therefore so unmeasurably vex & torment yourself? as though your sorrow should never take end. It were no doubt a thing clean contrary to your wisdom & gravity, and would be a great disgrace to your noble nature, & the haughtiness of your liberal heart, to be found unable by the rule of reason to resist the fierce assaults of froward Fortune: For as in time of prosperity you governed yourself with great modesty, so should you now that the contrary is happened, be armed with as great patience to sustain the senister and sorrowful events that this wretched world rendereth unto all them that therein have their abiding. Assure yourself that those of your friends which now remain in the court, are well contented that you have so forsaken it, without hope ever to return again, not because they are willing to want your company, for that is the thing they chiefly covet, but because they know the misery of that place to be such, as it should rather be shunted, then sought for by all those that love to lead a quiet and peaceable life.  
And I am well assured, that if you had the power to enter into the hearts of men to search their secret thoughts you should found those of the Court accompanied with such continual cares, frighted with such fearful fancies, and fraught with such follies, subject to so many dangerous discommodities and perplexed with such strange and perilous passions, as you yourself since your departure from the Court never assayed the like, but would be foreed to confess that their griefs do far surmount your own.  
Now by how much more grievous and difficult it is to see then to hear those things that molest the mind if by means of the miseries & calamities of this wretched world, which so greatly disturbeth the quiet state of all earthly creatures, you suppose one place more painful and troublesome to continued in then an other, by so much should you think the same to be in the Court rather than any where else: for surely so it is, as yourself know right well, what semblance soever you seem to make to the contrary. But you wright sometime like a Gnato enforced of necessity either to praise that which is praise worthy, or to do that which is not descent, but deserving great blame: both which are clean contrary to your natural inclination. Such is the wretchedness of our age, that every one esteemeth his own estate to be most miserable, what though men despoil you of those transitory riches which Fortune sometime gave you in great abundance, yet can they not bereave you of that rare and renowned riches, to weet, the excellent virtues of the mind, which God and Nature hath so graciously grafted in you from the beginning, as they cannot by any means be altered or changed but do continually grow and increase in you, & are sufficient though all things else were wanting, for a heart conducted by honour, and governed by reason, to live well and happily withal.  
Thus much have I thought good to writ unto you to make proof of your wisdom, to the end she should again receive into her hands the rain of reason, which she had of late let slip, whereby you were driven for want of her good guiding to wander out of the right way, which you have so long indueoured to follow. I pray you wright oftener unto me, but let your letters contain more mirth, than those that heretofore you have sent me, to the end that I may find for my satisfaction that my words were of the force to remove from you all careful cogitations, and fill your mind with joy and gladness, praying the Almighty to grant you your health and hearts desire in all things.  
Finis.   

A young Gentleman whose love was hindered by false reports, wrighteth to his Lady that had promised her good will, so her friends would agreed unto it.  
THe poor wearied Traveyler that after long sailing the Seas in no small danger, and at the last attaineth to the wished Haven, is blown back again and brought into greater perils than before, may most easily judge the greatness of my griefs, who being raised to the top of all felicity by the favour I found at your friendly hands for furtherance of my desired comfort, I am now by mine own evil destiny & the malice of malicious makebates, who more respecting their own private profit then honest reputation, the rather to prefer those that they like better of, have raised such slanderous reports against me, utterly void of truth, as have moved them to mislike, that of late liked well of me, whereby I am driven into such dangerous doubts, as if your good nature (which I know cannot conceive any ill of them that deserve well) did not somewhat relieve me, all hope of comfort would quickly die in me, and my cares so greatly abound, as my heart should never be able to harbour such joy as is meet for my young years.  
Your mother as I hear, is so incensed against me, as not withstanding the many reasons alleged, and plain profess made to the contrary, she will not revoke that evil opinion which the false persuasions of lewd people hath caused her unjustly to conceive of me, but let her or any other think of me what they list, so long as I know myself clear of crime, and may be assured of your favour I care not it all the world were bend against me, for as you are the first that ever my fancy could frame to like of, so I assure you, if my faithful meaning found not good effect courtesy, which was so greatly commended, hoping that at the lest, you will afford me a friendly answer, though I fail of that which may better consent me, I know there be many of greater wealth that you may match withal if you will, but I am certain that if you should seek thorough out the whole world it were not possible for you to find one that would so well accounted of you, or be more careful for your commodity than I would be, if it might be my good hap to enjoy you, with whom you might be assured to lead a more quiet and better contented life, then with one whose parents hath left him a large patrimony, of evil got goods, which is commonly as ill spent. And therefore if there be in me that may content you, or it your fancy can frame to like of me as I am, let me find it by your friendly answer, which I will expect with assured hope to found it in all things agreeable to my good desires, that greatly covet to be accounted.  
Wholly yours, or not to be at all.  
Finis.   

Seigneor Francisco Vergelis, for a fair ambling gelding, suffered one Seigneor Richardo Magniffico to talk with his wife, who gave him no answer at all, but he answering for her, in such sort as if she herself had spoken it, according to the effect of his words, it came afterwards to pass.  
MAny there are that conceive so well of themselves, as in respect of their own wisdom and knowledge, they think all other men to be but fools, and void of understanding, and yet my oftentimes see, 〈◊〉 those five headed follows whilst they ●●deuour by their subtle devices, to deceive others, are in the end most deceived themselves.  
And therefore many opinion he is worthy much blame, that goeth about by such indirect means, to make more narrow 〈◊〉 of other men's wits thru is 〈◊〉. And for more perfect proof of their folly, you shall hear what happened to a Knight of Pistoy, upon the like occasion.  
In the City of Pistoy hard by Florence, there was sometime amongst the family of the Vergelesies, a Knight called Fransisco, a man very rich, wise, and well experimented in many matters, but there withal beyond all measure covetous. He having occasion to go to Milan to be Potentate there, was provided of all things fit for his purpose, and agreeable to the honourable estate he was called unto, save only of an 〈…〉 lings Selding, for himself to ride upon, and could get 〈◊〉 to his contentmence, but that he always thought the price to great that he should pay for it. There was the same time in Pistoy a young man named Richardo, decended of a base parentage, but yet very rich who for the neatness and bravery that he used in his apparel, was of every man commonly called Magniffico, & had of long time loved, & diverse times courted (without any comfort of that he craved) the wife of Seigneor Fransisco, that was exceeding fair, & withal very honest.  
Now it so happened, that this Magniffico had the fairest ambling gelding in all Tuscan, which for the beauty and goodness of it, he highly esteemed: And being manifestly known, throughout the city, that he was enamoured of the said Lady, there was some that told Seigneor Fransisco that if he would request it in gift, he might easily obtain it for the love he bore unto his wife. Seigneor Fransisco burning with avirice, sent to seek Magniffico, and requested to buy his Horse, to the end he should offer to give it him. Magniffico's hearing this, was very well pleased, and answered: Sir if you would give me all that ever you 〈…〉 world I would not cell him, but yet you may have him in gift if you please, upon the condition, that before you have him. inveigh with your lean, & in your presence 〈…〉 to your wi〈…〉 so far from you, that none may 〈◊〉 only she, Seigneor Fransisco being led by covetousness, and hoping to delude Magniffico, answered that he was very welcontent whensoever he would, and having left him in the hall, he went to his wives Chamber and cold her how easily he might obtain the ambling Gelding, commanding her to come and hear what Magniffico would say, but not to answer him to any thing that he should allege unto her. The Lady misliked much of this practice, but yet being bond to obey her husbands mind, she promised to do it, and followed him into the Hall, to hear what Magniffico would say.  
Who having again confirmed the covenant, made with her husband, set himself down by her, in one of the Corners of the hall, far enough from any body, and began to say in this manner.  
Madame, I know your wisdom to be such, as I am well assured, you have long since plainly perceived how great the love is, that your beauty (which passeth without comparison all other that ever I see) hath constrained me to bear unto you, I leave to speak of the commendable qualities and rare virtues that remain in you, which have power to vanquish the most haughty heart in the whole world, wherefore it is not needful by words to declare unto you, that the love I bear you, is far greater and more fervent, then ever man bore to any other woman living, whereby I am almost brought to that pass, that my miserable life is scarcely able to sustain my poor weakened members, and yet dare I be bold to say more unto you, that if it be lawful for men to love when they are dead, as they may do being alive, I will love you for ever.  
And therefore you may well assure yourself, that you have nothing whatsoever it be, either dear or good cheap that you may so well esteem your own, or make so sure account of, as of me, and of that I may be, and semblably of all that ever I enjoy, and to the end you may be the more certain of that I say, I assure you I should account it for a singular favour that you would vonchsafe to command me any thing that I am able any way to perform, and may be agreeable to your good liking, for whatsoever it were, though all the world should say and swear the contrary I would surely put it in practice.  
Now Madam being so much your own, as you hear I am, I take boldness (not without great reason) to address my prayers to your highness, on whom only, and on none other, my rest wealth and safety wholly dependeth, and as your most humble servant, I humbly beseech you, my dearest good & the only hope of my love, which nourisheth itself in the amorous fire, hoping in you, that your good will shall be great, and your rigour (which you have of long time extended towards me that am your own,) so mollified, that feeling myself recomforted by your compassion, I may say that as by your be wite I become amorous, so do I thereby also enjoy the life (which if your haughty heart incline not to my prayers) would without doubt be in such sort consumed, as I should shortly dye, and so might you be called and accounted the Murderer of me, and yet should my death be no honour at all unto you, notwithstanding I believe that when at any time, the same should come to your hearing, you would say to yourself.  
Alas what evil have I done, in not having compassion of my Magniffico, and being then to late to repent you of any thing that is past, it will be unto you an occasion of very great grief. Wherefore to the end that it come not so to pass, have now some compassion upon me, and before I be past remedy, tender me that which may relieve me, for in you only doth it rest to make me the most contented, or most discoutented Creatureliving, hoping always that your courtesy shall be so great, as you will not suffer me to receive death, for recompense of such and so great good will, as I bear unto you, but will with a joyful and gracious answer, recomfort my poor spirits which altogether overcome with fear, do tremble at your presence.  
Then Magniffico making an end, and having shed some tears, after many grievous sighs, he began to hearken what the Lady would answer, now she whom neither the long suits made unto her, the Iustes and Attorneys, nor lost time, or any such like thing which Magniffico had done, for the love of her, had never before moved any thing at all to love him, was now moved thereunto by the effectual words uttered by her most fervent Lover, and began to feel that which she had never felt before, and judged this to proceed only of love, and though to fulfil the charge that her husband had given her, she held her peace, notwithstanding by the secret sighs which she sent forth it might easily be conjectured what answer she would willingly have made to her beloved Magniffico, if she might.  
He having a while attended her answer, and perceiving that she answered nothing at all, greatly mernailed, and began to perceive the deceit and subtlety of her husband, but yet in regarding her countenance and perceiving some glances of her eyes cast upon him, & besides that, remembering the sighs which she sent forth from the bottom of her heart, he received some good hope, And building hereupon bethought himself, and then began to answer her, as though she herself had said, in this manner.  
Friend Magniffico, I did long since surmise that thy love towards me was very great and perfect, and now am more certain of it by thy words, which are of far greater force wherewith I am as well contented as may be, notwithstanding if it seem unto thee, that I have hitherto been hard and cruel unto thee, yet would I not have thee to think that my heart hath been such as my countenance hath showed me to be, but rather that I have loved and held thee more dear than any other, but it was meet I should for the time conceal it, as well for fear of others, as to keep my good name unspotted, but now the time cometh, that I may make thee more plainly to understand whether I love thee or not, and give thee a meet guerdon for the love which thou, hast so long born unto me. Wherefore comfort thyself, and have good hope, for Seigne or Fransisco must go within these few days, as Potentate to Milan (as thou thyself knowest) when thou for my sake hast given him thy good ambling Gelding, and so soon as he is go, thou shalt be most welcome unto me, and we will then give full accomplishment to our love, and therefore have regard from henceforth, when thou findest two, Kerchefes hanging out of my chamber window over the garden; and then in the Evening, when it is somewhat dark, repair thou unto me, by the garden door, having good regard that no body see thee, & there thou shalt find me ready to receive thee, then will we take our pleasure together, all the whole night, and make as great cheer as we may.  
When Magniffico had in the person of the Lady spoken all this; he began to answer for himself and said.  
Dear Lady, my spirits are so much occupied by the abundant joy that I conceive by your words, that I can hardly frame an answer or utter any thing, to give you condign thanks for the same, and if I could, yet should I not find sufficient time to gratify your good will as I desire, and as it is mere I should, and therefore I beseech you, that what soever I desire to do, (& cannot by words declare it) you will vouchsafe to conceive the same in your mind. Only I assure you, that without fault I will perform your charge, & order all my actions according to your good direction, and when meet opportunity shall serve me, to receive the favour which you have so freely promised, I will enforce myself in all I may, to yield you the greatest thanks that I am able. And now having no more to say unto you at this present, wishing you such joy and welfare as your heart desireth, I commit you to God.  
For all this the Lady answered not a word wherefore Magniffico rise & began to return towards her husband who seeing him up, went to meet him, and said O sir, what think you now? have I kept promise with you? No Sir answered Magniffico, for you promised me that I should talk with your wife, & you have made me to speak with an Image of stone.  
This answer greatly pleased Seigneor Fransisco, who although he had a good opinion of his wife before, yet now he thought better of her then ever he did, and said: but yet the ambling gelding that was yours, is now mine. Whereunto Magniffico answered: yea sir, but if I had thought to reap no better Fruit than this, by the favour I found at your hands, without demanding the same, I would freely have given you my Gelding.  
And would to God I had done so in deed, for than had I not in selling him, bought mine own sorrow, nor in seeking safety, lost my former liberty.  
Seigne or Fransisco laughed heartily at this answer, and seeing himself so well provided of an ambler, shortly after set forward on his journey towards Milan.  
The Lady then remaining in her house all alone, thinking upon the words that Magniffico had before time used unto her, remembering his love, and how he had for her sake, given her Husband his good ambling Gelding, seeing also the said Magniffico diverse times to pass to and fro before her door, she said unto herself.  
What shall I do? wherefore should I loose my youth? my hand is 〈◊〉 to Milan, and will not return again these six mouths; and when will he ever be able to pay his arerages, what when I am old and care not for it? beside that; when shall I ever find such a friend as Magniffico? I am now alone, and in fear of no body, and if it were known, yet is it better to do it; and afterward to repent me, than not to do it, and to be sorry that I did it not.  
And having thus debated with herself, in the end determining to take the time whilst it served, she hanged one day two Kerchefes out at the Garden window, which Magniffico perceiving (being very glad of it) he wet all secretly so soon as the night was come, to the garden door and found it open, and from thence went to an other door which was at the entrance of the house, where he meet with the Lady that attended his coming, who seeing him come, rise up, and went to meet him, and received him with great joy, he having kissed and embraced he a hundred times, followed her up the stairs into her chamber, where being arrived, they went by and by to bed together and then they known the final end of their love. And although this were the first time, yet was it not the last. For whilst Seigneor Fransisco was at Milan, and also after his return, Magniffico, frequented the house, to the great comfort and contentment of them both.  
Finis.   

Theodore enamoured of Master Emories daughter, that was his Master, got her with child, for the which he was condemned to be hanged, and as he was whipped through the streets to the place of execution, being known to his Father he procured his pardon, and so Thodore married the maid whom he had before deflowered.  
Whereby is signified the divers dangerous and troublesome accidents that daily happen unto us, by the power of love, and frailty of fortune the only torments of man's life.  
AT what time the good King William governed Sicily, there was dwelling within his dominions a young Gentleman, named mister Emery the Abbot of Trappani, who (amongst other worldly go 〈…〉 where with God had (induced him) had many fair children, wherefore having great need of Servants, as he came from the east parts, certain Galleys of Genoviah Pirates, who in costing Armenia, had taken diverse young children, whom they meant to make money of, being arrived in the Country of Levant at the same time that he passed thorough it, he bought certain of them, thinking they had been Infidels, amongst whom though the rest seemed to be but Sheapheardes, there was one that appeared to be proceeded of a higher progeny, and to be of more estimations, whose name hight. Theodore, who bring grown to man's state, (though he were used as a Slave,) was notwithstanding brought up, and nourished with master Emeries own Children, and inclining more to his natural disposition then to his present Fortune, he began to be very courteous, and well conditioned, whereby he so much pleased master Emery as he made him free, and for that he thought him to be an Infidel, caused him to be baptized, and named him Peter. And so good affiance he had in him, that shortly after, he committed to his charge all his most weighty affairs.  
Now as Master Emeries Children increased, amongst the rest, a daughter of his waring very fair and delicate, after she had long remained unmarried, seeing her parents so slow in bestowing her, at the last she fallen very far in love with Peter her father's man: and as she esteemed him greatly, and took delight in all his doings, so was she determined (if shame had not withheld her) to give him understanding of it. But love eased her of that pain: For Peter having thereby conceived some secret hope, become so enamoured of her, as he never thought himself well without her company, notwithstanding he was still in great fear least some body should perceive it, thinking that therein he did amiss.  
The Maid that easily perceived his inward meaning, the better to embolden him, made semblance unto him (as it was true in deed,) that she allowed of his love, and was well contented with it.  
And in these terms either of them remained long time without daring to say any thing the one to the other, though they both desired it very earnestly. But whilst they equally consumed in this amorous flame, Fortune (as if she had willed that which came to pass) found out a way to expel the fear, that so greatly hindered them. Which was, that Master Emery had not far from the town of Trappani, a very fair house, whereunto his wife, with his Daughter and diverse other their friends and familliers, resorted often times to pass the time, and make merry together, and one day amongst the rest, Peter being with her, after they had remained there a while, it happened, (as diverse times it doth in the summer season) that the wether overcast, wherefore the Gentlewoman and her company, (because the storm should not take them there) prepared them selves with all speed to return to Trappany. But Peter and Violenta that were young and lusty (peradventure no less pricked forward by love, then for fear of the foul wether) so far out rid all the rest of their company, that they were clean out of sight, after a little thunder, there came suddenly a great Dayle, and withal a foul foggy mist, which caused the old Gentlewoman and all her company to go back again with a Peasant of the country. But Peter and the maid having none other refuge, but an old ruinated house, that was almost all fallen to the ground, where no body inhabited, they were forced to enter into it, and there under a small conerture, that was yet remaining, they closely couched themselves, to defend the storm, which close couching was an occasion more firmly to unite their hearts, and also the time and place aptly serving them to discover their amorous passions. Peter gave the first onset, and said:  
Mistress Violenta I would to God that it would never leave hailing, and that I might still continued in this estate.  
Whereunto Violenta replied: Surely so would I, and then taking each other by the hand, and afterwards embracing and sweetelye kissing (the Storm still continuing) before they departed from thence they enjoyed the final fruition of their unfeigned affection, determining after that more often to take their pleasure together.  
At the last the storm ceased, and then they went to the next town, where they attended the coming of the rest of their company, that they might go home altogether, and after this, diverse times in a wise and secret manner, they exercised their love, & so applied their business, that Violenta grew big, which greatly disliked either of them, wherefore she used all the means she might, to found remedy for it, but it prevailed not.  
And therefore Peter fearing to loose his life, determined to take his flight, and told her of it, which Violenta hearing, swore unto him that if he went away, she would slay herself. Then Peter that loved her exceeding well said unto her. Alas my dear, why wouldst thou have me tarry, thy greatness will discover our offence, which being known, thou mayst easily procure thy pardon, but I poor wretth shall abide the punishment both for thy offence and mine own● whereunto Violenta answered, Peter my of fence must needs be known in deed, but as for thy, assure thyself (if thou bewray it not) it shall never be known to any Seeing you promise' me so (said Peter,) I will tarry, but take heed you keep promise with me. Violenta that had covered her● crime so much as she might, perceiving that her belly grew so big as she could no longer hide it, Discovered the same one day to her mother (weeping vitterly) & besought her to save her life, her mother grieved hereat beyond measure, & with a thousand threatenings demanding who was the author of it, Violenta to the end that Peter should receive no hurt thereby, feigned an excuse altogether contrary to the truth, which her mother believed, & to cover her daughter's fault, sent her to a house that she had in the country, being there when the time was come that she should be brought a bed (crying as women use to do) & her mother not thinking that master Emery (who seldom used to pass that way) would then come thither, it happened that as he returned from hunting, and passed along by the chamber where Violenta remained, he suddenly entered in, maruatling to here her cry in that manner, & demanded what the matter was. His wife seeing him there, rise up in great gree foꝭ & told him all that was happened to their daughter, but her (not so excudulous as his wife) said it was not possible she should be in that case, and not know who was the author of it, & therefore would understand the truth, for so (said he) she may peradventure purchase my fa 〈…〉, where otherwise, she must make account to dye without pity. His wife fought all he means she might, to satisfy her husband with that which her daughter had said, 〈◊〉 all her persuasions prevailed not, for running furiously with his naked sword in his hand to his daughter (who whilst her mother held him in talk,) brought forth her child, and said unto her. Tell me who is the father of this child, or else thou shalt presently die. His daughter dreading death, broke the promise which she made unto Peter, and told him how it happened, Master Emery hearing it, become so desperate through extreme anger, that he could hardly withhold his hands from kill her.  
But after he had said that which choler constrained him to speak, he took his horse, and rid to Trappany.  
And having recounted all the injury that Peter had done him, to one Master Conrade, that was Lieutenant for the King in the same Town, he suddenly e caused Peter to be taken, before he doubted it, and examining him of the matter, he confessed all that was done. And being within a few days after condemned by the lieutenant, to be whipped through the Town, and afterwards hanged.  
Master Emery (to the end to rid the world at one instant of the two poor Lovers, and their silly infant) not having yet appeased his his wrath, by the death of Peter, which he had so procured, he put poison into a cup of wine, and delivered it to a servant of his whom he most trusted, and withal a naked Sword, saying.  
Go thy ways with these to Violenta and will her in my name to choose one of these two deaths, either of poison or of the Sword, if not, I will 'cause her to be burned, in the face of the world, as she hath well deserved, and when thou haste so done, take the bratte that she hath brought forth, and having dashed out his brains against the brickwall, cast him out to be devoured of Dogs.  
When he had given this cruel Sentence against his Daughter, and his little Nephew, the Servant more apt to do ill then good, went to the place where Violenta remained.  
Peter being condemned as you have hard, was drawn & whipped toward the gallows, & so passing forward (as it pleased them, that were the ministers of justice) over against an Inn, where at the same time were lodged three great personages of Armenia whom the King of that country had sent to Rome as Ambassadors to the Pope, about certain necessary affairs, for a voyage that he had in hand, and being come thither to refresh and repose themselves for certain days and greatly honoured of all the gentlemen of Trappany, and especially of Master Emery.  
These Ambassadors hearing them to pass by, that led Peter, came to the window to see what was the matter.  
Peter that was all naked from the girdle upward, with his hands bond behind him, being diligently marked by one of them, that was a man of good years, and great authority, named Phinec his blood began to rise through a certain natural motion that he felt within himself, which perceiving he remembered him of his only son that about. xv. years before was taken from him by certain Rovers, on the sea cost of jasa of whom since that time he never had hard tidings, and considering the age of the poor unhappy wretch, whom they whipped, he advised him that if his son were living he should be of the age that he seemed to be, wherefore seeing his bosom, he began to suspect that it was his son, and thinking that if it were he, he would yet have some remembrance of his own name and his Fathers, and of the Armenian tongue.  
wherefore when he was over against him, he called him by the name of Theodore which Peter hearing, by and by lift up his head, and then phinee speaking to him in the Armenian tongue, said.  
Of whence and whose son art thou? The Sergeaunts that led him, stayed in reverence of the Ambassadors, so that Peter answered, I am of Arminia, the son of one named Phinee, and was brought hither by certain people. I know not of what country.  
Which Phinee hearing knew certainly that it was his son whom he had lost, wherefore weeping, he came down with his companions, and ran to embrace him, amongst all the Sergeauntes, and having cast over his shoulders a rich mantle that he bore about him, requested them that led him to let him loose, and stay the execution, till they herded further of the matter, whereunto they willingly accorded, and led him back again to the place from whence he came.  
Now had Phinee by this time knowledge of the cause, for the which theyled him in this sort to hanging, by the speech of the people, wherefore he went incontinently with his Companions and servants, to master Conrade, and said unto him.  
Sir, he whom you send to be executed as a Slave, is a free man, and my son, and is ready to take to his wife, her whom they say he hath deflowered, may it therefore please you to remit the execution, till it be known whether she will have him to her husband, to the end it be not found (if she he content) that you have transgressed the Law.  
Master Conrade hearing that he was the son of this Ambassador, marveled greatly, and imputing great fault to Fortune, confessed that which Phinee had said, to be most truet So he returned incontinently to his house, and sent one with all speed, to seek Master Emery, and to tell him all that was happened, master Emery, that thought his Daughter and her young son were already dead, was the heaviest man in the world, for that which he had done, knowing well that if she were not dead, all that was amiss might now be amended, wherefore he sent with all speed to the place where his Daughter remained, to the end that if they had not fulfilled his commandment they should not do it at all, he that went thither, found the servant that master Emery had sent thither, who having set the sword and poison before his Daughter, because she made no haste to take the one nor the other, used many threatenings against her, and would have constrained her to take one of them.  
But when he herded the commandment of his master, he let her alone, and returning unto him, told him how the case stood.  
Master Emery very well contented with it, went to the Ambassador Phinee, and weeping, excused himself so well as he could for that which was happened, requiring pardon at his hands, and promising him that if Theodore would take her to his wife, he was right well content to bestow her upon him.  
Phinee willingly excepted of his excuses, and answered.  
It is my will and intent that my Sun take your Daughter: and if he will not, I am content the sentence pronounced against him, be put in execution: Phinee and master Emery being agreed, they went together to seek Theodore, at the place where he was, yet fearful of death, and joyful that he had found his father, who asked him what he was determined to do in this matter.  
Theodore hearing that Violenta should be his wife if he would, his joy was so great, that he thought he leapt out of Hell into Paradise. And said, he would think himself right happy to have it so.  
They sent likewise to Violenta to know her intent, who hearing that which was happened to Theodore, and what should come to pass, where before she was the heaviest Creature living only expecting death, after many doubts, in the end giving confidence to that which they told her, she received some comfort, and answered, that if she might obtain her desire in this behalf, there could not happen a thing that would more content her, then to be the wife of Theodore.  
But notwithstanding, she said she would do that which her father had commanded her, if so it pleased him, when this match was thus agreed upon on all sides, master Emery made a sumptious feast, to the great contentment of the whole City.  
The young wife comforting herself and causing her young child to be nourished, become shortly after more fresh and fair then ever she was. And when Phinee returned again from Rome, she used such reverence towards him as appertained to her Father, and he being very well consent to have so fair and honest a Daughter, having celebrated the Nuptials with great cheer and feasting, he received her for his Daughter, and ever after so accounted her, and within a few days after, he, his son, his fair Daughter, and his little Nephew took shipping and sailed to Laiazze where the two Lovers remained so long as they lived in peace and quietness.  
Finis.   

¶ One named Salard, departing from Genes, came to Montferat where he transgressed three commandments that his Father gave him by his last will and Testament, and being condemned to dye, was delivered, and returned again into his own country.  
Right happy and blessed is that child which with dutiful reverence, showeth himself obedient to his Parents, For in so doing, he fulfilleth the commandment that God hath given him, and shall therefore live long upon the earth, having good success in all his affairs, where contrariwise, the disobedient child, is always accounted miserable, and most unhappy, for commonly his enterprises have an evil and wicked end, as you may easily perceive by this fable following.  
In Genes (which is a very ancient City, and possibly as full of pleasant delights as any other) there was dwelling not long since a Gentleman named Renaulde Scaille, a man truly no less abundant in the gifts of fortune, then in the graces of the mind: moreover (being so rich and learned as he was) he had a son named Salard, whom he loved most intyrely. Wherefore like a good and loving Father: he instructed and taught him, not suffering him to want any thing that was profitable or praise worthy for him.  
Now it happened that Renauld being well strike in years, fallen into a great and grievous malady, and perceiving himself to be at the point of death, sent for a Scrivener to make his will, whereby he constituted Salard for his heir, praying him as a good father, to observe three commandments which he prescribed unto him, without ever transgressing them.  
The first was, that for any love that he bore to his wife he should never reveal his secrets unto her.  
The second was, that he should not nourish and bring up as his child, or take for his heir one that was not of his own issue.  
The third was, that he should never subject himself to any Lord that governed his country after his own mind.  
This done, having blessed him, he turned his head towards the Wall, and shortly after yielded up the Ghost.  
Now Salard, that after his Father's death, remained sole inheritor of all his goods and possessions, perceiving himself to be young, rich, and of a good progeny (whereas he should have wholly applied himself to consider of his father's commandments, and the weighty affairs which were fallen unto him by the new possession of his patrimony) he determined to take a wife, and such a one, and of such a family as should well content him. So well he applied his business, & followed the matter so effectually, that ere one whole year was fully expired after his father's decease, he matched himself with one Theodore, Daughter to one master Odescale Doria, a Gentleman of Genes, and one of the chief in all the city.  
This Gentlewoman being fair, and very well favoured, though she were somewhat shrewish, was so well beloved of her husband, as neither by day nor night he could well abide to be out of her company. When they had continued a while together, without having any issue at all between them, Salard with his wives consent, was minded to choose some one for his child Adoptive, contrary to the will and commandment of his father, purposing to bring it up as his own, and according to that his determination, presently putting the matter in execution, he chose for his child adoptive, a young girl named postume that was Daughter to a poor widow, dwelling in the same City, whom they brought up, somewhat more wanton than well besee men.  
Shortly after, Salard determined to departed from Genes, & to inhabit in some other soil, not because he had any disliking of the place (for there was no reason he should, having there no want of any thing that was meet for his degree or agreeable with his mind) but was moved thereunto by a desire of change, which is commonly incident to all those that be at their own liberty, and not subject to any superior wherefore having got a good Purse of Money, with jewels and other great riches, being also well furnished with Horse and Armour, he departed from Genes with his wife Theodore, and his adouted Daughter Postume, and passing towards Piedmont, at the last he arrived at Montferat where he was honourably received of the inhabitants, and there in short time growing in acquaintance with diverse, he often times rid on hunting with the towns men and citizens, using with them diverse other exercises, wherein he took delight. So that his magnificence being well known throughout the whole Littie, he was not only beloved of the common sort, but also greatly esteemed and honoured amongst the chiefest, which coming to the ears of the Marquis, that governed those parts, he desired to be acquainted with him, and perceiving that he was young, rich, nobly born, wise and apt to all things, he began to bear so great affection towards him, as he could not suffer him one whole day together to he out of his company.  
To be short, so great was the love of the Marquis towards Salard at he would never vouchsafe his favour to any man, unless his suit were first preferred by him. wherefore Salard, seeing himself in so great credit with him, sought all means possible to please him, in doing that which might be most to his liking.  
The Marquis that was but young, took great pleasure in Hawking and to hunt wild Beasts, for which cause as it appertained to the degree of so great a Lord, he kept continually great store of Hawks and Hounds, and would never go abroad but he would have Salarde with him.  
It happened one day about the rest, that Salard being alone in his chamber, began to think of the great honour that the Marquis had done unto him. Then he began to consider the good graces, honest behaviour and good manners of his adobtive daughter Postume, and how obedient she was to him and his wife at all assays, and in this sort discoursing with himself he said.  
Was not my Father greatly deceived? surely I holeeve he doted, as commonly all old men do. I know not whether it were through folly or madness that he did with such instance expressly command me not to bring up a child that was not of mine own issue, nor to subject myself to will of a Lord that governeth his Subjects after his own fancy.  
Now do I plainly perceive that all his commandments were utterly void of truth: For Postume that is my adopted Daughter, and not of mine own issue, is so good a child, so witty, gentle, well born, and obedient, as may be required.  
Besides that, is it possible that I should any where be better beloved than I am of the Marquis: It is certain that in these parts he hath no superioure, neither is there any his equal and yet the love he beareth me, and the honour that daily he doth unto me, is so great, that it is commonly said I am his governor, whereat I have great marvel.  
There are many doting old men, who having utterly forgotten what they themselves were in their youth, would prescribe new Laws and ordinances to their Children, and all in vain do trouble their heads to bring them to that which they themselves never observed. whereunto they are not moved, for any love that they be are unto them, but only to trouble them long time with the observation of such things as are to no purpose. But seeing in two of those points which my Father prescribed unto me (contrary to my expectation) I have had so good success, I mind ear long to make trial of the third, though it be nothing needful, for I am well assured that my sweet wife, and friendly companion, will soon confirm the same by her hearty good will, and loyalty towards me.  
Then shall she, whom I more esteem then the Apple of my epe, gone the world plainly to understand, with what great folly these old men be commonly infected, that add to their will such ridiculous conditions. Now may I well suppose that my father when he made his will was deprived of his right sense, and that as a witless old man, and one void of all good judgement, hedid the deeds of a child.  
In whom may I better have confidence, then in mine own wife, that hath forsaken her Father, her mother, her brethren, her Sisters, and her own family, to be made one only soul & one only heart with me, so the I may safely reveal my secrets unto her of what importance soveuer they be: I will then make proof of her loyalty, not for that I do any thing misdoubt her, (being well assured that she loveth me more than herself) but to follow therein the custom of other young men that do fond suppose it to be a very foul offence, to break the lewd and beastly ordinances of their parents, which do continually run into some foolish frenzy, as men that are beside themselves.  
Thus Salard with himself deriding his father's wise and profitable precepts, purposed to break the third, and thereupon, departing from his own house, went strait to the Marquis Palace, and going to the place where his Hawks were kept, he took the best of them, and that which the Marquis made most account of, from the perch, where it stood, and secretly conveyed it to the house of a dear friend of his named master Francis, and presented the same unto him, praying him of all loves to keep it, until such time as he did further understand his mind, and then returning home again, he secretly sine one of his own Hawks, and carried it to his wife saying unto her in this manner. By well-beloved Theodore I cannot as you may well perceive, have one hour of rest for the Marquis. For be he a hunting hawking, excercising feats of arms, or using any other exploit, he always keepeth me occupied with one thing or other, in so much as I am often in the case that I know not well whither I be dead or alive, wherefore to prevent our daily excercise in hawking. I have played him such a prank, as when he knoweth of it, will not very well content him, and peradventure it may be a mean to make him keep at home for a while, & so shall we take our ease together. Then said his wise, what have you done unto him? he answered, I have slain the best and most beloved hawk that he had, and I believe when he misseth it, and can hear no ridinges of it, he will die for anger and despite, and therewith pulling out the dead hawk from under his cloak, he delivered it unto his wife, charging her to 'cause it to be dressed, saying: that he would feed upon it for the Marquis sake. Theodore hearing her husband's words, and seeing the dead hawk, made great moan, and turning towards him, began to reprove him for the offence he had committed, I marvel (quoth. she) how you could find in your heart to commit such a trespass against my Lord Marquis that beareth you so great good will, he hath always been ready to pleasure you in any thing that you would require of him, appointing you always the place next to his own person: Alas husband you have hereby wrought our utter ruin. It by ill hap the Marquis have the lest inkling in the world that you have done this e 〈…〉 l deed, what shall become of you, surely you shallbe in great danger of death where unto Salard replied, how should the Marquis have understanding of it. There is none but only you and I that kneweth it, wherefore I pray you for the love that you always have born, and yet do bear unto me, that you will not in any wise reveal it, for if you do, it will be an utter undoing to us both.  
Doubt you not of that (said she) For I had rather dye a thousand death then open such a secret. when the hawk was dressed and ready to be eaten, Salard and Theodore seite them down together at the table, but Theodore notwithstanding that he requesting her very earnestly would not eat one morsel of it, wherefore perceiving how small account she made of his words, as one thoroughly angered, he gave her so great a blow on the face with his fist, that her cheek waxed very read withal, which she taking moste grievously fallen straight on weéping, and complained greatly of his hard dealing with her. And then rising from the table in a fury, m●●bling the devils Pater noster, threatened him, and said, she would remember that injury all the days of her life, and would be sufficiently revenged both of the time and place.  
The next morning rising before her ordinary hour, without longer lingering she repaired to the Marquis, telling him from point to point of the death of his Hawk.  
Which when the Marquis heard, being inflamed with fury, not attending what Salard could says for himself, presently caused him to be apprehended, and without further consideration of the matter, condemned him to be hanged, and to loose all his goods, which he willed to be divided in three parts.  
whereof the first should remain to his wife for accusing him, the second to his Daughter, and the third to him that would do the execution upon him.  
Now Postume that was grown to be a proper and well favoured wench, understanding what sentence was pronounced against her father (for that which she was not greatly grieved) went presently to her mother, and said unto her.  
Mother were it not much better that I by doing the execution upon my father, should gain the third part of his goods, than a stranger. Then her mother said surely my Daughter this is very well considered of thee, and I would it were so, for by that means all his goods shall remain unto us two.  
Then went Postume to the Marquis and made suit unto him that she might be suffered to do the erecution upon her father, to the end that (as he had ordayded) she might thereby be the inheritor to the third part of his goods, unto which her request, the Marquis willingly accorded. Salard having now secretly informed his friend Frances of the whole matter, entreated him that when he was at the point to be led to the place of execution there to be put to Death; he would presently repair to the Marquis and entreat him that he might be brought before him, and that he would vouchsafe to hear him speak a few words unto him before he was put to death, which Frances when time served performed accordingly.  
In the mean time Salard remaining in Prison with Fetters on his feet, expecting every hour when he should be led to the place of execution, there to suffer a shameful and villainous death, weeping bitterly said unto himself. Now do I plainly perceive but all to late that my good aged father with his long experience did council me to nothing but that which might have been for my health and singular commodity, if I had well weighed it.  
He like a wise and grave person gave me good precepts, and I unhappy and witless wretch made no account of them. He commanded me for my ease and benefiete, to fly from these my domestical enemies, and I to offer them the occasion whereby they might bring me to this shameful end, and to make them conceive great pleasure in the same, have yielded myself unto their discretion, my father likewise knowing the nature of Princes to be such, that in one hour they will both love and loath, exhault and pull down, counseled me to separate myself from them, and I (fool that I am) to be deprived of my goods, honour, and life, have most unwisely sought after them. O Salard, Salard, how much better had it been for thee, if thou hadst followed thy father's steps, suffering flatterers and lewd people to follow the courts of princes and great Lords. Now see I well to what pass I am like to come, by trusting to much to myself, my wicked wife, ungracious child, and above all by to much believing the feigned friendship of the ungrateful Marquis. Now do I certainly know how well he loved me, what might he do worse unto me●surely nothing, for at one instant would he take from me my living, life, and honour, alas how soon is his great love converted to cruel and bloody hatred. I see this proverb is not used in vain, that these great Lords are like unto wine in a Bottle, which is good in the morning, & naught at night. O unhappy Salard, to what pass art thou come? where is thy nobillitye? where are thy dear parents? where is thy great riches? where is thy loyalty? thy good inclination, and accustomed courtesy, O my loving father, I am sure if you were alive again to behold me in this place, ready to suffer death, For nove other offence but only for infringing your fatherly precepts (through the deed) deferue far greater punishment them this that is now allotted unto me, you would not only seek & sue to save me from it, but wouldalso heartily pray to God to have pity upon my youthful follies, & the offences where unto only ignorance hath led me, and I for my part, as an unthankful and disobedient child, that have not regarded your grave and gracious commandments, would most humbly beseech you to pardon me. whilst Salarde was thus debating and complaining to himself, his daughter Postume (like a good and well instructed hangman) repaired to the prison where he was, and there most arrogantly presenting herself before him, she used these or such like words.  
Father for as much as froward fortune hath ordained that according to the sentence which my Lord Maques hath pronounced against you, you shall this day without fail suffer death, and that the third part of your goods is allotted unto them that shall do the execution upon you, knowing the love that you bear unto me, I hope you will not be offended, if I take upon me to discharge that office myself, for in so doing your goods shall not fall into the hands of strangers, but remain still to those of your own family, wherewith me thinketh you should be well contented. Salard that gave attentive ear to his daughter's words answered in this manner, God bless thee my daughter, thy reasons are very good, and please me right well, and though before I were unwilling to die, now would I gladly end my life, do then thy office my daughter, and defer the time no longer, Then Postume craving pardon & kissing him, took the halter and put it about his neck, exhorting him to take his death patiently, Salard seeing the sudden alteration of things, was greatly astonished, and issuing out of the prison, with his hands bond behind him, & the halter about his neck, accompanied with the bailie, & all the rest of the officers, & ministers of justice, he passed with all speed to the place of execution, & being come thither turning his back towards the ladder that was set against the Gibbet, he went leyserlye from step to step till he came to the top, where with a stout courage and stable countenance, he beheld the people on every side, declaring treateablye and with great deliberation, why he was brought thither and then in loving and friendly maver, craving pardon foral his faults and offences committed, earnestly exhorted Children to be obedient to their Parents and Elders, when the people had hard the whole cause of Salards' condemnation, there was not one in the company but wept, and greatly lamented the hard hap of this poor young man, and desired GOD to give them the grace to take example by him.  
Whylste these things were a doing, his friend Francis (that was not unmindful of him,) took his way to the Marquis Palace, and having found fit opportunity, in most humble wise besought him that Salard might be brought to his presence, to answer for himself, before he were put to death, assuring him that he was not guilty of the crime for which he had condemned him, and there upon pleadged his life: So that at the last with much ado, the Marquis caused Salard to be reprieved, & willed he should be brought unto him with the Haltex about his neck, and the hangman with him, which was performed accordingly.  
So soon as Salard was come into the Marquis presence, whose face was yet in flamed with fury, he began with a bold courage, and steadfast countenance (not being any thing troubled in his mind,) to utter these & such like words.  
Sir, the service that I have done you, and the love that I have born unto you, hath not deserved the outrage and shame that you have done unto me, in condemning me to dye so shameful & villainous a death. And although the displeasure that you have taken against my great folly, (if it may be termed ●olly) hath provoked you to use such cruelty towards me, contrary to your natural disposition, yet should you not so suddenly condemn me to death without hearing me answer in my own behalf, for the Hawk, for the which you are so much offended, (thinking that it is dead) is yet living, and in as good case as ever it was.  
And think not Sir that I would presume to kill or hurt it by any means, but this that I have done, was to make try all of certain things that I was before warned of, as I will manifest unto you.