A discourse of the aduentures
passed by Master F. I.
H. VV. to the Reader.
IN August last
passed my familiar friend
Master G. T. bestowed vppon
me y• reading of a written
Booke, wherin he had
collected diuers discourses &
verses, inuented vppon sundrie
occasions, by sundrie
gentlemē (in mine opinion)
right commendable for their
capacitie. And herewithal my said friend charged me, that
I should vse them onely for mine owne particuler commoditie,
and eftsones safely deliuer the originall copie to
him againe, wherein I must confesse my selfe but halfe a
marchant, for the copie vnt
•
him I haue safely redeliuered.
But the worke (for I thought it worthy to be publilished)
I haue entreated my friend A. B. to emprint: as
one that thought better to please a number by common
commoditie then to féede the humor of any priuate parson
by nedelesse singularitie. This I haue aduentured, for
thy contentation (learned Reader.) And further haue presumed
of my selfe to christen it by the name of A hundreth
sundrie Flowers: In which poeticall posie are setforth manie
trifling fantasies, humorall passions, and straunge affects
of a Louer. And therin (although the wiser sort wold
turne ouer the leafe as a thing altogether fruitlesse) yet I
my selfe haue reaped this commoditie, to sit and smile at
the fond deuises of such as haue enchayned them selues in
the golden fetters of fantasie, and hauing bewrayed them
selues to the whole world, do yet coniecture y• they walke
vnséene in a net. Some other things you may also finde
in this Booke, which are as voyde of vanitie, as the first
are lame for gouernement. And I must confesse that
(what to laugh at the one, & what to learne by the other)
I haue contrary to the chardge of my said friend G. T.
procured for these trifles this day of publication. Wherat
if the aucthors onely repyne, and the number of other
learned mindes be thankfull: I may then boast to haue
gained a bushell of good will, in exchange for one pynt of
péeuish choler. But if it fal out contrary to expectatiō that
the readers iudgements agrée not with myne opinion in
their commendacions, I may then (vnlesse their curtesies
supplie my want of discretion) with losse of some labour,
accompt also the losse of my familier friendes, in doubt
whereof, I couer all our names, and referre you to the
well written letter of my friende G. T. next following,
whereby you may more at large consider of these occasions.
And so I cōmend the praise of other mens trauailes
together with the pardon of mine owne rashnes, vnto the
well willing minds of discrete readers. From my lodging
nere the Strande the xx. of Ianuary. 1572.
H. W.
The letter of G. T. to his very friend
H. W. concerning this worke.
REmembring the late conference passed betwene
vs in my lodging, and how you séemed
to estéeme some Pamphlets, which I
did there shew vnto you farre aboue their
worth in skill, I do straightwaye conclude
the same your iudgment to procede
of two especiall causes, one (and principall) the stedfast
good will, which you haue euer hitherto sithens our first
familiaritie borne towardes mée. An other (of no lesse
weight) the exceding zeale and fauour that you beare to
good letters. The which (I agrée with you) do no lesse
bloome and appeare in plea
•
aunt ditties or compendious
Sonets, deuised by gréen youthful capacities, than they do
fruitefully florish vnto perfection in the ryper workes of
graue and grayheared writers. For as in the last, the
yonger sort maye make a mirror of perfecte life: so in the
first, the most frosty bearded Philosopher, maye take iust
occasion of honest recreation, not altogether without holsome
lessons, tending to the reformation of manners.
For who doubteth but that Poets in their most feyned
fables and imaginations, haue metaphorically set forth
vnto vs the right rewardes of vertues, and the due punnishments
for vices? Marie in déede I may not compare
Pamphlets vnto Poems, neither yet may iustly aduant
for our natiue countrimen, that they haue in their verses
hitherto (translations excepted) deliuered vnto vs any
such notable volume, as haue bene by Poets of antiquitie,
left vnto the posteritie. And the more pitie, that amongst
so many toward wittes no one hath bene hitherto
encouraged to followe the trace of that worthy and famous
Knight Sir Geffrey Chaucer, and after many pretie
deuises spent in youth, for the obtayning a worthles victorie,
might consume and consummate his age in discribing
the right pathway to perfect felicitie, with the due
preseruation of the same. The which although some may
iudge ouer graue a subiect to be handled in stile metrical,
yet for that I haue found in the verses of eloquent Latinists,
learned Gréekes, & pleasant Italians▪
sundrie directions,
whereby a man may be guided toward thattayning
of that vnspeakeable treasure, I haue thus farre lamented,
that our countreymen, haue chosen rather to winne
a passouer praise by the wanton penning of a few louing
layes, than to gayne immortall fame, by the Clarkely
handlinge of so profitable a Theame. For if quicknes of
inuencion, proper vocables, apt Epythetes, and store of
monasillables may help a pleasant brayne to be crowned
with Lawrell. I doubt not but both our countreymen &
coun
•
rie language might be entronised amonge the olde
foreleaders vnto the mount Helicon. But nowe let mée
returne to my first purpose, for I haue wandred somwhat
beside the path, and yet not cleane out of the way. I haue
thoug
•
t good (I say) to present you with this writtē booke,
wherein you shall find a number of Sonets▪
layes, letters,
Ballades, Rondlets, verlayes and verses, the workes of
your friend and myne Master F. I. and diuers others,
the which when I had with long trauayle confusedly gathered
together, I thought it then Opere precium, to reduce
them into some good order. The which I haue done according
to my barreyne skill in this written Booke, commending
it vnto you to read and to peruse, and desiring
you as I onely do aduenture thus to participate the sight
therof vnto your former good will, euen so that you will
by no meanes make the same common: but after your
owne recreation taken therin y• you wil safely redeliuer
vnto me the originall copie. For otherwise I shall not
onely prouoke all the aucthors to be offended with mée,
but further shall léese the opertunitie of a greater matter,
halfe and more graunted vnto mée alreadie, by the
willing consent of one of them. And to be playne (with
you my friend) he hath written (which as farre as I can
learne) did neuer yet come to the reading or perusinge of
any man but himselfe: two notable workes. The one
called, the Sundry lots of loue. The other of his owne inuencion
entituled. The clyming of an Eagles neast. These
thinges (and especially the later) doth séeme by the name
to be a work worthy the reading. And the rather I iudge
so because his fantasie is so occupied in the same, as that
contrary to his wonted vse, he hath hitherto withhelde
it from sight of any his fa
•
iliers, vntill it be finished, you
may gesse him by his Nature. And therfore I requier
your secresie herein, least if he hear the contrary, we shall
not be able by any meanes to procure these other at his
handes. So fare you wel,
from my Chamber this tenth of August. 1572.
Youres or not his owne. G. T.
WHen I had with no small entreatie obteyned of
Master F. I. and sundry other toward young gentlemen,
the sundry copies of these sundry matters, then
aswell for that the number of them was great, as also for
that I found none of them, so barreyne, but that (in my
iudgmēt) had in it Aliquid Salis, and especially being considered
by the very proper occasion whereuppon it was
written (as they them selues did alwayes with the verse
reherse vnto me the cause y• then moued them to write)
I did with more labour gather them into some order, and
so placed them in this register. Wherein as neare as I
could gesse, I haue set in the first places those which Master.
F. I. did compyle. And to begin with this his history
that ensueth, it was (as he declared vnto me) written vppon
this occasiō. The said F. I. chaunced once in the north
partes of this Realme to fall in company of a very fayre
gentlewoman whose name was Mistresse Elinor, vnto
whom bearinge a hotte affection, he first aduentured to
write this letter following.
G. T.
MIstresse I pray you vnderstand that being altogether
a straunger in these parties, my good hap hath bene
to behold you to my (no small) contentation, and my
euill happ accompanies the same, with such imperfection
of my deserts, as that I finde alwayes a readie repulse in
mine owne frowardnes. So that consideringe the naturall
clymate of the countrie, I must say that I haue found fire
in frost. And yet comparing the inequalitie of my deserts,
with the least part of your worthines, I feele a continuall
frost, in my most feruent fire. Such is then thextremitie of
my passions, the which I could neuer haue bene content
to committe vnto this telltale paper, weare it not that I
am destitute of all other helpe. Accept therfore I beseeke
you, the earnest good will of a more trustie (than worthy)
seruaunt, who being therby encouraged, may supplie the
defects of his abilitie with readie triall of duetifull loyalty.
And let this poore paper (besprent with salt teares, and
blowen ouer with skalding sighes) be saued of you as a safe
garde for your sampler, or a bottome to wind your sowing
silke, that when your last nedelfull is wrought, you maye
returne to readinge therof and consider the care of hym
who is
More youres than his owne. F. I.
THis letter by hir receiued (as I haue hard him say)
hir answere was this: She toke occasion one daye,
at his request to daunce with him, the which doinge,
she bashfully began to declare vnto him, that
she had read ouer the writinge, which he deliuered vnto
hir, with like protestation, that (as at deliuerie therof,
she vnderstode not for what cause he thrust the same into
hir bosome,) so now she coulde not perceyue therby any
part of his meaning, neuerthelesse at last semed to take
vppon hi the matte and though she disabled hir selfe,
yet gaue him thankes as &c. Wheruppon he brake the
braule, and walkinge abrode deuised immediatly these
fewe verses followinge.
G. T.
FA
••
e Bersabe the bright once bathing in a Well,
With d
•
awe bedimmd King Dauids eyes that ruled Israell.
And Salomon him selfe, the source of sapience,
Against the force of such assaultes could make but small defēce:
To it the stoutest yeeld, and strongest feele like woo,
Bold Hercules and Sampson both, did proue it to be so.
What wonder seemeth then? when starres stand thicke in skies,
If such a blasing starre haue power to dim my dazled eyes?
Lenuoie.
To you these fewe suffise, your wittes be quicke and good,
You can coniect by chaunge of hew, what humors feede my blood.
F. I.
I Haue heard the Aucthor saye, that these were the first
verses that euer he wrote vppon like occasion. The
which cōsidering ye matter precedent, may in my iudgement
be well allowed, and to iudge his doings by the effectes
he declared vnto me, that before he coulde put the
same in legible writinge, it pleased the sayd Mystresse Elinor
of hir curtesie thus to deale with him. Walking in a
garden among diuers other gentlemen & gentlewomen,
with a little frowning smyle in passing by him, she deliuered
vnto him a paper, with these words. For that I vnderstand
not (quoth shee) th'intent of your letters, I pray
you take them here againe, and bestow them at your pleasure.
The which done and sayde, shée passed by without
change either of pace or countenaunce. F. I. somewhat
troubled with her angrie looke, did sodenly leaue the companie,
& walking into a parke neare adioyning, in great
rage began to wreake his mallice on this poore paper, and
he same did rend and teare in péeces. When sodenly at a
glaunce he perceaued it was not of his owne hande writing,
and therewithall abashed, vppon better regard he
perceyued in one péece therof written (in Romaine) these
letters S H E: wherefore placing all the péeces therof, as
orderly as he could, he found therin written, these fewe
lynes hereafter followinge.
G. T.
YOur sodeyn departure, from our pastime yesterday,
did enforce me for lacke of chosen cōpany to return
vnto my worke, wherein I did so long continew, till
at the last the bare bottome did drawe vnto my remembraunce
your straunge request. And although I founde
therin no iust cause to credite your coulored woordes, yet
haue I thought good hereby to requite you with like curtesie,
so that at least you shall not condemne me for vngratefull.
But as to the matter therin conteyned, if I could
perswade my selfe, that there were in mee any coales to
kyndle such sparkes of fire, I might yet peraduenture bee
drawen to beleue that your minde were frosen with like
feare. But as no smoke ariseth, where no cole is kindled, so
without cause of affection the passion is easie to be cured.
This is all that I vnderstand of your darke letters. And as
much as I meane to aunsweare.
S H E.
MY friend F. I. hath tolde me diuers times, that
imediatly vppon receit hereof, he grew in ielosy,
that the same was not her owne deuise. And ther
in I haue no lesse allowed his iudgment, then cō
mended
his inuention of the verses, and letters before
rehersed. For as by the stile this letter of hirs bewrayeth
that it was not penned by a womans capacitie, so the
sequell of hir doings may discipher, that she had me ready
clearkes then trustie seruants in store. Well yet as the
perfect hound, when he hath chased the hurt deere, amidde
the whole heard, wil neuer giue ouer till he haue singled
it againe. Euen so F. I. though somewhat abashed with
this doubtfull shewe, yet still constant in his former intention,
ceased not by all possible meanes, to bringe this
Déere yet once agayne to the Bowes, wherby she might
be the more surely stryken: and so in the end enforced to
yeeld. Wherfore he thought not best to commit the sayde
verses willingly into hir custodie, but priuily lost them
in hir chamber, written in counterfeit. And after on the
next day thought better to replie, either vpon hir, or vppon
hir Secretary in this wyse as here followeth.
G. T.
THE much that you haue answered is very much, and
much more than I am able to replye vnto: neuerthelesse
in myne owne defence, thus I alleage: that
if my sodein departure pleased not you, I cannot my selfe
therwith be pleased, as one that seeketh not to please many,
and more disirous to please you then any. The cause of
myne affection, I suppose you behold dayly. For (self loue
auoyded) euery wight may iudge of themselues as much as
reason perswadeth: the which if it be in your good nature
suppressed with bashfulnes, then mighty loue graunt, you
may once behold my wan cheekes wasshed in woe, that
therein my salt teares may be a myrrour to represent your
owne shadow, and that like vnto Narcissus you may bee
constrayned to kisse the cold waues, wherein your coūterfait
is so liuely portrayed. For if aboundance of other matters
fayled to drawe my gazing eyes in contemplacion of
so rare excellency, yet might these your letters both frame
in me an admiration of such diuine esprit, and a confusion
to my dull vnderstanding, which so rashly presumed
to wander in this endles Laberinthe. Such I esteeme you,
and thereby am become such, and Euen.
HE. F.I.
THis letter finished and fayre written ouer, his chaūce
was to méete hir alone in a Gallery of the same house:
where (as I haue heard him declare) his manhood in this
kind of combat was first tryed, and therein I can compare
him to a valiant Prince, who distressed with power
of enemies had committed the safegard of his person to
treaty of Ambassade, and sodenly (surprised with a Camnassado
in his own trenches) was enforced toyéeld as prisoner.
Euen so my friend F.I. lately ouercome by y• beautifull
beames of this Dame Elynor, and hauing now cō
mitted
his most secrete intent to these late rehearsed letters,
was at vnwares encountred with his friendly foe,
and constrayned either to prepare some new defence, or
else like a recreant to yéeld himself as already vāquished.
Wherfore (as in a traunce) he lifted vp his dazled eyes,
& so continued in a certen kind of admiration, not vnlike
the Astronomer, who (hauing after a whole nights trauayle,
in grey morning found his desired starre) hath
fixed his hungry eies to behold the Comete long looked for:
wherat this gracious Dame (as one that could discerne ye
sun before hir chāber windowes were wide opē) did deign
to embolden the feinting Knight wt these or like words.
I perceiue now (quod she) how mishap doth follow me,
that hauing chosen this walke for a simple solace, I am
here disquieted by the man that meaneth my distructiō
▪ &
therwithal, as half angry, began to turne hir back, when
as my friend F.I. now awaked, gan thus salute hir.
Mystres (quod he) and I perceiue now, y• good hap haūts
me, for being by lack of oportunitie constreined to cōmit
my welfare vnto these blabbing leaues of bewraying pape
(shewing y• in his hand) I am here recōforted wt happy
view of my desired ioye, & therewithall reuerētly kissing
his hand, did softly distreine hir slende arme & so stayed
hir departure. The first blow thus profered & defended,
they walked & talked trauersing diuers wayes, wherein
I doubt not but y• my friend. F.I. could quit himself resonably
well. And though it stood not with duty of a friend
that I should therin require to know hir secrets, yet of
him self he declared thus much, that after long talke shée
was contented to accept his proferd seruice, but yet still
disabling hir self, and séeming to maruell what cause had
moued him to subiect his libertie so wilfully, or at least
in a prison (as she termed it) so vnworthy. Whereunto I
néede not rehearse his answere, but suppose now, y• thus
they departed: sauing I had forgotten this, shée required
of him the last rehearsed letter, saying that his frist was
lost, & now she lacked a new bottome for hir silke, the
which I warrāt you, he graūted: and so profering to take
an humble congé by Bezo las manos, shée graciously gaue
him the zuccado dez labros: and so for then departed. And
therupō recōpting hir words, he cōpyled these following,
which he termed Terza sequenza, to swéet Mystres SHE.
G. T.
OF thee deare Dame, three lessons would I learne,
What reason first persuades the foolish Fly
(As soone as shee a candle can discerne)
To play with flame, till shee bee burnt thereby?
Or what may moue the Mouse to byte the bayte
Which strykes the trappe, that stops hir hungry breth?
What calles the Byrd, where snares of deepe deceit
Are closely caught to draw hir to hir death?
Consider well, what is the cause of this.
And though percase thou wilt not so confesse,
Yet deepe desire, to gayne a heauenly blisse,
May drowne the mynd in dole and darke distresse:
Oft is it seene (whereat my hart may bleede)
Fooles playe so long till they be caught in deed.
And then
It is a heauen to see them hop and skip,
And seeke all shiftes to shake their shackles of:
It is a world, to see them hang the lip.
Who (earst) at loue, were w
•
nt to skorne and skof.
But as the Mouse, once caught in crafty trap,
May bounce and beate, agaynst the boorden wall,
Till shee haue brought hir head in such mishape,
That doune to death hir fainting lymbes must fall:
And as the Flye once singed in the flame,
Cannot commaund hir wings to waue away:
But by the heele, shee hangeth in the same
Till cruell death hir hasty iourney stay.
So they that seeke to breake the linkes of loue
Stryue with the streame, and this by payne I prou
•
.
For when
I first beheld that heauenly hewe of thyne,
Thy stately stature, and thy comly grace,
I must confesse these dazled eyes of myne
Did wincke for feare, when I first viewd thy face
But bold desire, did open them agayne,
And bad mee looke till I had lookt to long,
I pitied them that did procure my payne,
And lou'd the lookes that wrought me all the wrong:
And as the Byrd once caught (but woorks her woe)
That stryues to leaue the lymed winges behind:
Euen so the more I straue to parte thee fro,
The greater grief did growe within my minde:
Remediles then must I yeeld to thee,
And craue no more, thy seruaunt but to bee
Tyll then and euer. HE. F. I.
WHen he had wel sorted this sequence, he sought oportunitie
to leaue it where she might finde it before it
were lost. And now the coles begā to kindle, wherof (but
ere whyle) she feig
•
ed hir self altogither ignorant. The
flames began to break out on euery syde: & she to quench
them, shut vp hir selfe in hir chamber solitarely. But as
the smithie gathers greater heat by casting on of water,
euen so the more she absented hir self from company, the
fresher was the grief which galded hir remembrance: so
that at last the report was spred thorough the house, that
Mystres Elinor was sicke. At which newes F. I. tooke
small comfort: neuerthelesse Dame Venus with good aspect
dyd yet thus much furder his enterprise. The Dame
(whether it were by sodain chaunge, or of wonted custome)
fell one day into a great bléeding at the nose. For
which accident the said F. I. amongst other prety cōceits,
hath a present remedy, wherby he tooke occasion (when
they of the house had all in vayne sought many ways to
stop hir bléeding) to worke his feate in this wyse: First
he pleaded ignorance, as though he knewe not hir name,
and therefore demaunded the same of one other Gentlewomā
in the house, whose name was Mistres Frances,
who when shée had to him declared that hir name was
Elinor, hée said these wordes or very lyke in effect: If I
thought I should not offend Mystres Elynor, I would not
doubt to stop hir bléeding, without eyther payne or difficulty.
This gentlewoman somewhat tyckled wyth hys
words, did incontinent make relacion thereof to the sayd
Mystres Elynor, who immediately (declaring that F. I.
was hir late receyued seruaunt) returned the sayd messanger
vnto him with especiall charge, that hée shoulde
employ his de
•
oyre towards the recouery of hir health,
with whom the same F. I. repayred to the chamber of his
desired: and finding hir sette in a chayre, leaning on the
one side ouer a siluer bason: After his due reuereuce, hée
layd his hand on hir temples, and priuily rounding hir
in hir eare, desired hir to commaund a Hazell sticke and
a knyfe: the which being brought, hée deliuered vnto hir,
saying on this wyse. Mystres I wil speak certen words
in secret to my selfe, and doe require no more: but when
you heare me saie openly this word Amen, that you with
this knyfe will make a nycke vppon this hasell stycke:
and when you haue made fyue nickes, commaunde mée
also to cease. The Dame partly of good wil to the knight,
and partly to be stenched of hir bléeding, commaunded
hir mayd, and required the other gentils, somewhat to
stand asyde, which done, he began his oraisons, wherein
he had not long muttered before he pronounced Amen,
wherewith the Lady made a nyck on the stick with hir
knyfe. The said F. I. continued to an other Amen, when
the Lady hauing made an other nyck felt hir bléeding, began
to steynch: and so by the third Amen throughly steinched.
F. I. then chaunging his prayers into priuate talk,
said softly vnto hir. Mystres, I am glad that I am hereby
enabled to do you some seruice, and as the staunching of
your own bloud may some way recōfort you, so if y• shedding
of my bloud may any way content you, I beséech
you commaund it, for it shalbe euermore readily employed
in your seruice, and therwithal with a loud voyce pronounced
Amen: wherwith the good Lady making a nyck
did secretly answere thus. Good seruaunt (quod shée) I
must néeds think my self right happy to haue gained your
seruice and good will, and be you sure, that although ther
be in me no such desert as may draw you into this depth
of affection, yet such as I am, I shalbe alwayes glad to
shewe my self thankfull vnto you, and now, if you think
your self assured, that I shall bléede no more, doe thē prononce
your fifth Amen, the which pronounced, shée
made also hir fifth nicke, and held vp hir head, calling the
company vnto hir, and declaring vnto them, that hir bléeding
was throughly steinched. Well, it were long to tell,
what sundry opinions were pronounced vpon this acte,
and I doe dwell ouerlong in the discourses of this F. I.
especially hauing taken in hand only to copie out his verses,
but for the circumstāce doth better declare the effect,
I will returne to my former tale. F. I. tarying a while in
the chamber found oportunitie to loose his sequence néere
to his desired Mistres: And after congé taken departed.
After whose departuer the Lady arose out of hir chayre, &
hir mayd going about to remoue the same, espied, & tooke
vp the writing: the which hir mistres perceiuing, gan sodenly
cōiecture that y• same had in it some like matter to
the verses once before left in like maner, & made semblāt
to mistrust that the same shuld be some words of cōiuration:
and taking it frō hir mayd, did peruse it, & immediatly
said to the cōpany, that she would not forgo the same
for a great treasure. But to be plain, I think that (F. I. excepted)
she was glad to be rid of all cōpany, vntill shée had
with sufficient leasure turned ouer & retossed euery card
in this sequēce. And not long after being now tickled thorough
all the vaines with an vnknown humour, aduentured
of hir self to cōmit vnto a like Ambassadour the discyphring
of that which hitherto she had kept more secret,
& therupō wrot with hir own hand & head in this wyse.
G. T.
GOod seruant, I am out of al doubt much beholding vnto
you, and I haue great comfort by your meanes in the
steinching of my bloud, and I take great cōfort to reade
your letters, and I haue found in my chamber diuers songs
which I think to be of your making, and I promise you,
they are excellently made, I assure you that I wilbe
ready to doe for you any pleasure that I can, during my
lyfe: wherefore I pray you come to my chamber once in a
day, till I come abroad again, and I wilbe glad of your company,
and for because that you haue promised to bee my
HE: I will take vpon me this name, your SHE.
THis letter I haue séene, of hir own hand writing: and
as therin the Reader may finde great difference of
Style, from hir former letter, so may you nowe vnderstand
the casue. Shée had in the same house a friend, a seruaunt,
a Secretary: what should I name him? such one
as shée estéemed in time past more than was cause in
tyme present, and to make my tale good, I will (by
report of my very good friend F. I.) discribe him vnto
you. Hée was in height, the proportion of twoo
Pigmeys, in bredth the thicknesse of two bacon hogges, of
presumption a Gyant, of power a Gnat, Apishly wytted,
Knauishly mannerd, & crabbedly fauord, what was there
in him then to drawe a fayre Ladies liking? Marry sir
euen all in all, a well lyned pursse, wherwith he could at
euery call, prouide such pretie conceytes as pleased hir
péeuish fantasie, and by that meanes he had throughly
(long before) insinuated him selfe with this amorous
dame. This manling, this minion, this slaue, this secretary,
was nowe by occasion rydden to London forsothe:
and though his absence were vnto hir a disfurnishing of
eloquence: it was yet vnto F. I. an opertunitie of good
aduaūtage, for when he perceiued the change of hir stile,
and therby grew in some suspicion that the same proceded
by absence of hir chiefe Chauncellor, he thought good
now to smyte while the yron was hotte, and to lend his
Mistresse such a penne in hir Secretaries absence, as he
should neuer be able at his returne to amende the well
writing thereof, wherfore according to hir commaund
he repayred once euery daye to hir chamber, at the least,
whereas he guided him selfe so wel, and could deuise such
store of sundry pleasure and pastymes, that he grew in
fauour not onely with his desired, but also with the rest
of the gentlewomen. And one daye passing the time amongst
them, their playe grew to this end, that his Mistresse,
being Quéene, demaunded of him these thrée questions.
Seruaunt (quod she) I charge you, aswell vppon
your allegiance being nowe my subiect, as also vppon
your fidelitie, hauing vowed your seruice vnto mée
that you aunswere me these thrée questions, by the very
truth of your secret thought. First, what thing in this vniuersall
world doth most reioyce and comforte you? F. I.
abasing his eyes towardes the ground, toke good aduisement
in his aunswere, when a fayre gentlewoman of
the company clapped him on the shoulder, saying, how
now sir, is your hād on your halfpeny? To whom he aunswered,
no fayre Lady, my hand is on my harte, and yet
my hart is not in myne owne handes: wherewithall abashed
turning towardes dame Elinor he sayed. My souereigne
& Mistresse, according to the charge of your commaund,
and the dutie that I owe you, my tongue shal bewraye
vnto you the truth of myne intent. At this present
a rewarde giuen me without desert▪ doth so reioyce mée
with continuall remembraunce therof, that though my
mind be so occupied to thinke thereon, as that daye nor
night I can be quiet from that thought, yet the ioye and
pleasure which I conceiue in the same is such, that I can
neither be cloyed with continuaunce therof, nor yet afrayde,
that any mishap can counteruayle so great a treasure.
This is to me such a heauen to dwell in, as that I
féede by day, and repose by night, vpon the fresh record
of this reward, this (as he sayeth) he ment by the kysse
that she lent him in the Gallery, and by the profession of
hir last letters and wordes. Well, though this aunswere
be somewhat mistie, yet let my friendes excuse be: that
taken vppon the sodeyne he thought better to aunswere
darkely, then to be mistrusted openly. Hir second questiō
was, what thing in this life did moste greue his harte,
and disquiet his mind, whereunto he answered. That although
his late rehersed ioye were incomparable, yet the
greatest enimie that disturbed the same, was the priuie
worme of his owne giltie conscience, which accused him
euermore with great vnworthinesse: and that this was
his greatest grief. The Lady byting vppon the bit at his
cunning answeres made vnto these two questions, gan
thus replie, Seruant, I had thought to haue touched you
yet nearer with my third question, but I will refrayne
to attempt your pacience: and now for my third demaūd,
aunswere me directly in what manner this passion doth
handle you? and howe these contraries maye hang together
by any possibilitie of concorde? for your wordes are
strauunge. F. I. now rowsing him selfe boldly toke occasion
thus to handle his aunswere. Mistresse (quod he)
my wordes in dede are straunge, but yet my possion is
is much straunger, and theruppon this other day to content
mine owne fātasie I deuised a Sonet, which although
it be a péece of Cocklorells musicke, and such as I might
be ashamed to publish in this company, yet because my
truth in this aunswere may the better appeare vnto you,
I pray you vouchsafe to receiue the same in writing: and
drawing a paper out of his packet presented it vnto hir,
wherin was written this Sonet.
G. T.
LOue, hope, and death, do stirre in me such strife,
As neuer man but I led such a life.
First burning loue doth wound my hart to death,
And when death comes at call of inward griefe
Colde lingering hope, doth feede my fainting breath
Against my will, and yeeldes my wound reliefe:
So that I liue, but yet my life is such,
As death would neuer greue me halfe so much.
No comfort then but only this I tast,
To salue such sore, such hope will neuer want,
And with such hope, such life will euer last,
And with such life, such sorrowes are not skant.
Oh straunge desire, O life with torments tost
Through too much hope, mine onely hope is lost.
Euen HE F. I.
THis Sonet was highly commended, and in my iudgement
it deserueth no lesse, I haue heard F. I. saye,
that he borowed th'inuentiun of an Italian: but were it
a translation or inuention (if I be Iudge) it is both prety
and pithy. His dutie thus perfourmed, their pastimes ended,
and at their departure for a watch worde hée counselled
his Mistresse by little and little to walke abrodesayinge
that the Gallery neare adioyning was so pleasaunt,
as if he were halfe dead hée thought that by walking
therin he might bée halfe and more reuiued. Think
•
you so seruaunt (quod she?) and the last tyme that I walked
there I suppose I toke the cause of my mallady, but
by your aduise (and for you haue
•
o clerkly steynched my
bleeding) I will assaye to walke there to morow. Mistres
quod he, and in more ful accomplishment of my duetie towards
you, and in sure hope that you wil vse y• same one
lie to your owne priuate cōmoditie, wil there awaite vppon
you, & betwene you & me wil teach you the ful order
how to steynch the bléeding of any creature, wherby you
shall be as cuning as my selfe. Gramercy good seruaunt,
qd she, I thinke you lost the same in writing here yesterday,
but I cannot vnderstand it, and therfore to morrowe
(if I féele my selfe any thing amended) I wil send for you
thither to enstruct me throughly: thus they departed. And
at supper time, the Knight of the Castel finding fault that
his gestes stomacke serued him no better, began to accuse
the gro
•
enes of his vyands, to whom one of the gentlewomen
which had passed the afternoone in his company,
aunswered. Nay sir qd she, this gentleman hath a passiō,
the which once once in a daye at the least doth kill his appetite.
Are you so well acquainted with the disposition of
his body qd the Lord of the house? by his owne saying, qd
she, & not otherwise. Fayre Ladie qd
F. I. you either mistoke
me or ouerheard me then, for I told of a comfortable
humor which so
•
ed me with continual remēbrance of
ioye, as y• my stomack being ful therof doth desire in maner
none other vittayles. Why sir, qd y• host, do you then
liue by loue? God forbid Sir quod F. I. for then my
chéekes wold be much thinner then they be, but there are
diuers other greater causes of ioy, then y• doubtful lottes
of loue, and for myne owne part, to be playne, I cannot
loue, and I dare not hate. I would I thought so, quod the
gentlewoman. And thus with prety nyppes, they passed
ouer their supper: which ended, the Lord of the house require
•
F. I. to daunce and passe the tyme with the gentlewoman,
which he refused not to doe. But sodenly, before
the musicke was well tuned, came out Dame Elynor in
hir night attyre, and said to the Lord, that (supposing the
solitarinesse of hir chāber had encreased hir maladie) she
came out for hir better recreaciō to sée them daūce, Wel
done daughter (quod the Lord.) And I Mistres (quod F.
I.) would gladly bestowe the leading of you about this
great chamber, to dryue away the fayntnesse of your feuer.
No good seruaunt, quod the Lady, but in my stéede, I
pray you daunce with this fayre Gentlewoman, pointing
him to the Lady that had so taken him vp at supper. F. I.
to auoyde mistrust, did agrée to hir request without furder
entreaty. The daunce begon, this Knight marched
on with the Image of S. Fraunces in his hand, and S. Elynor
in his hart. The violands at ende of the pauion staied
a whyle: in which time this Dame sayde to F. I. on
this wyse. I am right sorry for you in two respects, although
the familiarity haue hytherto had no great continuance
betwene vs: and as I do lament your case, so doo
I reioyce (for myne own contentation) that I shall now
sée a due triall of the experiment which I haue long desired.
This sayd, she kept silence. When F. I. (somewhat
astonied with hir straunge spéeche) thus aunswered: Mystres
although I cannot conceyue the meaning of your
wordes, yet by curtesy I am constrayned to yeelde you
thankes for your good will, the which appeareth no lesse
in lamenting of mishaps, than in reioycing at good fortune.
What experiment you meane to trye by mée, I
know not, but I dare assure you, that my skill in experiments
is very simple. Herewith the Instruments sounded
a new Measure, and they passed forthwardes leauing
to talke, vntill the noyse ceassed: which done, the gentlewoman
replied. I am sory sir, that you did erewhile, denie
loue and all his lawes, and that in so open audience.
Not so quod F. I. but as the word was roundly taken, so
can I readely aunswere it by good reason. Wel quod she,
how if the hearers will admit no reasonable aunswere?
My reason shall yet be neuerthelesse (quod he) in reasonable
iudgement. Herewith she smyled, and he cast a glance
towardes dame Elinor askances art thou pleased? Againe
the vyols called them forthwardes, and againe at the end
of the braule sayd F. I. to this gentlewoman: I pray you
Mistres, and what may be the second cause of your sorow
sustained in my behalfe? Nay soft quod she, percase I haue
not yet told you the first, but content your selfe, for the second
cause you shall neuer know at my handes, vntill I
sée due trial of the experiment which I haue long desired.
Why then (quod she) I can but wish a present occasion to
bring y• same to effect, to ye end that I might also vnderstād
ye mistery of your meaning. And so might you fail of
your purpose (quod she) for I meane to be better assured
of him that shall know the depth of mine intent in such a
secrete, than I do suppose that any creature (one except)
may be of you. Gentlewomā (quod he) you speak Greeke,
the which I haue now forgotten, and myne instructers
are to farre from mée at this present to expound your
words. Or els to neare (quod she) and so smiling stayed
hir talke, when the musick called them to another daūce.
Which ended, F. I. halfe afrayd of false suspect, and more
amazed at this straunge talke, gaue ouer, and bringing
Mistresse Fraunces to hir place was thus saluted by his
Mistresse. Seruaunt (quod she) I hadde done you great
wrong to haue daunced with you, con
••
dering that this
gentlewoman and you had former occasion of so waighty
conference. Mistresse sayd F. I. you had done mée great
pleasure, for by our conference I haue but brought my
braynes in a busie coniecture. I doubt not (sayd his Mistresse)
but you wil end that busines easely. It is hard said
F. I. to end the thing, wherof yet I haue founde no beginning.
His Mistresse with change of countenaunce
kept silence, whereat dame Fraunces reioycing, cast out
this bone to gnawe on. I perceyue (quod she) it is euill to
halt before a Creple. F. I. perceyuing now that his Mistresse
waxed angry thought good on hir behalfe thus to
aunswere: and it is euill to hop before them that runne
for the Bell: his Mistresse replied, and it is euill to hang
the Bell at their héeles which are alwayes running. The
L. of he Castle ouerhearing these proper quippes, rose
out of his chayre, and comming towards F. I. required
him to daunce a Gallyard. Sir sayd F. I. I haue hitherto
at your apoyntment but walked about the house, now if
you be desirous to sée one tomble a turne or twayne, it is
like ynough tyat I might prouoke you to laugh at mée,
but in good faith my dauncing dayes are almost done, and
therfore sir (quod he) I pray you speake to them that are
more nymble at tripping on the toe. Whilest hée was
thus saying dame Elynor had made hir Congey, and was
now entring the doore of hir chamber: when F. I. all amazed
at hir sodeyne departure followed to take leaue of his
Mistresse: but she more then angrie, refused to heare his
good night, and entring hir chamber caused hir mayde
to clappe the doore. F. I. with heauie cheare returned to
his company, and Mistresse Fraunces to toutch his sore
with a corosiue sayd to him softly in this wise. Sir you
may now perceyue that this our countrie cannot allowe
the French maner of dauncing, for they (as I haue heard
tell) do more commonly daunce to talke, then entreate to
daunce. F. I. hoping to driue out one nayle with another,
and thinking this a meane most conuenient to suppresse
all ielous supposes, toke Mistresse Fraunces by the hand
•
and with a heauie smyle aunswered. Mistresse and I
(because I haue séene the french maner of dauncing) will
eftsones entreat you to daunce a Bargynet: what meane
you by this quod Mistresse Fraunces. If it please you to followe
(quod he) you shall sée that I can iest without ioye,
and laugh without lust, and calling the musitions, caused
them softly to sound the Tyntarnell, when he clearing his
voyce did Alla Napolitana applie these verses following,
vnto the measure.
G. T.
IN prime of lustie yeares, when Cupid caught me in
And nature taught the way to loue, how I might best begin:
To please my wandring eye, in beauties tickle trade,
To gaze on eche that passed by, a carelesse sporte I made.
With sweete entising bayte, I fisht for many a dame,
And warmed me by many a fire, yet felt I not the flame:
But when at last I spied, the face that please me most,
The coales were quicke, the wood was drie, & I began to tost
•
.
And smyling yet full oft, I haue beheld that face,
When in my hart I might bewayle mine owne vnluckie case:
And oft againe with lokes that might bewray my griefe,
I pleaded hard for iust reward, and sought to find reliefe.
What will you more? so oft, my gazing eyes did seeke
To see the Rose and Lilly striue vppon that liuely cheeke:
Till at the last I spied, and by good profe I found,
That in that face was paynted playne, the pearcer of my woūd.
Then (all to late) agast, I did my foote reitre,
And sought with secrete sighes to quench my greedy skalding fire:
But lo, I did preuayle asmuch to guide my will,
As he that seekes with halting heele, to hop against the hill.
Or as the feeble sight, would serche the sunny beame,
Euen so I found but labour lost, to striue against the streame.
Then gan I thus resolue, since liking forced loue,
Should I mislike my happie choyce, before I did it proue?
And since none other ioye I had but hir to see,
Should I retire my deepe desire? no no it would not bee:
Though great the duetie were, that she did well deserue,
And I poore man, vnworthy am so worthy a wight to serue,
Yet hope my comfort stayd, that she would haue regard
To my good will, that nothing crau'd, but like for iust reward:
I see the Faucon gent sometimes will take delight,
To seeke the sollace of hir wing, and dally with a kite.
The fayrest Woulf will chuse the foulest for hir make,
And why? because he doth endure most sorrowe for hir sake▪
Euen so had I like hope, when dolefull dayes were spent,
When weary wordes were wasted well, to open true entent.
When fluddes of flowing teares, had washt my weeping eyes,
When trembling tongue had troubled hir, with loude lamenting cries:
At last hir worthy wil would pitie this my playnt,
And comfort me hir owne poore slaue, whom feare had made so faint.
Wherfore I made a vow, the stonie rocke should start,
Ere I presume, to let hir slippe out of my faithfull hart.
Lenuoie.
And when she sawe by proofe, the pith of my good will,
She tooke in worth this simple song, for want of better skill.
And as my iust deserts, hir gentle hart did moue,
She was content to answere thus: I am content to loue.
F. I.
THese verses are more in number than do stand with
contentation of some iudgements, and yit the occasiō
throughly considered, I can commend them with the rest,
for it is (as may be well fermed) continua or at
•
o▪
declaring
a full discourse of his first loue: wherin (ouer and besides
that the Epythetes are aptly applied, & the verse of it self
pleasant enough) I note that by it he ment in cloudes to
discipher vnto Mistres Fraunces such matter as she wold
snatch at, and yit could take no good hold of the same. Furthermore,
it aunswered very aptly to the note which the
musike sounded, as the skilfull reader by due triall may
approue. This singing daunce, or daunsing song ended,
Mistres Fraunces giuing due thanks, séemed weary also
of the company, and profering to departe, gaue yit this
farewell to F. I. not vexed by choller, but pleased with
contentation, and called away by heauy sléepe: I am constreyned
(quod she) to bid you good night, and so turning
to the rest of the company, tooke hir leaue. Then the
Maister of the house commaunded a torch to light F. I. to
his lodging, where (as I haue heard him saye) the sodeyn
chaunge of his Mistres countenance, togither with the
straungenes of Mistresse Fraunces talke, made such an
encounter in his mynde, that he could take no reste that
night: wherefore in the morning rysing very earely (although
it were farre before his mistres hower) he rooled
his choller by walking in the Gallery neare to hir lodging,
and there in this passion compyled these vers
•
s following.
G. T.
A cloud of care hath coured all my coste,
And stormes of stryfe doo threaten to appeare:
The waues of woo, which I mistrusted moste,
Haue broke the bankes wherein my lyfe lay cleere:
Chippes of ill chaunce, are fallen amyd my choyce,
To marre the mynd, that ment for to reioyce.
Before I sought, I found the hauen of hap▪
Wherein (once found) I sought to shrowd my ship,
But lowring loue hath lift me from hir lap,
And crabbed lot beginnes to hang the lip:
The droppes of dark, mistrust do fall so thick,
They pearce my coate, and touch my skin at quick▪
What may be sayd, where truth cannot preu
•
yl
•
?
What plea may serue, where will it selfe is Iudge?
What reason rules, where right and reason fayle?
•
emediles then must the giltlesse trudge:
And s
•
eke out care, to be the caruing knyfe
To cut the thred, that lingreth such a lyfe,
F. I.
THis is but a rough
〈◊〉
, and reason, for it was deuised
in great disquiet of mynd, and written
〈◊〉
rage,
yet haue I séene much worse passe the mustors, yea
and where both the Lieutenant and Prouost Marshall
were
〈◊〉
of rype iudgement: and as it is, I pray you
〈…〉
here, for the truth is that F. I. himselfe had so
〈…〉
therin, that he neuer presented it, but to y• matter. Whē
he had long (and all in vayn) looked for the cōming of his
Mistres into hir appointed walk: he wandred into y• park
néere adioyning to the Castle wall; where his chaunce
was to méete Mistresse Fraunces, accompanied with one
other Gentlewoman, by whom he passed with a reuerēce
of curtesie: and so walking on, came into the side of a thicket▪
where he sat down vnder a trée to allay his sadnesse
with solitarines. Mistres Fraunces, partly of curtesie and
affection, and partly to content hir mind by continuance
of such talk as thei had commenced ouer night, entreated
hir companion to goe with hir vnto this trée of reformacion,
whereas they found the Knight with his armes vnfolded
in a heauy kind of contemplation, vnto whom Mistres
Fraunces stepped apace, (right softly) & at vnwares
gaue this salutation. I little thought Syr Knight (quod
she) by your euensong yesternight, to haue found you presently
at such a morrow masse, but I perceiue you serue
your Saint with double deuotion: and I pray God graūt
you treble méede for your true intent. F. I. taken thus vpon
the sodeine, could none otherwise answer but thus:
I told you Mistresse (quod he) that I could laughe without
lu
••
, and iest without ioye: and there withall starting
vp, with a more bolde countenance came towardes the
Dames, profering vnto them his seruice, to wayte vpon
thē home wards. I haue heard say oft times (qd Mistres
Fraunces) that it is hard to serue two Maisters at one
time, but we wilbe right glad of your company. I thank
you (quod F. I.) and so walking on with them, fell into
sundry discourses, still refusing to touch any part of
their former communicacion, vntill Mistresse Frauuces
sayd vnto him: by my troth (quod thée) I would bee your
debtour these two dayes, to aunswer me truely but vnto
one question that I will propound: fayre Gentlewoman
(quod hée) you shall not neede to becomme my bebtour,
but if it please you to quit question by questiō, I wil
be more ready to gratifie you in this request, than either
reason requireth, or than you would be willing to worke
my cōtentatiō. Master F. I. (qd she, & y• sadly) peraduētur
you know but a litle how willing I would be to procure
your contentation, but you know that hitherto familiaritie
hath taken no déepe roote betwixt vs twayne. And
though I find in you no maner of cause whereby I might
doubt to commit this or greater matter vnto you, yit
haue I stayed hitherto so to doe, in doubt least you might
thereby iustly condempne mée both of arrogancy and
lack of discretion, wherwith I must yit foolishly affirm,
that I haue with great payne brydeled my tonge from
disclosing the same vnto you. Such is then the good will
that I beare towards you, the which if you rather iudge
to bée impudencie, than a friendly meaning, I may then
curse the hower that I first concluded thue to deale with
you: herewithall being now red for chaste bashefulnesse,
shée abased hir eyes, and stayed hir talke, to whom F. I.
thus aunswered. Mistresse Fraunces, if I should with so
excéeding villanie requite such and so excéeding courtesie,
I might not onely séeme to digenerate from all gentry,
but also to differ in behauiour from all the rest of my lyfe
spent: wherefore to be playne with you in few wordes,
I thinke my selfe so much bound vnto you for diuers respects,
as if abilitie doe not fayle mée, you shall fynde mée
myndfull in requitall of the same: and for disclosing your
mind to mée, you may if so please you aduenture it without
aduenture, for by this Sunne, quod hée, I will not
deceyue such trust as you shall lay vppon mée, and furthermore,
so farre foorth as I may, I wilbe yours in any
respect: wherfore I beséech you accept me for your faithfull
friend, and so shall you surely find mée. Not so, quod
shée, but you shalbe my Trust, if you vouchsafe the name,
and I wilbe to you as you shall please to terme mée: my
H
•
pe (quod hée) if you so be pleasedand: thus agreed, they
two walked a parte from the other Gentlewoman, and
fell into sad talke, wherein Mistresse Fraunces dyd very
curteousely declare vnto him, that in déed, one cause of
hir sorrow susteyned in his behalfe, was that he had sayd
so openly ouer night, that hée could not loue, for shée perceyued
very well the affection betwéene him and Madame
Elynor, and she was also aduertised that Dame
Elynor stood in the portall of hir chamber, harkening to
the talke that they had at supper that night, wherefore
she séemed to be sory that such a woord (rashely escaped)
might become great hinderaunce vnto his desire: but a
greater cause of hir grief was (as she declared) that hys
hap was to bestowe his lyking so vnworthely, for shee
séemed to accuse Dame Elynor, for the most vnconstant
woman lyuing: In full profe whereof, she bewrayed vnto
F. I. how she the same Dame Elynor, had of long time
ben yéelded to the Mynion Secretary, whom I haue before
described: in whom though there bee (quod shée) no
one point of worthynesse, yit shameth she not to vse him
as h
••
•
ea
•
est friend, or rather hir holyest Idoll, and that
this not withstanding Dame Elynor had bene also sundry
tymes woone to choyce of chaunge, as she named vnto
F. I. two Gentlemen whereof the one was named
H. D. and that other H. K. by whom shee was during
sundry tymes of their feuerall aboad in those parties, entreated
to like
•
urteousie, for these causes the Dame
Fraunces séemed to mislike F. I. choice, and to lament
that she doubted in processe of time to sée him abused.
The experiment she ment was this, for that she thought
F. I. (I vse hir wordes) a man in euery respect very
woorthy to haue the seuerall vse of a more commodious
common, she hoped nowe to sée if his enclosure thereof
might be defensible against hir sayd Secretary, and such
like. These things and diuers other of great importance,
this courteouse Lady Fraunces did friendly disclose
vnto F. I. and furthermore, did both instruct and aduise
him how to procéede in his enterprise. Now to make my
talke good, and least the Reader might bee drawen in a
ielouse suppose of this Lady Fraunces; I must let you vnderstand
that shée was vnto F. I. a kinswoman, a virgin
of rare chastitie, singular capacitie, notable modestie,
and excellent beauty: and though F. I. had cast his
affection on the other (being a married woman) yit was
ther in their beauties no great difference: but in all other
good giftes a wonderfull diuersitie, as much as might be
betwene constancie &
•
litting fantasie, betwene womāly
coūtenance & girlish garishnes, betwene hot dissimulacion
& temperate fidelitie. Now if any man will curiously
aske the question why F. I. should chuse the one and leaue
the other, ouer and besides the cōmon prouerbe? (So many
men so many minds) thus may be answered: we sée by cō
mon
experience, y• the highest flying fa
•
con, doth more
cōmonly pray vpō the corn fed crow, & the simple shiftles
doue, then on the mounting kyte: and why? because the
one is ouercome with lesse difficultie then that other.
Thus much in defence of this Lady Fraunces, & to excuse
the choice of my friend F. I. who thought himself now no
lesse beholding to good fortune, to haue found such a trusty
friend, then bounden to Dame Venus, to haue wonne such
a Mistres. And to returne vnto my pretence, vnderstand
you, y•
F. I. (being now with these two fair Ladies come
very néer the castle) grewe in some ielouse doubt (as on
his own behalf) whether he were best to break cōpany or
not. Whē his assured Hope, perceiuing the same, gan thus
recomfort him: Good sir (qd she) if you trusted your trusty
friends, you should not néede thus cowardly to stand in
dread of your friendly enimies. Well said in faith (quod
F. I. and I must confesse, you were in my bosome before
I wist, but yit I haue heard said often, that in Trust is
treason. Wel spokē for your self quod his Hope. F. I. now
remembring that he had but erewhile taken vpon him y•
name of hir Trust, came home per misericordiam, when his
Hope entring the Castle gate, caught hold of his lay, and
half by force led him by the gallery vnto his Mistre
•
chā
ber:
wheras after a little dissembling disdain, he was at
last by the good helpe of his Hope, right thankfully receyued:
and for his Mistres was now ready to dyne, he was
therfore for that time arested there, & a supersedias sent into
the great chāber vnto the Lord of the house, who expected
his cōming out of the parke. The dinner ended, & he
throughly contented both wt welfare & welcome, they fell
into sundry deuices of pastime: at last F. I. taking into
his hand a Lute that lay on his Mistres bed, did vnto the
note of y•
Venetian galliard applie the Italian
•
ittie writtē
by the woorthy Bradamant vnto the noble Rugier, as Ari
•
sto
hath it. Rugier qual semper fui, &c. but his Mistres
could not be quiet vntil shée heard him repeat the Tyntarnell
which he vsed ouer night, the which F. I.
〈…〉
nights roste, with the bruse thereof. Well, seruaunt
(quod she) content your selfe, and for your sake, I will
speake to hir to prouide him a playster, the which I my
selfe will applye to his hurt: And to the ende it may
woorke the better with him, I will puruey a lodging
for him, where hereafter he may sléepe at more quiet.
This layd the rosie hewe, distained hir sickly chéekes, and
she returned to the company, leauing F. I. rauished betwene
hope and dread, as one that could neyther co
••
ecture
the meaning of hir misticall wordes, nor assuredly
•
rust vnto the knot of hir slyding affections. When the
Lady Fraunces cōming to him, demaunded, what? dreame
you sir? Yea mary do I fayre Lady (quod he). And what
was your dreame, sir (quod she?) I drempt (quod F. I.) that
wa
••
ing in a pleasaunt garden garnished with sundrie
〈◊〉
, my hap was to espie hanging in the ayre, a hope
wher in I might well behold the aspectes and face of the
heauens, and calling to remembrance the day and hower
of my natiuitie, I did therby (according to my small skill
in Astronomy) trie the conclusions of myne aduentures.
And what found you therin (quod dame Fraunces?) you
awaked me out of my dreame (quod he) or ells paraduenture
you should not haue knowne. I beleue you well
(quod the Ladi Fraunces) and laughing at his quicke aunswere
brought him by the hand vnto the rest of his companie:
where he
•
aried not long before his gracious Mistresse
had him to farewell, and to kepe his hower there
againe, when he should by hir be sommoned. Hereby F.
I. passed the rest of that daye in hope awayting the happy
time when his Mistresse shoulde sende for him. Supper
time came and passed ouer, and not long after came the
handmayd of the Lady Elynor into the great chamber, desiring
F. I. to repayre vnto their Mistresse, the which hée
willingly accomplished: and being now entred into hir
chamber, he might perceyue his Mistresse in hir nightes
attyre, preparinge hir selfe towardes bed, to whom F.
I. sayed: Why howe now Mistresse? I had thought this
night to haue sene you daunce (at least or at last) amongst
vs? By my troth good seruaūt (qd she) aduentured so soone
vnto the great chamber yesternight, that I find my selfe
somewhat sickly disposed, and therfore do streyne curtesie
(as you sée) to go the soner to my bed this night: but before
I slepe (quod she) I am to charge you with a matter
of waight, and taking him apart from the rest, declared
that (as that present night) she would talke with him
more at large in the gallery néere aioyning to hir chamber.
Here vppon F. I. discretely dissimuling his ioye, toke
his leaue and returned into the great chamber, where
he had not long continued before the Lord of the Castell
commaūded a torch to light him vnto his lodging, whereas
he prepared himselfe and went to bed, commaunding
his seruant also to go to his rest. And when he thought
aswell his seruaunt, as the rest of the houshold to be safe,
he arose again, & taking his night gowne, did vnder the
same conuey his naked sword, and so walked to the gallerie,
where he found his good Mistresse walking in hir
night gowne and attending his comming. The Moone
was now at the full, the skies cleare, and the weather
temperate, by reason wherof he might the more playnely
and with the greater contentation behold his long desired
ioyes, and spreding his armes abrode to embrace
his louing Mistresse, he sayd: oh my deare Lady when
shall I be able with any desert to counteruayle the least
parte of this your bountifull goodnesse? The dame (whether
it were of feare in déede, or that the wylynes of womanhode
had taught hir to couer hir conceites with some
fyue dissimulation) stert backe from the Kning
•
, and shriching
(but softly) sayd vnto him. Alas seruaunt what haue
I deserued, that you come against me with naked sword
as against an open enimie. F. I. perceyuing hir entent
excused himselfe, declaring that he brought the same for
their defence, & not to offend hir in any wise. The Ladie
being therwith somwhat apeased, they began wt more cō
fortable
gesture to expell the dread of the said late affright,
and sithens to become bolder of behauiour, more
familier in spéech, & most kind in accomplishing of comon
comfort. But why hold I so long discourse in discribing
the ioyes which (for lacke of like experience) I cannot set
out to y• ful? Were it not that I knowe to whom I write,
I would the more beware what I write. F. I. was a
man, and neither of vs are sencelesse, and therfore I shold
slaunder him, (ouer and besides a greater obloquie to the
whole genealogie of Enaeas) if I should imagine that of
tender hart he would forbeare to expresse hir more tender
limbes against the hard floore. Suffised that of hir
curteouse nature she was content to accept bords for a
bead of downe, mattes for Camerike shéetes, and the
night gowne of F. I. for a counterpoynt to couer them,
and thus with calme cōtent, in stéede of quiet sléepe, they
be
•
uiled the night, vntill the proudest sterre began to abandon
the fyrmament, when F. I. and his Mistresse,
were constrayned also to abandon their delightes, and
with ten thousand swéet kisses and straight embracings,
did frame themselues to play loth to depart. Wel, remedie
was there none, but dame Elynor must returne vnto
hir chamber, and F. I. must also conuey himselfe (as closely
as might be) into his chamber, the which was hard to
do, the day being so farre sprong, and hée hauing a large
base court to passe ouer before he could recouer his staire
foote doore. And though he were not much perceyued, yet
the Ladie Fraunces being no lesse desirous to sée an issue
of these enterprises, then F. I. was willing to couer them
in secresy, did watch, & euen at the entring of his chamber
doore, perceyued the poynt of his naked sworde glistring
vnder the skyrt of his night gowne: wherat she smyled &
said to hir selfe, this geare goeth well about. Wel, F. I.
hauing now recouered his chamber, he went to bedde, &
there let him sléepe, as his Mistresse did on that otherside.
Although the Lady Fraunces being throughly tickled now
in all the vaynes, could not enioye such quiet rest, but arising,
toke another gentlewoman of the house with hir,
and walked into the parke to take the freshe ayre of the
morning. They had not long walked there, but they retorned,
and though F. I. had not yet slept sufficiently, for
one which had so farre trauayled in the night past, yet
they went into his chamber to rayse him, and comming
to his beds side, found him fast on sléepe. Alas
•
uod that
other gentlewoman, it were pitie to awake him: euen
so it were quod dame Fraunces, but we will take awaye
somewhat of his, wherby he may perceyue that we were
here, and loking about the chamber, his naked sworde
presented it selfe to the handes of dame Fraunces, who
toke it with hir, and softly shutting his chamber doore againe,
went downe the stayres and recouered hir owne
lodging, in good order and vnperceyued of any body, sauing
onely that other gentlewoman which accompanied
hir. At the last F. I. awaked, and apparreling himselfe,
walked out also to take the ayre, and being throughly recomforted
aswell with remembraunce of his ioyes forepassed,
as also with the pleasaunt hermony which the
Byr
•
es made on euery side, and the fragrant smel of the
redolent flowers and blossomes which budded on euery
braunche: hée did in these delightes compyle these verses
following.
¶The occasion (as I haue heard him rehearse) was by
encoūter that he had with his Lady by light of the moone:
and forasmuch, as the moone in middes of their delights
did vanish away, or was ouerspred with a cloud, thereuppon
he toke the subiect of his theame. And thus it ensueth,
called a imooneshine Banquet.
G. T.
DAme Cinthia hir selfe (that shines so bright,
And deyneth not to leaue hir loftie place:
But only then, when Phoebus shewes his face
Which is hir brother borne and lends hir light,)
Disdaynd not yet to do my Lady right:
To proue that in such heauenly wightes as she,
It sitteth best that right and reason be.
For when she spied my Ladies golden rayes,
Into the cloudes,
Hir head she shrouds,
And shamed to shine where she hir beames displayes.
Good reason yet, that to my simple skill,
I should the name of Cynthia adore:
By whose high helpe, I might behold the more
My Ladies louely lookes at mine owne wil,
With deepe content, to gare, and gaze my fil:
Of curteousie and not of darke disdaine,
Dame Cinthia dis
•
losd my Lady playne,
She did but lend hir light (as for a lyte)
With friendly grace,
To shewe hir face,
That els would shew and shine in hir dispight.
Dan Phoebus he with many a lowring loke,
Had hir heheld of yore in angry wise:
And when he could none other meane deuise
To stayne hir name, this deepe deceipt he toke
To be the bayt
•
that best might hide his hoke:
Into hir eyes his parching beames he cast,
To skorche their skinnes, that gaz'd on hir full fast:
Whereby when many a man was sonne burnt so
They thought my Queene,
The sonne had been
With skalding flames, which wrought them all that wo▪
And thus when many a looke had lookt so long,
As that their eyes were dimme and dazled both:
Some fainting hartes that were both leude and loth
To loke againe from whence the error sprong,
Gan close their eye for feare of further wrong:
And some againe once drawne into the maze,
Gan leudly blame the beames of beauties blaze:
But I with deepe foresight did sone espie,
How Phoebus ment,
By false entent,
To slaunder so hir name with crueltie.
Wherfore at better leasure thought I best,
To trie the treason of his trecherie:
And to exalt my Ladies dignitie
When Phoebus fled and drew him downe to rest
Amid the waues that walter in the west.
I gan behold this louely Ladies face,
Whereon dame nature spent hir gifts of grace:
And found therin no parching heat at all,
But such bright hew,
As might renew,
An Angels ioyes in reigne celestiall.
The curteouse Moone that wisht to do me good,
Did shine to shew my dame more perfectly,
But when she sawe hir passing iollitie,
The Moone for shame, did blush as red as blood,
And sh
•
onke a side and kept hir hornes in hood:
So that now when Dame Cynthia was gone,
I might enioye my Ladies lokes alone,
Yet honored still the Moone with true intent:
Who taught vs skill,
To worke our will,
And gaue vs place, till all the night was spent.
F. I.
THis Ballade, or howsoeuer I shall terme it, percase
you will not like, and yet in my iudgement it hath
great good store of déepe inuention, and for the order of
the verse, it is not common, I haue not heard many of
like proporcion, some will accompt it but a dyddeldome:
but who so had heard F. I. sing it to the lute, by a note of
his owne deuise, I suppose he would esteme it to bée a
pleasaunt diddeldome, and for my part, if I were not
parciall, I woulde saye more in commendacion of it
than nowe I meane to do, leauing it to your and like
iudgementes. And nowe to returns to my tale, by that
time, that F. I. retorned out of the parke, it was dynner
time, and at dynner they all met, I meane both dame Elynor,
dame Fraunces, and F. I. I leaue to discribe that the
Lady Fraunces was gorgeously attired, and set forth with
very braue apparell, and Madame Elynor onely in hir
night gowne gyrt to hir, with a coyfe trymmed Alla Piedmonteze,
on the which she ware a little cap crossed ouer
the crowne with two bends of yellowe Sarcenet or
Cipresse, in the middest whereof she had placed (of hir
owne had writing) in paper this word, Contented. This
attyre pleased hir then to vse, and could not haue displeased
Mistresse Fraunces, had she not bene more priuy to the
cause, than to the thing it selfe: at least the Lord of the
Castle of ignoraunce, and dame Fraunces of great temp
•
rance,
let it passe without offence. At dynner, bicause the
one was pleased with all former reconninges, and the
other made priuie to the accompt, there passed no word of
taunt or grudge, but omnia bene. After dynner dame Elinor
being no lesse desirouse to haue F. I. company, then
dame Fraunces was to take him in some pretie trippe,
they began to questiō how they might best passe the day:
the Lady Elynor séemed desirous to kepe her chamber, but
Mistresse Fraunces for another purpose séemed desirous
to ryde abrode thereby to take the open ayre: they agréed
to ryde a myle or twayne for sollace, and requested F. I.
to accompany them, the which willingly graunted. Eche
one parted from other, to prepare themselues, and now
began the sporte, for when F. I. was booted, his horses
sadled, and he ready to ryde, he gan mysse his Rapier,
wherat al astonied he began to blame his man, but blame
whom he would, found it could not be. At last the Ladies
going towardes horsebacke called for him in the base
Court, and demaunded if he were readie: to whom F. I.
aunswered. Madames I am more than readie, and yet
not so ready as I would be, and immediatly taking him
selfe in trip, he thought best to vtter no more of his conceipt,
but in hast more than good spéede mounted his horse,
& comming toward y• dames presented him self, turning,
bounding, & taking vp his courser to the vttermost of his
power in brauery: after suffering his horse to breath him
selfe, he gan also allay his owne choller, & to the dames he
sayd. Fayre Ladies I am ready when it pleaseth you to
ryde where so you commaund. How ready soeuer you be
seruaunt, quod dame Elinor, it séemeth your horse is readier
at your commaunde then at oures. If he bée at my
commaund Mistresse (quod hée,) he shalbe at yours. Gramercy
good seruaunt (quod shée) but my meaning is,
that I feare he be to stirring for our cōpany. If he proue
so Mistres qd
F. I. I haue here a soberer palfrey to serue
you on. The Dames being mounted they rode forthwardes
by the space of a myle or very neare, and F. I.
(whether it were of his horses corage or his own choler)
came not so neare them as they wished, at last the Lady
Fraunces said vnto him: Maister I. you said that you had
a soberer horse, which if it be so, we wold be glad of your
company, but I beleue by your coūtinance, your horse &
you are agréed. F. I. alighting called his seruaunt, chaū
ged
horses with him, and ouertaking the Dames, said to
Mistres Fraunces: And why doe you thinke faire Lady
that my horse and I are agréed? Bicause by your countenance
(quod she) it seemeth your pacience is stirred. In
good faith, quod F. I. you haue gessed a right, but not with
any of you. Then we care the lesse seruaunt, quod Dame
Elinor▪
By my troth Mistres. qd
F. I. (looking well about
him that none might heare but they two) it is with my
seruaunt, who hath lost my sword out of my chamber.
Dame Elinor little remembring the occasion, replied it
is no matter seruaunt, quod shee, you shall heare of it againe,
I warrant you, and presently wée ryde in Gods
peace, and I turst shall haue no néede of it: yet Mistresse
quod he, a weapon serueth both vses, aswell to defend,
as to offend. Now by my troth, quod Dame Fraunces, I
haue now my dream, for I dreamt this night that I was
in a pleasaunt meadow alone, where I met with a tall
Gentleman, apparelled in a night gowne of silke all embroadered
about with a gard of naked swords, and when
he came towardes me I séemed to be afraide of him, but
he recomforted me saying, be not afrayd fayre Lady, for
I vse this garment onely for myne own defence: and in
this sort went that warlicke God Mars what time hée
taught dame Venus to make Vulcan a hamer of the newe
fashion. Notwithstanding these comfortable wordes the
fright of the dreame awaked me, and sithens vnto this
hower I haue not slept at al. And what tyme of the night
dreamt you this quod F. I? In the grey morning about
daw
•
ing of y• day, but why aske you quod dame Fran̄ces?
F. I. with a great sigh answered, because that dreames
are to be marched more at some hower of the night, then
at some other, why are you so cunning at the interpretation
of dreames seruaunt (quod the Lady Elynor?) not
very cunning Mistresse quod F.I. but gesse, like a young
scholler. The dames continued in these and like pleasant
talkes: but F. I. could not be mery, as one that estemed
the preseruation of his Mistresse honor no lesse then the
obtayning of his owne delightes: and yet to auoyde further
suspicion, he repressed his passions, asmuch as hée
could. The Lady Elynor more carelesse then consideratiue
of hir owne case, pricking forwardes said softly to F. I. I
had thought you had receiued small cause seruaunt to bée
thus dumpish, when I would be mery. Alas déere Mistresse
quod F. I. it is altogether for your sake, that I am
pensife: dame Fraunces with curtesie withdrewe hir sel
•
e
and gaue them leaue when as F. I. declared vnto his Mistresse,
that his sword was taken out of his chamber, and
that he dreaded much by the wordes of the Lady Fraunces,
that she had some vnderstanding of the matter. Dame Elynor
now calling to remembraunce what had passed the
same night, at the first was abashed, but immediatly (for
these women be redely wyt
•
ed) chered hir seruaunt, and
willed him to commit vnto hir the saluing of that s
•
re.
Thus they passed the rest of the waye in pleasaunt talke
with dame Fraunces, and so returned towards the Castle
where F. I. suffered the two dames to go together, and
he alone vnto his chamber to bewayle his owne misgouernement.
But dame Elynor (whether it wer according
to olde custome, or by wylie pollicie) found meane that
night, y• the sword was conueyed out of Mistres Fraunces
chamber and brought vnto hirs and after redeliuerie
of it vnto F. I. she warned him to be more wary from
that time forthwards: well I dwell too long vppon these
particular poynts in discoursing this trif
•
ing history, but
that the same is the more apte meane of introduction to y•
verses, which I meane to reherse vnto you, and I think
you wil not disdaine to read my conceipt with his inuention
about declaration of his commedie. The next that euer
F. I. wrote thē, vpon any aduēture hapned betwene
him and this fayre Lady, was this as I haue heard him
say, and vppon this occasion. After he grew more bold &
better acquaynted with his Mistresse disposition, he aduentured
one Fryday in the morning to go vnto hir chā
ber,
and theruppon wrote as followeth: which he termed
a Frydayes Breakefast.
G. T.
TThat selfe same day, and of that day that hower,
When she doth raigne, that mockt Vulcane the Smith:
And thought it meete to harbor in hir bower,
Some gallant gest for hir to dally with.
That blessed hower, that blist and happie daye,
I thought it meete, with hastie steppes to go:
Vnto the lodge, wherein my Lady laye,
To laugh for ioye, or ells to weepe for wo.
And lo, my Lady of hir wonted grace,
First lent hir lippes to me (as for a kisse:)
And after that hir body to embrace,
Wherein dame nature wrought nothing amisse.
What followed next, gesse you that knowe the trade,
For in this sort, my Frydayes feast I made.
F. I.
THis Sonet is short and swéete, reasonably well, according
to the occasion &c. Many dayes passed these
two louers with great delight, their affayres being no
lesse politikely gouerned, than happely atchiued. And
surely I haue heard F. I. affirme in sad earnest, that hée
did not onely loue hir, but was furthermore so rauished
in Extasies with continual remembrance of his delights,
that he made an Idoll of hir in his inward conceypte. So
séemeth it by this challenge to beautie, which he wrote in
hir prayse and vppon hir name.
G. T.
BEautie shut vp thy shop, and trusse vp all thy trash,
My Nell hath stolen thy fynest stuff, & le
•
t thee in the lash:
Thy market now is marred, thy gaynes are gone god wot,
Thou hast no ware, that may compare, with this that I haue got▪
As for thy paynted pale, and wrinckles surfled vp:
Are deare inough, for such as lust to drinke of eu'ry cup:
Thy bodies bolstred out, with bumbast and with bagges,
Thy rowles, thy Ruffes, thy caules, thy coyfes, thy Ierkins & thy iagges.
Thy curling and thy cost, thy frisling & thy fare,
To Court to court with al those toyes, & there setforth such ware
Before their hungry eyes, that gaze on euery gest:
And chuse the cheapest chaffayre still, to please their fansie best.
But I whose stedfast eyes, could neuer cast a glance,
With wādring loke, amid the prease, to take my choice by chaūce
Haue wonne by due desert, a piece that hath no peere,
And left the rest as refuse all, to serue the market there:
There let him chuse that list, there catch the best who can:
A paynted blazing bayte may serue, to choke a gazing man.
But I haue slipt thy flower, that freshest is of hewe,
I haue thy corne, go sell thy chaff, I list to seeke no new:
The wyndowes of myne eyes, are glaz'd with such delight,
As eche new face seemes full of faultes, that blaseth in my sight:
And not without iust cause▪ I can compare hir so,
Lo here my gloue I challenge him, that can, or dare say no.
Let Theseus come with clubbe, or Paris bragge with brand,
To proue how fayre their Hellen was, that skourg'd the Grecian land:
Let mighty Mars him selfe, come armed to the field:
And vaunt dame Venus to defend, with helmet speare & shield
This hand that had good hap, my Hellen to embrace,
Shal haue like lucke to foyl hir foes, & daūt them with disgrace.
And cause them to confesse by verdict and by othe▪
How farre hir louely lookes do steyne the beauties of them both.
And that my Hellen is more fayre then Paris wife,
And doth deserue more famous praise, then Venus for hir life.
Which if I not perfourme, my l
•
fe then let me leese,
Or elles be bound in chaines of change to begge for beauties fies.
F. I.
BY this challenge I gesse, that either hée was than in
an
〈…〉
els sure I am now in a lunacie, for it is▪
a prou
•
challenge made to Beautie hir selfe, and all hir
companyons and ymag
••
ing that Beautie hauing a shop
where she vtt
••
hir wares of all sundry sortes, his Ladie
had stollen the fyne
•
away, leauing none behind hir,
but paynting, bolstring, forcing and such like the which
in his rage he iudgeth good ynough to serue the Courte:
and theruppon grew a great quarrell. When these verses
were by the negligence of his Mistresse dispersed into
sundry hands, and so at last to the reading of a Courtier.
Well F. I. had his desire if his Mistresse lyked them,
but as I haue heard him declare, she grew in ieolosie, that
the same were not written by hir, because hir name was
Elynor and not Hellen. And about this poynt haue bene
diuers and sundry opinions, for this and diuers other of
his most notable Poems, haue come to view of y• world,
althogh altogether wtout his cōsent. And some haue attributed
this prayse vnto a Hellen, who deserued not so well
as this dame Elynor should séeme to deserue by the relation
of F. I. and yet neuer a ba
•
ell of good herring betwene
them both▪ But that other Hellen, bycause she was and is
of so base condicion, as may deserue no maner commendacion
in any honest iudgement, therfore I will excuse
my friend F. I. and aduenture my penne in his behalfe,
that he would neuer bestow verse of so meane a subiect.
An
•
yet some of his acquayntance, being also acquainted
(better then I,) that F. I. was sometimes acquaynted
with Hellene, haue stoode▪ in argument with mée, that it
was written by Hellene and not by Elynor. Well F. I.
tolde me himselfe that it was written by this dame Elyno
•
,
and that vnto hir he thus alleged, that he toke it all
for one
〈◊〉
, or at least he neuer red of any Elinor such
matter as might sound worthy like commendation for
beautie. And in deede, considering that it was in the fi
•
st
beginning of his writings, as then he was no writer of
any long continuaunce comparing also the time that such
reportes do spread of his acquayntaunce with Hellene▪
it
ca
•
not be written lesse then sixe or seuen yeres before he
knew Hell
•
ne: mary paraduenture if there were any acquayntance
betwene F. I. and that Hellene afterwardes,
(the which I dare no
•
confesse) he might adapt it to hir
name, and so make it serue both their turnes, as elder
lou
•
rs haue done before and still do and will do worlde
without end A
•
en▪
Well by whom he wrote it I know
not, but once I am sure that he wrote it, for he is no borrower
of inue
•
tiōs▪ and this is al that I meane to proue,
as one that sende you his verses by stealth, and do him
double wrong, to disclose vnto any man the secrete causes
why they were deuised, but this for your delight I do aduenture
and to returne to the purpose, he sought more
certaynely to please his Mistresse Elynor with this Sonet
written in hir prayse as followeth.
G. T.
THE stately Dames of Rome, their Pearles did weare,
About their neckes to beautifie their name:
But she (whom I do serue) hir peeres doth beare,
Close in hir mouth, and smiling shewes the same.
No wonder then, though eu'ry word she speakes,
A Iewell seem
•
in iudgment of the wise▪
Sin
•
e that hir
•
ugred tongue the passage breakes,
Betwene two rocks, bedeckt with pearles of price.
Hir haire of gold, hir front of Iuory,
(A bloudy hart within so white a brest)
Hir teeth of Pearle, lippes Rubie, christall eye,
Needes must I honour hir aboue the rest:
Since she is fourmed of none other moulde,
But Rubie, Christall, Iuory, Pearle, and Golde.
F. I.
OF this Sonet I am assured that it is but a t
•
anslation,
for I my selfe haue séene the inuention of an Italian,
and Master I. hath a little dylated the same, but
not much besides the sence of the first, and the addicion very
aptly applied: wherfore I cannot condempne his doing
therin, and for the Sonet, were it not a little to much
prayse (as the Italians do most commonly offend in the
superlatiue) I could the more commend it: but I hope the
partie to whom it was dedicated, had rather it were much
more, than any thing lesse. Well, thus these two Louers
passed many dayes in exceding contentation▪
•
more than
speakeable pleasures, in which time F. I. did compyle very
many verses according to sundrie occasions proffred,
whereof I haue not obteyned the most at his handes▪ and
the reason that he denied me the same, was that (as he alleged)
they were for the most part sauced with a taste of
glory, as you know that in such cases a louer being charged
with ine
•
priuable ioyes, and therewith enioyned
both by dutie and discretion to kepe the same couert, can
by no meanes deuise a greater consolation, than to commit
it into some cyphred wordes and figured spéeches in
verse, whereby he féeleth his harte halfe (or more than
halfe) eased of swelling. For as sighes are some present
ease to the pensife mind, euen so we find by experience,
that such secrete entre comoning of ioyes doth encrease
delight. I would not haue you conster my wordes to this
•
ffecte, that I thinke a man cannot sufficiently reioyce in
the luckie lottes of loue, vnlesse he empart the same to
others: God forbid that euer I should enter into such a
•
heresie, for I haue alwayes bene of this opinion, that as
to be fortunate in loue, is one of the most inward contentatious
to mans mynde of all earthly ioyes: euen so if hée
do but once bewray y• same to any liuing creature, imemdiatlye
eyther dread of discouering doth bruse his brest
with an intollerable burden, or els he léeseth the principall
vertue which gaue effecte to his gladnes, not vnlike
to a Potycaries pot which being filled with swéete oyntmentes
or parfumes, doth reteyne in it selfe some sent
of the same, and being powred out doth returne to the
former state, hard, harshe, and of small sauour: So the
minde being fraught with delightes, as long as it can
kepe them secretly enclosed, may continually féede vppon
the pleasaunt record thereof as the well willing and readie
horse byteth on the brydle, but hauing once disclosed
them to any other, strayghtway we loose the hidden treasure
of the same, and are oppressed with sundry doubtfull
opinions and dreadfull conceipts. And yet for a man to
record vnto him selfe in the inward contemplation of his
mynde the often remembrance of his late receiued ioyes,
doth as it were ease the hart of burden, and ad vnto the
mynd a fresh supplie of delight, yea and in verse principally
(as I conceyue) a man may best contriue this way
of comforte in him selfe. Therfore as I haue sayde F. I.
swymming now in delightes did nothing but write such
verse as might accumilate his ioyes, to the extremitie
of pleasure, the which for that purpose he kept from mée,
as one more desirous to séeme obscure and defectiue,
than ouermuch to glory in his aduentures, especially for
that in the end his hap was as heauie, has hitherto he had
bene fortunate, amongst other I remembred one hapned
vppon this occasion. The husband of the Lady Elynor bebeing
all this while absent from hir, gan now retorne, &
kept Cut at home, with whom F.I. found meanes so to
ensignuate himselfe, that familiaritie tooke déepe
•
oot
•
betwene them, and seldome but by
••
elth you could
••
nde
the one out of the others company. On a tyme the knight
ryding on hunting desired F. I. to accompany him, the
which he could not refuse to do, but like a lusty younker,
readie at all assayes, apparrelled him selfe in gréene, and
about his neck a Bugle, pricking & gallowping amongst
the formost, according to the mannor of that countrie.
And it chaūced that the maried Knight thus gallowping
lost his horn, which some deuines might haue interpreted
to be but moulting, & that by Gods grace, he might haue
a newe come vp againe shortly in stéede of that. Wel,
he came to F. I. requiring him to lend him his▪ Beugle,
for (sayd the Knight) I hard you not blowe this daye, and
I would fayne encourage the houndes, if I had a horne.
Quod F. I. although I haue not ben ouer lauishe of my
comming hitherto, I woulde you shoulde not doubt but
that I can tell howe to vse a horne well enough, and
yet I may little do if I maye not lende you a horne, and
therewithall tooke his Beugle from his necke, and lent
it to the Knight, who making in vnto the houndes, gan
assaye to rechate: but the horne was to hard for him to
wynde, whereat F. I. tooke pleasure, and sayde to him
selfe, blowe tyll thou breake that: I made thee one with
in these fewe dayes, that thou wilt neuer cracke whiles
thou liuest. And hereupon (before the fal of the Buck) deuised
this Sonet following, which at his home comming
he presented vnto his mistresse.
G. T.
As some men say there is a kind of seed
Will grow to hornes if it be sowed thick:
Wherwith I thought to trye if I could breed
A brood of buddes, well sharped on the prick:
And by good proofe of learned skill I found,
(As on some speciall soyle all seedes best frame)
So ielouse braynes doe breed the battle ground,
That best of all might serue to beare the same.
Then sought I foorth to find such supple soyle,
And cald to mynd thy husband had a brayne,
So that percase, by trauayll and by toyle,
His fruitfull front might turne my seed to gayne:
And as I groped In that ground to sowe it,
Start vp a horne, thy husband could not blow it.
F.I.
THis Sonet treateth of a straung séede, but it tasteth
most of Rye, which is more cōmon amongst mē nowadays:
wel let it passe amōgst y• rest, & he that liketh it not,
turn ouer y• leaf to another, I dout not but in this register
he may find some to content him, vnlesse he be to curious:
and here I will surcease to rehearse any more of his verses,
vntill I haue expressed how that his ioyes being now
exalted to the highest degrée, began to bend towardes declination.
For now the vnhappy Secretary whom I haue
before remembred, was returned from London, on whō
F.I. had no sooner cast his eyes, but immediatly he fel into
a great passion of mynd, which might be compared vnto
a feauer. This fruit grew of the good instructions that
his Hope had planted in his mind, whereby I might take
iust occasion to forwarn euery louer, how they suffer this
venemous serpent ielousie to créepe into their conceipts:
for surely, of all other diseases in loue, I suppose that to be
vncurable, and would hold longer discourse therin, were
it not that both this tale and the verses of F. I. himselfe
hereafter to be recited, shalbe sufficient to speak for me in
this behalf. The louer (as I say vpon the sodein) was drouen
into such a malladie, as no meate might nourish his
body, no delights please his minde, no remembrance of
ioyes forepassed content him, nor any hope of the lyke to
come might recomfort him: hereat (some vnto whom I
haue imparted this tale) haue takē occasion to discōmend
his faynting hart, yit surely the cause inwardly, & depely
considered, I cannot so lightly condempne him, for an old
saying is, that euery man can giue councell better than
follow it: and néeds must the conflicts of his thoughts be
straunge, betwene the remembraunce of his forepassed
pleasure, and the present sight of this monster whom before
(for lack of like instruction) he had not so throughly
marked and beh
•
l
•
. Well, such was the grief vnto him,
that he became sickly and kept his chamber. The Ladies
hauing receyued the newes therof, gan al at once lament
his misfortun, and of common consent agréed to visit him:
they marched thither in good equipage, I warrant you,
and found F. I. lying vpon his bed languishing, whō they
all saluted generally, and sought to recomforte, but especially
his Mistresse, hauing in hir hand a braunch of willow,
wherewith thée defended hir from the whot ayre, gā
thus say vnto him: Seruaunt (quod she) for that I suppose
your mallady to procéede of none other cause but only
slouthfulnesse, I haue brought this preaty rod to beate
you a little: nothing doubting, but when you féele the
smart of a twig or twayne, you will like a tractable yong
scholler, pluck vp your quickned spirits, & cast this drowsines
apart. F. I. with a great sighe answered: Alas good
Mistres (quod he) if any like chastisement might quicken
me, how m
•
ch more might the presence of all you louely
Dames? recomfort my dulled mynd whō to behold▪ were
sufficien
•
to reuiue an eye now dazled with the dread of
death, and that not onely for the heauenly aspectes which
you represent, but also much the more for your excéeding
curtesie, in that you haue deigned to visit mée so vnworthy
a seruaunt: But good Mistres (quod he) as it were
shame for me to confesse that euer my hart could yéelde
for feare, so I assure you that my minde cannot be content
to induce infirmitie by sluggish conceyt: But in
trueth Mistresse I am sicke (quod he), and there withall
the trembling of his hart had sent vp such throbbing into
his throte, as that his voyce (now depriued of breath) cō
maunded
the tong to be still. When Dame Elynor for
compassion distilled into teares, and drew towards the
window, leauing the other Gentlewomē about his bed,
who beinge no lesse sory for his grief, yit for that they
were none of them so touched in their secrete thoughtes,
they had bolder sprits and fréeer spéech to recomfort him:
amongest the rest the Lady Fraunces, (who in deede loued
him déepely, and could best coniecture the cause of his cō
ceipts)
said vnto him: Good Trust (quod shée) if any helpe
of Phisick may cure your maladie, I would not haue you
hurt your selfe with these doubts which you séeme to retayne:
If choice of Dyet may helpe, behold vs here (your
cookes) ready to minister all things néedfull: if company
may dryue away your anoye, wee meane not to leaue
you solitary: if grief of mynde be cause of your infirmitie,
wée all here will offer our deuoyre to turne it into ioye:
if mishap haue giuen you cause to feare or dreade any
thing, remember Hope, which neuer fayleth to recomfort
an afflicted mind. And good Trust (quod she) (dis
•
reining
his hand right hartely) let this simple profe of our
poore good willes be so accepted of you, as that
•
t may
work therby the effect of our desires. F. I. (as one in a
traunce) had marked very litle of hir curteouse talke, and
yet gaue hir thanks, and so held his peace: whereat the
Ladies (being all amazed) there became a silence in the
chamber on all sides. Dame Elynor fearing thereby that
she might the more easely be espyed, and hauing nowe
dryed vp hir teares, returned to F. I. recomforting him
by al possible meanes of common curtesie, promising that
since in hir sicknes he had not only staūched hir bléeding,
but also by his gentle company and sundry deuices of honest
pastime had dryuē away the pensiuenes of hir mind,
she thought hir selfe bound with like willingnes to do hir
best in any thing that might restore his health? and taking
him by the hand sayd further: Good seruaunt, if thou
beare in déed any true affection to thy poore Mistres, start
vpon thy féet agayn, and let hir enioye thyne accustomed
seruice to hir comfort, for sure (quod shée) I will neuer
leaue to visite this chamber once in a day, vntill I may
haue thée down with mée. F. I. hearing the harty words
of his Mistres, and perceyuing the earnest maner of hir
pronunciation, began to receyue vnspeakable comfort
in the same, and sayde. Mistres, your excéeding curtesie
were able to reuiue a man half dead, and to me it is both
great comfort, and it doth also gald my remembraunce
with a continuall smart of myn own vnworthinesse: but
as I would desire no longer lyfe, than til I might be able
to deserue some part of your bounty, so I will ende
•
our
my selfe to liue, were it but onely vnto that ende, that I
might merit some part of your fauour with acceptable
seruice, and requite some deale the courtesie of all these
other faire Ladies, who haue so farre (aboue my desertes)
deigned to do me good. Thus said, the Ladies tarried not
long before they were called to Euensong, when his Mistres
taking his hand, kissed it saying: Farewell good seruaunt,
and I pray thée suffer not the malice of thy sicknesse
to ouercome the gentlenes of thy good hart. F.I. rauished
with ioy, suffered them all to depart, and was not
able to pronounce one word. After their departure, hée
gan cast in his mind the excéeding curtesie vsed towards
him by them all: but aboue all other the bounty of his
Mistresse, and therewithall tooke a sounde and firme opinion,
that it was not possible for hir to coūterfeit so déeply
(as in déed I beléeue that she then did not) whereby he
sodenly felt his hart greatly eased, and began in himselfe
thus to reason. Was euer man of so wretched a harte? I
am the most bounden to loue (quod he) of all them that
euer professed his seruice, I enioy one the fayrest that euer
was found, and I find hir the kindest that euer was
heard of: yit in myne owne wicked hart I could villaynously
conceiue that of hir, which being compared with
the rest of hir vertues is not possible to harbour in so noble
a mind. Hereby I haue brought my self without cause
into this féeblenes, and good reason that for so high an
offence I should be punished with great infirmitie: what
shall I then doe? yéeld to the same? no, but according to
my late protestation I will recomfort this languishing
mind of myne, to the end I may liue but onely to doe penaunce
for this so notable a crime so rashly committed:
and thus saying, he start from his bed, and gan to walke
towards the window: but the venimous serpent which
(as before I rehearsed) had stong him, could not bee content
that these medicines applied by the mouth of his
gentle Mistresse, should so soone restore him to guerison.
And although in déed they were such Mythrydate to F. I.
as that they had nowe expelled the rancour of the poyson,
yit that ougly hellish monster had left behinde hir in
the most secret of his bosome, (euen betwene the mynd
and the man) one of hir familiars named Suspect, which
gan work in the weake sprites of F. I. efects of no lesse
perill than before hée had conceyued: his head swelling
with these troublesome toyes, and his hart swimming in
the tempests of tossing fantasie: he felt his legges so féeble,
that he was cōstrained to lye down on his bed again,
and repeating in his own remembraunce euery woord
that his Mistres had spoken vnto him, he gan to dreade,
that she had brought the willow braunce to beate him
with, in token that he was of hir forsaken: for so louers
doe most commonly expound the will
•
we garland, and
this to think, did cut his hart in twayne. A wonderfull
chaunge: and here a little to stay you, I will discribe (for
I think you haue not red it in Ariosto) the beginning,
the fall, the retourne, and the bying of this hellish byrd,
who in déed may well be counted a very limbe of the Diuill.
Many yeares since, one of the most dreadful dastards
in the world, and one of them that first deuised to weare
his beard at length, least the barbor might do him a good
turne sooner than he looked for it, and yit not so soone as
he deserued, had builded for his securitie a pile on the hyghest
and most inaccessible mount of all his Territories:
the which being fortified with strong walles, and enuironed
with déepe ditches, had no place of entrie, but one
onely doore so streight and narrow, as might by any possibility
receiue the body of one liuing man, from which he
ascended vp a ladder, & so créeping thorough a maruelous
strayt hole, attained to his lodging, y• which was so dark &
obscure, as scarcely either sunne or ayre could enter into
it: thus hee deuised to lodge in safetie, and for the more
suertie gan trust none other letting downe this ladder
but only his wife, and at the foote therof kept alwaies by
day light, a firce masti
•
close enkeneled which neuer
sawe nor heard the face or voyce of any other creature
but onely of them two, him by night he trusted with the
scout of this prety passage, hauing neuerthelesse betwene
him and this dogge, a double doore with treble locks, quadriple
barres: and before all a port coulez of Iron: neyther
yit could he be so hardy as to sléep vntil he had caused
a gard of seruauntes (whome hée kept abroade for that
purpose) to searche all the corners adioyning to his fortresse,
and then betwene fearfull sweate and chyuering
cold, with one eye open and the other closed, he stole somtimes
a broken sléepe, deuided with many terrible dream
•
s.
In this sort the wretch liued all to long, vntill at
last his wife being not able any longer to supporte this
hellish life, grew so hardy, as with his owne knife to dispatch
his carkas out of this earthly purgatory: the which
being done his soule (and good reason) was quickly conueyed
by Carone vnto hell: there Radamanthus Iudge of
that benche, commaunded him quickly to be thrust into a
boyling poole: and being therein plonged very often, he
neuer shriked or cryed, I skalde, as his other companions
there cried, but séemed so lightly to estéeme it, that
the Iudge thought méete to condempne him vnto the
most terrible place, where are such torments, as neyther
penne can write, tongue expresse, or thought conceyue:
but the myser (euen there) seemed to smyle and
to make small accompt of his punishment. Radamanthus
hereof enformed▪ sent for him, and demaunded the cause
why he made so light of his durance? he aunswered that
whyles he liued on earth, he was so continually afflicted
and oppressed with suspicion, as that now (only to thinke
that he was out of those meditacions) was sufficient armour
to defend him from all other torments. Radamanthus
a
••
onied hereat, gan call togither the Senators of
that kingdome, and propounded this question, how & by
what punishement they might deuise to touche him according
to his deserts? and herupō fell great disputation,
at last being cōsidered that he had already bin plonged in
the most vnspeakable torments, & therat litle or nothing
had chaunged coūtenāce, therwithall y• no soule was sent
vnto thē to be relieued of his smart, but rather to be punished
for his former delights: it was cōcluded by y• general
ceūcel, yt he shold be eftsones sent into y• world & restored
to the same body wherein he first had his resiance, so to
remain for perpetuity, and neuer to depart nor to perish.
Thus this body and soule being once againe vnited, and
now eftsones with the same pestilence infected, hée became
of a suspicious man Suspicion it selfe: and now the
wretch remembring the treason of his wyfe, who had so
willingly dispatched him once before, gan vtterly abhor
hir and fled hir company, searching in all countries some
place of better assurance: and when hée had in vayn trode
on the most part of the earth, he embarked himself to find
some vnknowen Iland wherein hée might frame s
•
me
new habitacion, and finding none so commodious as hée
desired, he fortuned (sayling along by the shoare) to espie
a rock, more than sixe hundreth Cubits high, which hong
so suspiciously ouer the seas, as though it would threaten
to fall at euery little blast: this did Suspicion Imagine
to be a fit foundacion whereon he might buyld his second
Bower: hée forsooke his boate, and trauayled by land to
espie what entrie or accesse might be made vnto y• same,
and found from land no maner of entrie or accesse, vnlesse
it were that some curteouse Byrd of the ayre would
be Ambassadour, or conuey some Engins, as whilom the
Eagle did carrie Ganymedes into heauen. He then returned
to Seas, and approching néere to his rock, founde a
small streame of fresh water issuing out of the same into
the Seas: the which, although it were so little and so
straight, as might vnethes receiue a boate of bignes to
carry one liuing creature at once, yit in his conceipt hée
thought it more large and spacious than that broad way
called of our forefathers Via appia, or than that other named
Flaminia: hée abandoned his bark, and putting of hys
clothes, aduētured (for he was now assured not to drown)
to wade and swim against the streame of this vnknown
brooke, the which (a wondrous thing to tell, and skarcely
to be beléeued) came down from the very top and height
of this rock: and by the way he found six straight & dangerous
places, wher the water séemed to stay his course,
passing vnder sixe straight and lowe bridges, and hard by
euery of those places, a pyle raysed vp in manner of a
Bulworke, the which were hollow, in such sort as lodginges
and other places necessary might in them commodiously
be deuised, by such one as coulde endure the hellishnes
of the place. Passing by these hée attayned with
much payne vnto the toppe of the Rocke, the which hée
found hollowed as the rest, and farre more fit for his securitie,
than otherwise apt for any cōmoditie. There gan
suspicion determyne to nestle him selfe, and hauing now
placed six chosen porters, to wit, (Dread, Mistrust, Wrath,
Desperation, Frensie, and Fury:) at these six straunge Bulworks,
he lodged him self in ye vij. al alone, for he trusted
no companye, but euer mistrustinge that his wyfe
should eftsones find him out, therein he shrieketh continually
like to a shrich owle to keepe the watch waking,
neuer content to sléepe by day or by night. But to be sure
that he shoulde not ouer sléepe him selfe, gan stuffe his
•
ouch with Porpentines quilles, to the ende that when
heauy sleepe ouercame him, and he therby should be constrayned
to charge his pallad with more heauie burden,
those plumes might then pricke through and so awake
him. His garments were stéele vpon Iron, and that Iron
vppon Iron, and Iron againe, and the more he was armed,
the lesse he trusted to be out of daunger. He chopped
and changed continually now this, now that, new keyes,
new lockes, ditches newe skowred, and walles newly
fortified, and thus alwayes vncontented liueth this wretched
helhound Suspicion in this hellish dungion of habitation,
from whence he neuer remoueth his foote, but only
in the dead & silent nights, when he may be assured that
all creatures (but him selfe) are whelmed in sound sléepe.
And then with stealing steps he stalketh about the earth,
enfecting, tormēting, and ve
•
ing al kinds of people with
some part of his afflictions, but especially such as either
do sit in chayre of greatest dignitie and estimation, or els
such as haue atchiued some déere and rare emprise: Those
aboue al others he contynually galdeth with fresh woūds
of dread, least they might loose and forgo the roomes wherunto
with such long trauayle and good happes they had
atteyned, and by this meanes percase he had crept into
the bosome of F.I. who (as is before declared) did earst
swimme in the déepest seas of earthly delightes. Nowe
then I must thinke it high time to retorne vnto him, who
being now through feeblenes eftsones cast downe vppon
his be
•
, gan cast in his inward meditations all thinges
passed, and as one throughly puffed vp and filled with
one péeuishe conceipt, could thinke vppon nothing elles,
and yet accusing his owne giltie conscience to be infected
with ielosie, did compyle this translation of Ariostoes
xxxi. song as followeth.
WHat state to man, so sweete and pleasaunt w
•
re,
As to be tyed, in lincks of worthy loue?
What life so blist and happie might appere,
As for to serue Cupid that God aboue?
If that our mindes were not sometimes infect,
With dread, with feare, with care, with cold suspect▪
With deepe dispayre, with furious frensie,
Handmaydes to hir, whom we call iellosie.
For eu'ry other sop of sower chaunce,
Which louers tast amid their sweete delight:
Encreaseth ioye, and doth their loue aduaunce,
In pleasures place, to haue more perfect plight.
The thirstie mouth thinkes water hath good taste,
The hungrie iawes, are pleas'd, with ech repaste:
Who hath not prou'd what dearth by warres doth growe,
Cannot of peace the pleasaunt plenties knowe.
And though with eye, we see not eu'ry ioye▪
Yet may the mind, full well support the same,
An absent life long led in great anoye,
When presence comes, doth turne from griefe to game,
To serue without reward is thought great payne,
But if dispayre do not therewith remayne,
It may be borne, for right rewardes at last,
Followe true seruice, though they come not fast.
Disdaynes, repulses, finally eche yll,
Eche smart, eche payne, of loue eche bitter tast,
To thinke on them gan frame the louers will,
To like eche ioye, the more that comes at last:
But this infernall plague if once it toutche,
Or venome once the louers mind with grutch,
All feastes and ioyes that afterwardes befall,
The louer compts them light or nought at all.
This is that sore, this is that poysoned wound,
The which to heale, nor salue, nor oyntments serue,
Nor charme of wordes, nor Image can be found,
Nor obseruance of starres can it preserue,
Nor all the art of Magicke can preuayle,
Which Zoroastes found for our auayle.
Oh cruell plague, aboue all sorrowes smart,
With desperate death thou sleast the louers hart.
And me euen now, thy gall hath so enfect,
As all the ioyes which euer louer found,
And all good haps, that euer Troylus sect,
Atchiued yet aboue the luckles ground:
Can neuer sweeten once my mouth with mell,
Nor bring my thoughts, againe in rest to dwell.
Of thy mad moodes, and of naught elles I thinke,
In such like seas, fayre Bradamant did sincke.
F. I.
THis is the translation of Ariosto his xxxj. song, all but
the last staffe, which séemeth as an allegory applied to
the rest. It will please none but learned eares, hée was
tyed to the inuention, troubled in mynd &c. So I leaue it
to your iudgment, and returne to F.I. who continued on
his bed, vntill his bountifull Mistresse with the companie
of the other curteous dames retorned after supper to
his chamber, at their first entrie: Why how now seruāt
(quod dame Elynor) we hoped to haue found you on foote?
Mistresse quod F.I. I haue assayed my féete since your departure,
but I find them yet vnable to suporte my heauy
body, and therfore am constrayned as you sée, to acquaint
my selfe with these pyllowes. Seruaunt sayd she I am
right sory therof, but since it is of necessitie to beare sicknesse,
I will employ my deuoyre to allaye some parte of
your paynes, and to refreshe your weary limbes with
some comfortable matter: and therwithall calling hir
handmayde, deliuered vnto hir a bounche of pretie little
keyes, and whispering in hir eare, dispatched hir towards
hir chamber. The mayde taried not long, but returned
with a little Casket, the which hir Mistresse toke, opened
and drew out of the same much fyne lynnen, amongst the
which she toke a pillowhere very fyne and swéete, which
although it were of it selfe as swéete as might be, being
of long time kept in that odoriferous chest, yet did shée
with damaske water (and that the best that might bée I
warrant you) all to sprinckle it with hir owne handes,
which in my conceipt might much amende the matter.
Then calling for a fresh pyllowe, sent hir mayde to ayre
the same, and at hir returne put on this, thus perfumed
pillowheare. In meane time also she had with hir owne
hands attyred hir seruants head in a fayre wrought kerchif
taken out of the same Casket, then layde him
downe vppon this fresh and pleasaunt place, and pretely
as it were in sporte, bedewed his temples with swéete
water which she had ready in a casting bottle of Gold,
kissing his chéeke and saying: Good seruaunt be whole,
for I might not longe endure thus to attende thée,
and yit the loue that I beare towards thée, cannot be content
to see thée languish: Mistres sayd F.I. (and that with
a trembling voyce) assure your self, that if there remayn
in mée any sparke of lyfe or possibilitie of recouery, then
may this excellent bountie of yours be sufficient to reuiue
me without any further trauayle or payn vnto your
persone, for whom I am highly to blame, in that I do not
spare to put you vnto this trouble: and better if were
that such a wretch as I had dyed vnknowen, than thay by
your exceding curtesie you should fall into any mallady,
eyther by resorting vnto me, or by these your paynes taken
about me. Seruaunt (quod she) all pleasures séeme
paynefull to them that take no delight therin, and likewise
all toyle séemeth pleasaunt to such as set their felicitie
in the same, but for mee be you sure, I do it with so
good a wyll that I can take no hurt therby, vnlesse I shall
perceyue that it be reiected or neglected, as vnprofitable
or vncomfortable vnto you. To me Mistresse quod F.I. it
is such pleasure, as neither my féeble tongue can expresse,
nor my troubled mind conceyue. Why? are you troubled
in mynd then seruaunt quod dame Elynor? F.I now blushing
answered, but euen as all sicke men be Mistresse.
Herewith they staid their talke a while, and the first that
brake silence was the Lady Fraunces, who sayde: and to
driue away the troubles of your mynd good Trust, I wold
be glad if we could deuise some pastime amongst vs to
kepe you company, for I remember that with such deuises
you did greatly recomfort this fayre Lady when shée
languished in like sorte. She languished in déede gentle
Hope, quod F.I. but God forbid that she had languished
in like sort. Euery body thinketh their griefe greatest qd
dame Elynor, but in déede whether my griefe were the
more or the lesse, I am right sorie that youres is such as
it is: And to assay whither our passions proceded of like
cause or not, I would we could (according to this Ladies
saying) deuise some like pastimes to trie if your malladie
would be cured with like medicines. A gentle woman of
the company whom I haue not hitherto named, and that
for good respects, least hir name might altogether disclose
the rest, gan thus propound. We haue accustomed (quod
she) heretofore in most of our games to chuse a Kyng or
Quéene, and he or she during their gouernement haue
charged euery of vs eyther with commaundementes or
questions as best séemed to their maiestie: wherein to
speake mine opinion we haue giuen ouer large a skope,
neyther séemeth it reasonable that one shoulde haue the
power to discouer the thoughts▪ or at least to brydle the
affects of all the rest. And though in déede in questioning
(which doth of the twayne more nerely touche the mind)
euery one is at free libertie to aunswere what they list:
yet oft haue I heard a question demaunded in such sorte,
and vppon such sodayne, that it hath bene hardly answered
without mouing matter of contention. And in commaundes
also, sometimes it happeneth one to bée commaunded
vnto such seruice, as eyther they are vnfit to
accomplish (and then the parties weakenes is therby detected)
or els to do something that they would not, wherof
ensueth more grutch then game. Wherefore in myne
opinion, we shall do well to chuse by lot amongst vs a gouernour,
who for that it shalbe sufficient preheminence
to vse the chayre of maiestie, shalbe boūd to giue sentence
vppon all such arguments and questions as we shall orderly
propound vnto them, and from him or hir (as from
an oracle) we will receiue aunswere, and decyding of our
lytigious causes. This dame had stuffe in hir, an old courtier,
and a wylie wench, whome for this discourse I will
name Pergo, least hir name natural were to brode before,
and might not drinke of all waters. Wel this proportion
of Pergo pleased them wel, and by lot it happened that F.I.
must be moderator of these matters, and collector of these
causes: the which being so constituted, the Lady Elynor
said vnto this dame Pergo. You haue deuised this pastime
(qd she) & because we thinke you to be most expert in the
handling therof, do you propound the first question, & we
shalbe both the more readye and able to followe your
example: the Lady Pergo refused not, but began on this
wise. Noble gouernor (qd she) amongst the aduentures
that haue befallen me, I remember especially this one,
that in youth it was my chaunce to be beloued of a very
courtlike young gentleman, who abode neare the place
wherin my parents had their restaunce. This gentleman
whether it were for beauty▪ or for any other respect that
he sawe in me, I know not, but he was enamored of me,
& that with an exceding vehement passion, & of such force
were his affects, that notwistāding many repulses which
he had receiued at my hands, he séemed dayly to growe in
the renewing of his desires. I on the otherside, although
I could by no meanes mislike of him by any good reason,
considering that hée was of byrth no waye inferior vnto
me, of possessions not to bée disdeyned, of parson right
comely, of behauyour Courtly, of manners modest, of
mynde lyberall, and of verteous disposition: yet such
was the gaitie of my mynd, as that I coulde not be content
to lend him ouer large thongs of my loue, but alwayes
daungerously behaued my selfe towardes him,
and in such sorte, as hée coulde neyther take comforte of
myne aunsweres, nor yet once finde him selfe requited
with one good looke for all his trauayle. This notwithstanding,
the worthy Knigh
•
continued his sute wyth
no lesse vehement affection than earst hée hadde begone
it, euen by the space of seuen yeares. At the last, whether
discomfited by my dealinges, or tyred by long trauayle,
or that he had percase light vppon the lake that
is in the forrest of Ardena, and so in haste and all
thristie, had dronke some droppes of disdayne, whereby
his hot flames were quenched, or that he had vndertaken
to serue no longer but his iust terme of apprenticehode,
or that the téeth of time had gnawen and tyred his dulled
sprites in such sorte, as that all béenommed hée was constrayned
to vse some other artificial balme for the quickning
of his sences, or by what cause moued I know not,
he did not onely leaue his long continued sute, but (as I
haue since perceyed) grew to hate me more deadly than
before I had disdayned him. At the first beginning of his
retyre I perceiued not his hatred, but imagined that being
ouer wearied he had withdrawen him self for a time.
And considring his worthynes, therwithall his constancie
of long time proued, I thought that I could not in the
whole world find out a fitter match to bestowe my selfe,
than on so worthy a person, wherefore I did by all possible
meanes procure that he might eftsones vse his accustomed
repayre vnto my parents: And further, in all places
where I happened to méete him, I vsed all the curtes
•
es
towardes him that might bée contayned within the
bondes of modestie, but al was in vayne, for he was now
become more daungerous to be wonne, than the haggard
Faulcon. Our lottes being thus vnluckely chaunged, I
grewe to burne in desire, and the more daungerous that
he shewed him selfe vnto me, the more earnest I was by
all meanes to procure his consent of loue. At the last I
might perceiue that not onely he disdayned me, but as me
thought boyled in hatred against me: and the time that I
thus continued tormented with these thoughts, was also
iust the space of seuen yeares. Finally when I perceiued
no remedie for my parplexities, I assayed by absence to
weare away this malladie, and therfore vtterly refused
to come in his presence, yea or almost in any other company,
whereby I haue consumed in lost time the flower
of my youth, and am become as you sée (what with yeares,
and what with the tormēting passions of loue) pale,
wan, and full of wrinkles, neuerthelesse, I haue therby
gayned thus much, that at last I haue wond my self cléere
out of Cupids cheines, and remain carelesse at libertie.
Now marke to what end I tell you this: first vii. yeares
passed in the which I could neuer be content to yéeld vnto
his iust desires: next other vii. yeares I spent in séeking
to recouer his lost loue: and sithens both those vii. yeares,
there are euen now on saint Valentines day last, other vii.
yeares passed, in the which (neither I haue desired to sée
him) nor he hath coueted to heare of me. My parents now
perceiuing how the crowes foot is crept vnder myne eye,
and remembring the long sute that this gentlemā had in
youth spent on me, considering therewithall that gréene
youth is well mellowed in vs both, haue of late sought to
perswade a marriage betwene vs, the which the Knight
hath not refused to heare of, and I haue not disdained to
thinke on: by their mediation we haue bin eftsoones
brought to Parlee, wherein ouer and besides the ripping
vp of many old griefes, this hath ben chiefly rehearsed &
obiected betwene vs, what wrong and iniury eche of vs
hath done to other, and hereabouts wée haue fallen to
sharpe contention: he alledged, that much greater is the
wrong which I haue done vnto him, than that repulse
which hée hath sithens vsed to me: and I haue affirmed
the contrary, the matter yit hangeth in variance. Nowe,
of you worthy Gouernour I would be most glad to heare
this question decided, remembring that ther was no difference
in the times betwene vs: and surely, vnles your
iudgement helpe me, I am afraide my marriage wilbe
marred, and I may goe lead Apes in hell. F. I. aunswered,
good Pergo, I am sory to heare so lamentable a discourse
of your luckles loue, and much the sorier, in that I
must néedes giue sentence against you: for surely great
was the wrong that either of you haue done to other, and
greater was the néedelesse grief which causelesse eche of
you hath conceiued in this long time, but greatest in my
iudgement hath ben both the wrong and the grief of the
Knight, in that notwithstanding his deserts (which your
self confesse) he neuer enioyed any guerdone of loue at
your handes: And you (as you alledge) did enioy his loue
of long time togither, so that by the reckoning, it will fall
out (although being blinded in your owne conceypt) you
sée it not, that of the one & twenty yeares you enioyed his
loue vii. at the least, but that euer he enioyed yours wee
cannot perceiue. And much greater is the wrong that rewardeth
euill for good, than that which requireth tip for
tap: further, it séemed that where as you went about in
time to trie him, you did altogither loose time which can
neuer be recouered: and not onely lost your owne time,
whereof you would séeme now to lament, but also compelled
him to leese his time, which he might (be it spoken
without offence to you) haue bestowed in some other
worthy place: and therefore, as that grief is much greater
which hath no kind of cōfort to allay it, so much more
is that wrong which al
••
gither without cause is offered.
And I (said Pergo) must néedes think, that much easier is
it for them to endure grief which neuer tasted of ioy, and
much lesse is that wrong which is so willingly profered
to be by recompence restored: for if this Knight will confesse
that he neuer had cause to reioice in all the time of
his s
•
ruice, then with better cōtentation might he abyde
grief than I, who hauing tasted of the delight which I did
secretly cōceiue of his deserts, do think ech grief a present
death by the remembrance of those forepassed thoughts: &
lesse wrong séemeth it to be destitut of y• thing which was
neuer obteyned, than to be depriued of a iewell whereof
we haue bin already possessed: so y• vnder your correction
I might cōclude, that greater hath bin my grief & iniury
susteined, than that of the Knight. To whom F.I. replied,
as touching delight, it may not be denied but that euery
louer doth take delight in the inward cōtemplacion of his
mind, to think of the worthines of his beloued, & therfore
you may not alledge that the Knight had neuer cause to
reioice, vnlesse you will altogither cōdempne your self of
vnworthines: Mary if you will say that he tasted not the
delights that louers séeke, then mark, who was the cause
but your self? And if you would accuse him of like ingratitude,
for that he disdained you in the latter vii. yeres, whē
as he might by accepting your loue, haue recōpenced him
self of all former wrongs you must remēber ther withal,
that the crueltie by you shewed towards him was such, y•
could by no meanes perceiue that your chaūge procéeded
of good will, but rather eftsones to hold him enchained in
vnknown links of subtil dealings, & therfore not without
cause he douted you: & yit without cause you reiected him.
He had oftē sought occasion, but by your refusals he could
neuer find him: you hauing occasiō fast by the foretop did
dally with him so long, til at last he slipped his head from
you, & then catching at the bald nodd
•
e, you foūd your self
y• cause, & yit you would accuse another. To cōclude, greater
is the grief that is susteined without desert, and much
more is the wrong that is offred without cause. Thus F.
I. decided the question propounded by Pergo, & expected
that some other Dame should propoūd another: but his
mistres (hauing hir hand on another halfpeny) gan thus
say vnto him. Seruant this pastime is good, and such as I
must néeds like of, to driue away your pensiue thoughts:
but sléeping time approcheth, & I feare we disquiet you,
wherefore the rest of this time we will (if so like you) bestowe
in trimming vp your bed and to morrow we shall
méete here and nenew this new begon game with Madame
Pergo. Mistres (qd
F. I.) I must obey your will, and
most humbly thanke you of your great goodnesse, and
all these Ladies for their curtesie: Euen so, requiring you
that you will no further trouble your selues about me,
but let my seruaunt alone with conducting me to bed.
Yes seruaunt (quod she) I wil sée if you can sléepe any better
in my shéetes: and therewith commaunded hir handmayd
to fetch a paire of cleane shéetes, the which béeing
brought (maruailous fine and swéete) the Ladies Fraunces
and Elyn
•
r did curteously vnfold them, and layd them
on the bed, which done, they also entreated F. I. to vncloth
him and go to bed: being layd, his Mistres dressed
and couched the clothes about him, sithens moistened his
temples with rosewater, gaue him handkerchewes and
other fresh linnen about him, in dooing wherof, she whispered
in his eare, saying: Seruaunt, this night I will bée
with thée, and after with the rest of the Dames gaue him
good night and departed, leauing F. I. in a traunce betwene
hope and dispayre, trust and mistrust. Thus he lay
rauished, commaunding his seruaunt to goe to bed, and
fayning that himself would assay if he could sléepe. About
ten or eleauē of the clock came his Mistresse in hir night
gowne, who knowing all priuy wayes in that house very
perfectly, had conueied hir self into F. I. chamber, vnséene
and vnperceyued, and being nowe come vnto his
beds side knéeled down, and laying hir arme ouer him
sayed these or like wordes: My good Seruaunt, if thou
knewest what perplexiteis I suffer in beholding of thine
infirmities, it might then suffise, eyther vtterly to dryue
away thy mallady, or much more to augment thy griefs:
for I know thou louest me, and I think also that thou hast
had sufficient profe of myne vnfained good will, in remembrance
whereof, I fall into sundry passions: First, I
compt the happy lots of our first acquaintance, and therin
I call to mynde the equalitie of our affections, for I
think that there were neuer two louers conioyned with
fréeer consent on both parties: and if my ouerhasty deliuery
of yéelding words be not wrested hereafter to my
condempnacion, I can then assure my self to escape for euer
without desert of any reprofe: herewithall I can not
forget the sundry aduentures happened since we became
one hart deuided in two bodies, all which haue ben both
happily atchieued, and delectably enioyed: what resteth
then to consider but this thy present state? The first corosiue
that I haue felt, and the last cordiall that I looke for,
the end of my ioyes, and the beginning of my torments,
and hereat hir salt teares gan bathe the dying lips of hir
seruaunt: who hearing these wordes, and well considering
hir demeanor, began now to accuse him selfe of such
and so haynous treason, as that his gilty harte was constreined
to yéelde vnto a iust scourge for the same. Hée
swooned vnder hir arme: the which when she perceyued,
it were hard to tel what feares did most affright hir. But
I haue heard my friend F. I. cōfesse, that he was in a happy
traunce, and thought himself for diuers causes vnhappely
reuiued. For surely I haue heard him affirme, that
to dye in such a passion▪ had ben rather pleasant, than like
to panges of death. It were hard now to rehearse how hée
was reuiued, since there wer none present, but he dying,
(who could not declare) & she liuing, whowold not disclose
so much as I meane to bewray. For my friēd F.I. hath to
me emported, that returning to life, the first thing which
he felt, was that his good mistres lay pressing his brest wt
the whole weight of hir body, and biting his lips with hir
friendly téeth: and peraduenture shée refrayned (either of
curtesie towards him, or for womanish feare, to hurt hir
tender hand) to strik him on the chéekes in such sorte, as
they doe that striue to call agayne a dying creature: and
therefore thought this the aptest meane to reduce him
vnto remembrance. F.I. now awaked, could no lesse do,
than of his curteous nature receyue his Mistresse into
his bed: Who, as one that knew that waye better, than
how to help his swooning, gan gently strip of hir clothes,
and louingly embracing him, gan demaund of him in this
sorte. Alas good Seruaunt (quod she) what kinde of maladie
is this that so extréemely doth torment thée? F.I.
with faynting spéech aunswered: Mistresse, as for my maladie,
it hath ben easely cured by your bountifull medicines
applied: But I must confesse, that in receiuing that
guerison at your handes, I haue ben constreined to fall
into an Extasie, through the galding remembrance of
myne own vnworthines: Neuerthelesse good Mistresse,
since I perceiue such fidelitie remayning betwene vs, as
that fewe wordes will perswade such trust as louers
ought to embrace, let these fewe wordes suffise to craue
your pardon, and doe eftsoones powre vpon me (your vnworthy
seruaunt) the haboundant waues of your accustomed
clemency: for I must confesse, that I haue so highly
offended you, as (but your goodnesse surpasse the malice
of my conceipts) I must remayne (and that right woorthely)
to the seuere punishment of my desertes: and so
should you but loose him who hath cast away him self, and
neither can accuse you, nor dare excuse him selfe of the
crime. Dame Elynor, who had rather haue found hir seruaunt
perfectly reuiued, than thus with straunge conceipts
encombred: and musing much at his darke spéech,
became importunat to know y• certainty of his thoughts.
And F.I. as one not maister of him selfe, gan at the last
playnly confesse howe he had mistrusted the chaunge of
hir vowed affections: Yea and (that more was) he playnly
expressed with whom, of whom, by whom, and too
whom shée bent hir better liking.
Now, here I would demaund of you and such other
as are expert: Is there any geater impediment to the
fruition of a Louers delights, than to be mistrusted? or
rather, is it not the ready way to race all loue and former
good will out of remembrance, to tell a gilty mynd
that you doe mistrust it? It should séeme yes, by Dame
Elynor, who began nowe to take the matter whottely,
and of such vehemency were hir fancies, that shée nowe
fell into flat defiance with F. I. who although hée sought
by many faire wordes to temper hir chollerike passions,
and by yeelding him selfe to
•
et the conquest of an other,
yet could hée by no meanes determine the quarrell. The
softe pillowes being present at all these whot wordes,
put forth themselues as mediatours for a truce betwene
these enemies, and desired that (if they would néedes
fight) it might be in their presence but onely one pusshe
of the pike, and so from thenceforth to become friends again
for euer. But the Dame denied flatly, alleadging
that shée found no cause at all to vse such curtesie vnto
such a re
•
reant, adding further many wordes of great
reproche: the which did so encourage F. I. as that hauing
now forgotten all former curtesies, he drewe vppon his
new pr
•
fessed enimie, and bare hir vp with such a violence
against the bolster, that before shée could prepare
the warde, he thrust hir through both hands, and &c. wherby
the Dame swoning for feare, was constreyned (for a
time) to abandon hir body to the enemies curtesie. At
last when shée came to hir selfe, shée rose sodeinly and determined
to saue hir selfe by flight, leauing F. I. with
many dispytefull wordes, and swearing that hee should
neuer (eftsoones) take hir at the like aduātage, the which
othe she kept better than hir former professd good will:
and hauing nowe recouered hir chamber (bicause shee
founde hir hurt to be nothing daungerous) I doubt not,
but shee slept quietly the rest of the night: As F. I. also
perswading himselfe that hée should with conuenient
leysure recouer hir from this hagger conceipt, tooke some
better rest towardes the morning, than hee had done
in many nights forepast. So let them both slèepe whyles
I turne my penne vnto the before named Secretary, who
being (as I sayd) come lately from London, had made
many proffers to renew his accustomed consultations:
but the sorrow which his Mistresse had conceyued in F.I.
his sicknesse, togither with hir continuall repayre to him
during the same, had ben such lettes vnto his attempts,
at is was long time before he could obtayne audience.
At the last these newe accidentes fell so fauourably for
the furtherance of his cause, that he came to his Mistresse
presence, and there pleaded for himselfe. Nowe, if I
should at large write his allegations, togither with hir
subtile aunsweres, I should but comber your eares
with vnpleasaunt rehearsall of feminine frayeltie.
To be short, the late disdayneful moode which she had cō
ceyued
against F.I. togither with a scrupule which lay in
hir cōscience, touching the xi. article of hir beléeue, moued
hir presently with better will to cōsult with this Secretary,
aswel vpon a spéedy reueng of hir late receiued wrōgs
as also vpon the reformation of hir religion. And in very
déed, it fell out that the Secretary hauing bin of long time
absēt, & therby his quils & pēnes not worn so néer as they
were wont to be, did now prick such faire large notes, y•
his Mistres liked better to sing faburden vnder him, thā
to descant any longer vppon F. I. playne song: and thus
they continued in good accorde, vntill it fortuned that
Dame Fraunces came into hir chamber vppon such sodeyn
as shée had like to haue marred all the musick. Wel
thei cōueied their clifs as closely as they could, but yit not
altogither wtout some suspiciō giuen to y• said dame Fraū
ces,
who although shée could baue bin content to take any
payn in F.I. behalf, yit otherwise she would neuer haue
bestowed the watching about so wortheles a prise. After
womāly salutacions they fel into sundry discourses, y•
Secretaty
stil abyding in y• chāber with them. At last two or
thrée other gentlewomē of the Castle came into Madam
Elynors chamber, who after their Bon iour did all (vna
voce) séeme to lament the sicknes of F.I. and called vpon
the Dames Elinor and Fraunces, to go visite him againe.
The Lady Fraunces curteously consented, but Madame
Elinor first alledged that she hir selfe was also sickly, the
which she attributed to hir late paynes taken about F. I.
and sayd that onely for that cause she was constrayned to
kepe hir bed longer than hir accustomed hower. The
Dames (but especially the Lady Fraunces) gan streight
waies coniecture some great cause of sodaine change, and
so leauing dame Elynor, walked altogether into the parke
to take the ayre of the morning: And as they thus walked
it chaūced that Dame Pergo heard a Cuckoe chaunt, who
(because the pride of the spring was now past) cried Cuck
cuck Cuckoe in hir stameringe voyce. A ha (quod Pergo)
this foule byrd begines to flye the countrie, and yet before
hir departure, sée how spitefully she can deuise to salute
vs. Not vs (quod Dame Fraunces) but some other
whom she hath espyed: wherewith Dame Pergo looking
round about hir, and espying none other company sayd.
Why here is no body but we few womē
qd she. Thanks
be to God the house is not farre from vs (quod Dame
Fraunces.) Here at the wylie Pergo partely perceyuing
Dame Fraunces meaning replyed on this sort: I vnderstand
you not (quod she) but to leape out of this matter,
shall we go visite Maister F. I. and sée how he doth this
morning? Why quod dame Fraunces, do you suppose that
the Cuckoe called vnto him? Nay marry quod Pergo, for
(as farre as I know) he is not maried. As who should say
(quod Dame Fraunces,) that the Cuckoe enuieth none but
maryed folkes. I take it so sayd Pergo: the Lady Fraunces
aunswered. Yes suer I haue noted as euill lucke in loue
(after the cuckoes call) to haue happened vnto diuers vnmaried
folkes, as euer I did vnto the maried: but I can
be well content that we go vnto Master. I. for I promised
on the behalfe of vs al, that we wold vse our best deuoyre
to recomfort him vntill he had recouered health, and I do
much meruayle that y• Lady Elinor is now become so vnwilling
to take any trauayle in his behalfe, especially remembring
that but yesternigh she was so diligent to
bring him to bed, but I perceyue that all earthly thinges
are subiect vnto change. Euen so they be quod Pergo, for
you may behold the trées which but euen this other daye
were clad in gladsome gréene, and now their leaues begin
to fa
•
e and change colour. Thus they passed talking
and walking vntill they returned vnto the Castle,
whereas they went straight vnto F.I. chamber, & found
him in bed: why how now Trust (quod Dame Fraunces,)
w
•
ll it be no better? Yes shortly I hope quod F.I. The
Ladies all saluted him & he gaue them the gramercy: at
the last Pergo popped this question vnto him. And howe
haue you slept in your Mistres shéetes Master F. I. quod
she? reasonable well quod F. I. but I pray you where is
my Mistresse this morning? Mary sayd Pergo, wee left
hir in bed scarce well at ease. I am the more sorye quod
F. I. Why Trust (sayd Mistresse Fraunces) be of good comforte,
and assure your selfe that here are others who
would be as glad of your wel doing, as your Mistresse in
any respect. I ought not to doubt therof (quod F. I.) hauing
the proofe that I haue had of your great curtesies,
but I thought it my dutie to aske for my Mistresse being
absent. Thus they passed some time with him vntill they
were called away vnto prayers, and that being finished
they went to dinner, where they met Dame Elynor attired
in a night kerchief after the soolenest (the solempnest
fashion I should haue sayed,) who loked very drowsely
vpon all folkes vnlesse it were hir secretary, vnto whom
she deigned sometime to lend a fréendly glaunce. The
Lord of the Castle demaunded of hir howe F.I. did this
morning. She answered that she knew not, for she had
not séene him that day. You may do wel then daughter (qd
the Lord) to go now vnto him, & to assay if he wil eate any
thing, & if here be no meates that like him, I pray you
commaund (for him) any thing that is in my house. You
must pardon me sir (quod she,) I am sickly disposed, and
would be loth to take the ayre: why then go you Mistres
Fraunce (quod he) and take some body with you: and I
charge you sée that he lacke nothing. Mistresse Fraunces
was glad of the ambassade, & arysing from the table with
one other gentlewoman, toke with hir a dishe of chickins
boyled in white broth, saying to hir father: I thinke this
meate méetest for Master I. of any that is here. It is so
(qoud he) daughter, and if he like not that, cause somewhat
els to be dressed for him according to his apetite.
Thus she departed and came to F. I. who being plonged
in sundry woes and thrilled with restlesse thoughtes,
was now beginning to aryse: but seing the Dames, couched
downe againe, and sayd vnto them. Alas fayre Ladies
you put your selues to more paynes than eyther I
do desire, or can deserue. Good Trust quod Dame Fraunces,
our paines are no greater than dutie requireth, nor
yet so great as we could vouchsafe in your behalfe, and
presently my father hath sent vs vnto you (quod she) with
this pittaunce, and if your apetite desire any one thing
more than other, wée are to desire likewise that you
will not refrayne to call for it. Oh my good Hope (quod
hée) I perceiue that I shall not dye as longe as you
maye make mée liue. And being nowe somedeale recomforted
with the remembraunce of his Mistres words
which shée hadde vsed ouer night at hir first comming,
and also thinkinge that although shée parted in choller,
it was but iustly prouoked by him selfe, and that at
leasure hée shoulde fyn
•
e some salue for that soore also:
hée determyned to take the comforte of his assured Hope,
and so to expell all venomnes of mistrust before receyued:
wherfore raysing him selfe in his bed, he cast a
night gowne about his shoulders saying: It shall neuer
be sayd that my faynting hart can reiect the comfortable
Cordialles of so fréendly phisitions. Nowe by my troth
well sayed gentle Trust quod Dame Fraunces, and in so
doing assure your selfe of guerison with spéed. This thus
sayed, the curteous Dame became his keruer, & hée with
a bold spirite gan tast of hir cookery, but the late conflicts
of his conceipts had so disaquainted his stomack from repastes,
that he could not well away with meate: and yet
neuerthelesse by little & little receyued some nouryture.
When his Hope had crammed him as long as she coulde
make him féede, they deliuered the rest to the other gentlewoman,
who hauing not dyned, fell to hir prouander.
In which meane while the Lady Fraunces had much cō
fortable
spéech with F.I. and declared that she perceyued
very well the cause of his malladie, but my Trust (quod
she) be all whole, and remember what I foretold you in
the beginning: neuerthelesse you must thinke that there
are remedies for all mischiefes, and if you wilbe ruled by
myne aduise, we will soone find the meane to ease you of
this mishap. F. I. toke comforte in hir discretion, and
fréendly kissing hir hand, gaue hir a cartlode of thankes
for hir great good will, promising to put to his vttermost
force, and euermore to be ruled by hir aduise. Thus they
passed the dynner while, the Ladie Fraunces alwayes refusing
to declare hir conceipt of the late change which she
perceyued in his Mistresse, for shée thought best first to
wynne his will vnto conformitie by little and little, and
then in the end to persuade him with necessitie. When
the other gentlewoman had vytayled hir, they departed,
requiring F.I. to arise and boldly to resist the fayntnesse
of his feuer, the which he promised and so bad them a Di
•
.
The Ladyes at their returne found the courte in Dame
Elynors chamber, who had there assembled hir secretary,
Dam Pergo, and the rest: there they passed an hower or
twayne in sundry discourses, wherin Dame Pergo did alwaies
cast out some bone for Mistresse Fraunces to gnaw
vppon, for that in déede she perceyued hir harty affection
towardes F.I: whereat Mistresse Fraunces changed no
countenaunce, but reserued hir reuenge vntill a better
oportunitie. At last (quod Dame Fraunces vnto Mistresse
Elinor) and when will you go vnto your seruaunt fayre
Lady? When he is sicke and I am whole quod Dame Elynor.
That is euen now quod the other, for how sicke hée
is your self can witnesse: and how well you are we must
beare record. You may aswel be deceiued in my disposition
(quod Dame Elynor) as I was ouerséene in his sodain
alteration, and if he be sicke you are méetest to be his phisition:
for you sawe yesterday that my paines did little
profite towardes his recōfort. Yes surely sayd the other,
not onely I but all the rest had occasiō to iudge that your
curtesie was his chiefe comfort. Well quod Dame Elinor
you know not what I know. Nor you what I think quod
Dame Fraunces. Thinke what you list quod Elynor. In
déede quod Fraunces I may not thinke that you care, neither
will I die for your pleasure: and so halfe angry shée
departed. At supper they met againe, and the Maister
of the house demaūded of his daughter Fraunces how F.I.
did? Sir (quod she) he did eate somewhat at dinner, and
sithens I saw him not. The more to blame quod he, and
now I would haue al you gentlewomen take of the best
meates and go suppe with him: for company driueth away
carefulnesse, and leaue you me here with your leauinges
alone. Nay sir quod Mistresse Elynor, I pray you
giue me leaue to beare you company, for I dare not aduenture
thither. The Lord of the Castle was contented &
dispatched away the rest: who taking with them such vyandes
as they thought méetest, went vnto F.I. chamber,
fynding him vp, and walking about to recouer strength,
whereat Dame Fraunces reioysed, and declared how hir
father had sent that company to attend him at supper.
F. I. gaue great thankes, and missing now nothing but
his Mistresse, thought not good yet to aske for hir, but
because he partly gessed the cause of hir absence, he contented
him selfe, hoping that when his lure was newe
garnished, he shoulde easely reclayme hir from those coye
conceiptes. They passed ouer their supper all in quiet,
and sone after Mistresse Fraunces, being desirous to requite
Dame Pergoes quippes, requested that they might
continue the pastime which Dame Pergo had begon ouer
night: whereunto they all consented, and the lot fell
vnto Dame Fraunces to propounde the second question,
who adressing hir spéeche vnto F. I. sayde in this wyse.
Noble gouernor, I will reherse vnto you a straūge historie,
not fayned, neither borowed out of any olde aucthoritie,
but a thing done in déede of late daies, and not farre
distant from this place where wee nowe remayne. It
chaunced that a gentleman our neighbour being maried
to a very fayre gentlewoman, liued with hir by the space
of fower or fiue yeares in great contentation, trusting
hir no lesse than he loued hir, and yet louing hir as much
as any man coulde loue a woman. On that otherside the
gentlewoman hadde woon (vnto hir beautie) a singular
commendation for hir chast and modest behauiour. Yet
it happened in time that a lustie younge gentleman (who
very often resorted to them) obtayned that at hir handes▪
which neuer any man coulde before him attayne: and to
be playne, he woon so much in hir affections, that forgetting
both hir owne dutie and hir husbandes kindnes, she
yéelded hir body at the commaundement of this louer, in
which pastime they passed long time by their polliticks
gouernement. At last the friendes of this Lady (and especially
thrée sisters which she had) espied ouermuch familiaritie
betwene the two louers, and dreading least it
might breake out to their cōmon reproch toke their sister
apart, and declared that the worlde did iudge scarce well
of the repayre of that gentleman vnto hir house: and
that if she did not foresée it in time, she shoulde not onely
leese the good credite which she hir selfe had hitherto possessed,
but furthermore should distayne their whole race
with common obloquy and reproch. These and sundry other
godly admonitions of these sisters could not sinke in
the mind of this gentlewoman, for she did not onely stand
in defiaunce what any man coulde thinke of hir, but also
séemed to accuse them, that because they saw hir estimation
(being their yonger) to growe aboue their owne, they
had therfore deuised this meane to set variance betwene
hir husbande and hir. The sisters séeing their holesome
counsell so reiected, and hir continue still in hir obstinate
opinion, adressed their spéech vnto hir husbande, declaring
that the worlde iudged not the best, neyther they
themselues did very wel like of the familiaritie betwene
their sister and that gentleman, and therfore aduised him
to forecast all perils, and in time to forbid him his house.
The husband (on that otherside) had also conceyued such
a goo
•
opinion of his gest, & had growen into such a stricte
famyliaritie with him, y• you might with more ease haue
remoued a stone wall, than once to make him thinke amisse,
eyther of his wyfe, or of hir louer: Yea and immediately
after this conference he would not sticke thus to
say vnto his wyfe. Besse: (for so in dée
•
e was hir name)
thou hast thrée such busie bray
•
ed si
•
ters, as I thincke
shortly their heads will breake: they woulde haue me to
bée tellous of thée, no no Besse &c. so that hee was not
onely farre from any such beliefe, but furthermore dyd
euery day encrease his curtesies towardes the louer. The
sisters being thus on all sides reiected, and yet perceiuing
more and more an vnseemely behauiour betwene their
sister and hir miniō, began to melt in their owne grease:
and such was their enraged pretēce of reuenge, that they
suborned diuers seruants in the house to watch so dilligently,
as that this treason might be discouered. Amōgst
the rest, one mayde of subtill spirite had so long watched
them, that at last she espied them go into a chamber together,
and locke the doore to them: whereuppon she ranne
with all hast possible to hir Maister, and tolde him that if
he would come with hir, shée woulde shewe him a very
straunge sight. The gentleman (suspectinge nothinge)
went with hir vntill he came into a chamber neare vnto
that wherein they had shut themselues, and she poynting
hir Maister to the keyhole, bad him looke through, where
he sawe the thing which most might mislike him to behold.
Where at he sodaynely drewe his Dagger, and turned
towardes the mayde, who fled from him for feare of
mischiefe: but when he could not ouer take hir in the heat
of his choller, he commaunded that she should forthwith
trusse vp that little which she had and to depart his seruice:
and before hir departure he found meanes to talke
with hir, threatening that if euer she spake any word of
this mystery in any place where she should come, it shuld
cost hir lyfe. The mayde for feare departed in silence, and
the Master neuer changed coūtenance eyther to his wife
or to hir peramour, but feyned vnto his wyfe that he had
turned away the mayde vppon that sodaine, for that shée
had throwen a Kitchin knife at him, whyles he went about
to correct a fault in hir &c. Thus the good gentleman
dranke vp his owne swette vnséene euery day, encreasing
curtesie to the louer, and neuer chaunging countenaunce
to his wyfe in any thing, but onely that he refrayned
to haue such knowlege of hir carnally as he in times
past had, and other men haue of their wyues. In this sort
he continued by the space all most of halfe a yeare, neuerthelesse
lamenting his mishap in sollitary places. At last
(what moued him I know not) he fell agayn to company
with his wife as other men doo, and as I haue heard it
saied he vsed this pollicy: euery time that he had knowledge
of hir, he would leaue either in the bed, or in hir cusshencloth,
or by hir looking glasse, or in some place wher
shée must néedes find it, a piece of mony which then was
fallen to thrée halfpence: and I remember they called thē
Slippes. Thus he dealt with hir continually by the space
of foure or fiue monethes, vsing hir neuerthelesse very
kindly in all other respectes, & prouiding for hir al things
necessary at the first call: But vnto his geast he still augmented
his curtesie, in suche sorte, that you would haue
thought them to be sworne brothers. Al this notwithstā
ding
his wife much musing at these thrée half peny péeces
which she founde in this sorte, and furthermore, hauing
sundry times found hir husband in solitarie places
making great lamentation, she grew enquisitiue, what
should be the secret cause of these alteracions: vnto whō
he would none otherwise answere, but that any mā shuld
finde occasion to be more pensiue at one time than at another.
The wife notwithstanding encreasing hir suspect,
emported the same vnto hir louer, alledging therwithall
that shée doubted very much least hir husband had some
vehement suspiciō of their affaires. The louer encoraged
hir, & likewise declared, y• if she would be importunate to
enquire the cause, hir husband would not be able to kéepe
it from hir: and hauing now throughly enstructed hir, she
dealt with hir husband in this sorte. One day when shee
knew him to be in his study alone, she came in to him, and
hauing fast locked the dore after hir, and cōueyed the key
into hir pocked, she began first with earnest entreaty, and
then with teares to craue that he would no longer kéepe
from hir the cause of his sodein alteration. The husband
dissimuled the matter still: at last she was so earnest to
know for what cause he left money in such sort at sundry
times, that he aunswered on this wise: Wyfe (quod he)
thou knowest how long we haue ben maried togither, &
how long I made so deare accompt of thée as euer man
made of his wife: since which dayes, thou knowest also
how long I refreyned thy company, and how long again
I haue vsed thy company leauing the mony in this sorte,
and the cause is this. So lōg as thou didst behaue thy self
faithfully towards me, I neuer lothed thy company, but
sithens I haue perceiued thée to be a harlot, therfore did
I for a time refreine and forbeare to lie with thée: & now
I can no longer forbeare it, I do giue thée euery time that
I lye with thée a slip, which is to make thée vnderstande
thine own whordome: and this reward is sufficient for a
whore. The wife began stoutly to stand at defiance, but
the husband cut off hir spéeche and declared when, where,
and how he had séene it: hereat the womā being abashed,
and finding hir conscience gilty of asmuch as he had alledged,
fel down on hir knées, & with most bitter teares craued
pardon, confessing hir offence: whereat hir husband
(moued with pitie) & melting likewise in fluds of lamentation,
recōforted hir promising that if from that day forwards
she would be true vnto him, he wold not only forgiue
al that was past, but become more tender & louing
vnto hir than euer he was. What do I tary so long? they
became of accord: & in full accōplishment therof, the gentlewoman
did altogither eschew the company, the speech,
& (as much as in hir lay) the sight of hir louer, although hir
husband did continue his curtesie to wars him, and often
charged his wife to make him fair semblant. The Louer
was now onely left in perpleritie, who knewe nothing
what might be the cause of all these chaunges, & that most
greeued him, he could by no meanes obteyne agayn the
spéech of his desired: hee watched all opportunities, hée
suborned messangers, he wrote letters, but all in vayne.
In the end shée caused to be declared vnto him a time and
place where she would méete him and speake with him.
Being mett, she put him in remembrance of all that had
passed betwene them: shhe layed also before him howe
trusty shée had bin vnto him in all professions: she confessed
also how faithfully hee had discharged the dutie of a
friend in all respects, and therewithall she declared that
hir late alteration and pensiuenes of mind was not with
out great cause, for that she had of late such a mishap, as
might change the disposition of any liuing creature: Yea
and that the case was such, as vnlesse she found present
remedy, hir death must néedes ensue and that spéedely: for
the preuenting whereof, she alledged that she had beaten
hir braynes with all deuises possible, and that in the end
she could think of no redresse but one, the which lay only
in him to accomplishe. Wherfore she besought him for all
the loue and good will which passed betwene them, nowe
to shew the fruites of true friendship, and to gratifie hir
with a frée graunt to this request. The louer who had always
ben desirous to pleasure hir in any thing, but now
especially to recouer hir woonted kindnesse, gan frankly
promise to accōplish any thing that might be to him possible,
yea though it were to his great detriment: and
therewithall did déepely blame hir in that she would so
long torment hir selfe with any grief, considering that it
lay in him to helpe it. The Lady aunswered, that she had
so long kept it from his knowledge, bycause she doubted
whether he would be contented to performe it or not, althogh
it was such a thing as he might easely graūt without
any maner of hurt to himself: & yit that now in ye end
she was forced to aduēture vpon his curtesie, being no lō
ger
able to bear ye burdē of hir grief the louer solicited hir
most earnestly to disclose it: and she (as fast) séemed to mistrust
y• he would not accōpl
•
sh it. In the end she tooke out
a booke (which shée had brought for the no
•
ce) and bound
him by oth to accōplish it. The louer mistrusting nothing
lesse than that ensued, tooke the othe willingly: which don
she declared al that had passed betwene hir & hir husband:
his grief, hir repentance, his pardon, hir vow, & in ye ende
of hir tale enioined the louer, that frō thenceforthwards,
he should neuer attempt to break hir cōstant determination:
the louer replied that this was vnpossible: but shée
plainly assured him, y• if he graūted hir that request, she
would be his friend in all honest & godly wise: if not, shée
put him out of doubt that she would eschew his cōpany &
flie from his sight as from a scorpion. The louer considering
that hir request was but iust, accusing his own gilty
conscience, remembring the great curtesies always vsed
by hir husband, & therwithal séeing the case now brought
to such an issue, as y• by none other meanes than by this
it could be cōceiled frō knowledge of the world: but most
of all, being vrged by his oth, did at last giue an vnwilling
consent, & yit a faithful promise to yéeld vnto hir wil in al
things: and thus being become of one assēt, he remaineth
the dearest friend & most welcome gest that may be, both
to the Lady & hir husband, and the man & wife so kind (ech
to other) as if there neuer had bin such a breache betwene
them. Now, of you noble Gouernor I would fayn learn,
whether the perplexitie of the husband when he looked in
at the key hole, or of the wife when she knewe the cause
why the slippes were so scattered, or of the louer when he
knew what was his Mistres charge, was greater of the
thrée? I might haue put in also the troubled thoughts of
the sisters & the mayd, when they sawe their good will reiected,
but let these thrée suffise. Gentle Hope (quod F. I.)
you haue rehearsed (& that right eloquētly) a notable tale,
or rather a notable history, bycause you séeme to affirme,
that it was don in déed of late, & not far hence. Wherein I
note fiue especiall pointes: that is a maruelous pacience
in the husband, no lesse repentance in the wyfe, no small
boldnesse of the mayd, but much more rashnesse in the sisters,
and last of all, a rare tractabilitie in the louer. Neuerthelesse
to returne vnto your question, I think the husbands
perplexitie greatest, bicause his losses abounded aboue
the rest, & his iniuries were vncōparable. The Lady
Fraunces did not séeme to contrary him, but rather smyled
in hir sléeue at Dame Pergo, who had no lesse patience to
heare the tale recited, than the Lady Fraūces had pleasure
in telling of it, but I may not rehearse the cause why, vnlesse
I shuld tell all. By this time the sléeping houre aproched,
& the Ladies prepared their departure, when as mistres
Fraūces said vnto F.I. Although percase I shal not do
it so handsomly as your mistres, yit good Trust (quod she)
if you vouchsafe it, I can be content to trim vp your bed
in ye best maner that I may, as one who would be as glad
as she to procure your quiet rest. I.F. gaue hir gret thāks
desiring hir not to trouble hirself, but to let his mā alone
with that charge: thus they departed, and how all parties
tooke rest that night I know not: but in the morning F.I.
began to cōsider wt himself that he might lye long enough
in his bed before his mistres would be apeased in hir péewish
cōceipts: wherfore he arose, & being aparelled in his
night gown, tooke occasion to walk in the gallery néer adioyning
vnto his Mistres chāber: but ther might he walk
long enough ere his mistres would come to walk wt him.
When dinner time came he wēt into the great chamber
wheras the Lord of the castle saluted him being ioyful of
his recouery. F.I. giuing dewe thanks, declared that his
frendly entretainemēt togither with the great curtesie of
the gentlewomē was such, as might reuiue a mā althogh
he were half dead. I would be loth (qd the hoste) that any
gentlemā cōming to me for good wil shuld want any curtesie
of entertainmēt y• lieth in my power. Whē y• meat
was serued to the table, the gentlewomē came in all but
Dame Elynor & mistres Pergo, the which F.I. marked very
well, & it did somewhat abate his apetit. After dinner,
his Hope came vnto him and demaunded of him howe hée
would passe the day for his recreation? to whom he aunswered
euen as it best pleased hir. She deuised to walke
into the park, & so by little & litle to acquaint himself with
the ayre: he agréed, & they walked togither being accōpanied
with one or two other gentlewomē. Here (least you
shuld grow in some wrong cōceit of F.I.) I must put you
out of dout, that although ther were now more cause that
he shuld mistrust his mistres than euer he had before receiued,
yit the vehemēt passions which he saw in hir whē
the first came to visit him, & moreouer, the earnest words
which she pronoūced in his extremity, were such a refreshing
to his mind, as that he determined no more to trouble
himself wt like cōceitps: cōcluding further, y• if his mistres
wer not faulty, thē had he cōmittted a foule offēce in néedlesse
ielousie, & that if she were faulty (especially with the
Secretary) thē no persuasion could amend hir, nor any passion
help him: and this was the cause y• enabled him after
such passing pangs to abyde the doubtfull conclusion, thus
manfully and valiātly to represse feintnesse of his mind:
nothing doubting but that he should haue wonne his Mistres
to pardon his presumption, & louingly to embrace
his seruice in wonted maner, but he was far deceyued, for
she was now in another tewne, the which Mistres Fraū
ces
began partly to discouer vnto him as they walked togither:
for shée burdened him that his mallady procéeded
only of a disquiet mind. And if it did so my gentle Hope
(quod he) what remedy? My good Trust (quod she) none other
but to plant quiet where disquiet began to grow. I
haue determined so (qd he) but I must craue the helpe of
your assured friēship. Therof you may make accoūpt (qd
she) but wherin? F.I. walking apart with hir, begā to declare
that ther was some contētion hapened betwene his
mistres & him: the Lady told him that she was not ignorant
therof. Thē he desired hir to treat so much in y• cause,
as they might eftsones come to Parlee: therof I dare assure
you (qd Mistresse Fraunces, & at their retorne she led
F.I. into his Mistres chamber, whom thei found lying on
hir bed, whether galded with any grief, or weary of the
thing (which you wrot of) I know not, but there she lay:
vnto whō
F.I. gaue two or thrée salutatiōs before she séemed
to mark him. At last said the Lady Fraunces vnto hir,
your seruāt hearing of your sicknes, hath aduētured thus
far into the ayre to sée you. I thank him (qd Dame Elynor)
& so lay still, refusing to giue him any coūtenāce. Wherat
F. I. perceyuing al the other gentlewomen fal to whispering,
thought good, boldly to plead his own case: & aproching
the bed begā to enforce his vnwilling mistres vnto curtesie,
wherin he vsed such vehemēce as she could not well
by any meanes refuse to talke with him: but what their
talk was I may not take vpō me to tell you, vnlesse you
woul
•
haue me fill vp a whole volume only with his matters,
and I haue dilated thē ouer largely already. Suffyseth
this to be knowne, that in the ende shee pretended to
passe ouer all old grudges, & thenceforth to pleasure him
as accasion might serue: the which occasion was so long
in hapening, that in the end F.I. being now eftsones troubled
with vnquiet fantasies, & forced to vse his pen again
as an Ambassadour betwene thē: one daye amongst the
rest found oportunitie to thrust a letter into hir bosome,
wherin he had earnestly requested another mooneshyne
banquet or frydayes breakfast to recomfort his dulled spirits,
wherunto the Dame yéelded this aunswer in writing,
but of whose endyting iudge you.
G.T.
I can but smyle at your simplicity, who burden your
friends with an impossibility. The case so stood as I could
not though I would. Wherefore from henceforth eyther
learne to frame your request more reasonably, or else
stand content with a flat repulse.
SHE.
F.I. liked this letter but a little: and being thereby drouen
into his accustomed vayne, he compiled in verse this
answere following, vppon these woords conteined in hir
letter, I could not though I would.
G.T.
I could not though I would: good Lady say not so,
Since one good word of your good wil might soone redesse my w
•
Where would is free before, there could can neuer fayle:
For profe, you see how gallies passe where ships cā beare no sayle.
The weary mariner when skies are ouercast,
By ready will doth guyde his skill and wins the hauen at last.
The prety byrd that sings with pricke against hir brest,
Doth make a vertue of hir need to watch when others rest.
And true the prouerbe is, which you haue layed apart,
There is no hap can seeme to hard vnto a willing hart.
Then louely Lady myne, you say not as you should,
In doubtful termes to aunswer thus: I could not thogh I would.
Yes, yes▪ full well you know, your can is quicke and good:
And wilfull will is eke too swift toshed my giltlesse blood.
But if good will were bent as prest as power is,
Such will would quickly find the skill to mend that is amisse.
Wherfore if you desire to see my true loue spilt,
Commaund and I will slea my self, that yours may be the gilt.
But if you haue no power to say your seruaunt nay,
Write thus: I may not as I would, yit must I as I may.
F.I.
THus F.I. replied vpon his Mistres aunswer, hoping
therby to recouer some fauour at hir hāds, but it wold
not be: so that now he had bene as likely (as at the first)
to haue fretted in fantasies, had not the Lady Fraunces
continually comforted him: and by little & little she droue
such reason into his minde, that now he began to subdue
his humors with discretion, and to determine that if hée
might espie euident profe of his Mistresse frayeltie, hée
would then stand content with pacience perforce, & giue
his Mistres the Bezo las manos. And it happened one day amongst
others, that he resorted to his Mistresse chamber
& found hir (allo solito) lying vpon hir bed, & the secretary
with Dame Pergo & hir handmayd keping of hir cōpany.
Wherat F.I. somwhat repyning, came to hir and fell to
dalliāce, as one y• had now rather aduēture to be thought
presumptious than yéeld to be accompted bashfull, he cast
his arme ouer his Mistresse and began t
•
accuse hir of
slogishnes, vsing some other bold partes, as well to prouoke
hir, as also to gréeue the other. The Lady séemed
little to delight in his dallying, but cast a glance at hir secretary
and therwith smyled, when as the Secretary &
dame Pergo burst out into open laughter. The which F.I.
perceyuing, and disdayning hir ingratitude, was forced
to depart, and in that fantasie compyled this Sonet.
G.T.
WIth hir in armes that had my hart in hold,
I stoode of late to plead for pittie so:
And as I did hir louely lookes behold,
She cast a glance vppon my ryuall foe.
His fleering face prouoked hir to smyle,
When my salte teares were drowned in disdayne:
He glad, I sad, he laught, (alas the while)
I wept for woe: I pyn'd for deadly payne.
And when I sawe none other boote preuayle,
But reasons rule must guide my skilfull minde:
Why then (quod I) olde prouerbes neuer fayle,
For yet was neuer good Cat out of kinde:
Nor woman true but euen as stories tell,
Woon with an egge, and lost againe with shall.
F. I.
THis Sonet declareth that he began nowe to accompt
of hir as she deserued, for it hath a sharpe conclusion,
and it is somewhat too generall. Wel, as it is he lost it
where his Mistresse found it, and she immediatly emparted
the same vnto Dame Pergo, and Dame Pergo vnto
others: so that it quickely became common in the house.
Amongst others Mistresse Fraunces hauing recouered a
copie of it, did séeme to pardon the generallitie, and to be
well pleased with the perticularitie therof, the which she
bewrayed one day vnto F.I. in this wise. Of all the ioyes
that euer I had (my good Trust quod she) there is none
wherein I take more comforte than in your comformitie,
and although your present rage is such that you can bée
content to condemne a nomber vnknowen, for the transgression
of one too well knowne: yet I do rather reioyce
that you should iudge your pleasure ouer many, than to
be abused by any. My good Hope (quod he) it were not reason
that after such manifold proofes of your exceding curtesies,
I should vse straunge or contentious spéech with so
deare a friend, and in déede I must confesse that the opinion
which I haue conceiued of my Mistresse, hath stirred
my penne to write very hardly against all the feminine
gender, but I pray you pardon me (quod he) & if it please
y
•
u I wil recant
••
tas also (percase) I was but
•
loyed with
Surquedry, and presumed to think more than may be proued.
Yea but how if it were proued quod Dame Fraunces?
If it were so (which God forbid quod he) then coulde
you not blame me to conceiue that opinion. Howsoeuer I
might blame you (quod she) I meane not to blame you,
but I demaund further, if it be as I thinke & you suspect,
what will you then do? Surely (quod F. I.) I haue deter
•
ed
to drinke vp mine owne sorowe secretely, and to bid
them both a Dieu. I like your farewell better than your
fantasie (quod she) and whensoeuer you can be content to
take so much paynes, as the Knight (which had a night
gowne garded with naked swordes) dyd take, I thinke
you may put your selfe out of doubt of all these thinges.
By these wordes and other spéech which she vttered vnto
him, F.I. smelt how the world went about, and therfore
did one day in y• grey morning aduēture to passe through
the gallery towards his Mistres chamber, hoping to haue
found the doore open, but he found the contrary, and there
attending in good deuocion, heard the parting of his Mistresse
and hir Secretary, with many kind words: wherby
it appeared that the one was very loth to departe
from the other. F.I. was enforced to beare this burden,
and after he had attended there as long as the light wold
giue him leaue, he departed also to his chamber, and aparaling
himselfe, could not be quiet vntill he had spoken
with his Mistresse, whom he burdened flatly with this
despitefull trechery: and she as fast denied it, vntill at
last being still vrged with such euident tokens as he alleged,
she gaue him this bone to g
•
awe vppon. And if I
did so (quod she) what than? Whereunto F.I. made none
answere, but departed with this farewell. My losse is mine
owne, and your gayne is none of yours, and soner can I recouer
my losse than you enioye the gaine which you gape after. And
whan he was in place sollitary, he compyled these following
for a fynall end of the matter.
G. T.
And if I did what then?
Are you agreeu'd therfore?
The Sea hath fishe for euery man,
And what would you haue more?
Thus did my Mistresse once,
Amaze my mind with doubt:
And
〈◊〉
a question for the nonce,
To beate my braynes about▪
Wherto I thus replied,
Eche fisherman can wishe,
That all the Sea at euery tyde,
Were his alone to fishe.
And so did I (in vaine,)
But since it may not be:
Let such fishe there as find the gaine,
And lea
•
e the losse for me.
And with such lucke and losse,
I will content my selfe:
Till tydes of turning time may tosse,
Such fishers on the shelfe.
And when they sticke on sands,
That euery man may see:
Then will I laugh and clappe my hands,
As they do now at meo.
F.I.
IT is time now to make an end of this thriftlesse Historie,
wherein although I could wade much f
•
rther,
as to declare his departure, what thankes he gaue to his
Hope &c. Yet I will cease, as one that had rather leaue it
vnperfect than make it to plaine. I haue past it ouer with
quod he, and quod she, after my homely manner of writing,
vsing sundry names for one person, as the Dame,
the Lady, Mistresse, &c. The Lorde of the Castle, the
Master of the house, and the hoste: neuerthelesse for that
I haue séene good aucthors terme euery gentle woman a
Lady, and euery gentleman domine, I haue thought it no
greater faulte then pettie treason thus to enter myngle
them, nothing doubting but you will easely, vnderstand
my meaning, and that is asmuch as I desire. Now henceforwardes
I will trouble you no more with such a barbarous
style in prose, but will onely recite vnto you sundry
verses written by sundry gentlemen, adding nothing of
myne owne, but onely a tytle to euery Poeme, wherby
the cause of writinge the same maye the more euidently
appeare: Neyther can I declare vnto you who wrote the
greatest part of them, for they are vnto me but a
pos
•
e presented out of sundry gardens, neither
haue I any other names of the flowers, but
such short notes as the aucthors themselues
haue deliuered therby if you
can gesse them, it shall no waye
offende mée. I will begin
with this translation
as followeth.
G. T.
Written vppon a reconciliation be
twene
two freendes
THe hatefull man that heapeth in his mynde,
Cruell reuenge of wronges forepast and done,
May not (with ease
•
) the pleasaunt pathway finde,
Of friendly verses which I haue now begone,
Unlesse at first his angry brest vntwinde,
The crooked knot which canckred choller knit,
And then recule with reconciled grace.
Likewise I find it sayed in holy write,
If thou entend to turne thy fearefull face,
To God aboue: make thyne agrement yet,
First with thy Brother whom thou didst abuse,
Confesse thy faultes thy frowardnes and all,
So that the Lord thy prayer not refuse.
When I consider this, and then the brall,
Which raging youth (I will not me excuse)
Did whilome bréede in mine vn
•
ellowed brayne,
I thought it méete before I did assay,
To write in ryme the double golden gayne,
Of amitie: first yet to take away
The grutch of grief, as thou doest me constrayne.
By due desert whereto I now must yéeld,
And drowne for aye in depth of Lethes lake,
Disdaynefull moodes whom frendship cannot wéeld:
Pleading for peace which for my parte I make
Of former strife, and henceforth let vs write
The pleasant fruites of faythfull friends delight.
Si fortunatus infoelix.
¶Two gentlemen did roon three courses at the rynge for
one kysse, to be taken of a fayre gentlewoman being then pre
sent,
with this condicion
▪ that the winner shold haue the kisse,
and the loser be bound to write some verses vppon the gayne
or losse therof. Now it fortuned so that the wynner triumphed
saying, he much lamented that in his youth he had not seene
the warres. VVhereuppon the looser compiled these following
in discharge of the condicion aboue rehea
•
sed.
THis vayne avayle which thou by Mars hast woon,
Should not allure thy flittering mynd to féeld:
Where sturdie Stéedes in depth of daungers roon,
With guts wel gnawen by clappes that Cannons yéeld.
Where faythlesse friends by warfare waxen ware,
And roon to him that geueth best rewarde:
No feare of lawes can cause them for to care,
But robbe and reaue, and steale without regard
The fathers cote, the brothers stéede from stall:
The déere friends purse shall picked be for pence,
The natiue soyle, the parents left and all,
With Tant tra Tant, the campe is marching hence.
But when bare beggrie hids them to beware,
And late repentaunce rules them to retyre.
Like hy
•
elesse Bées they wander here and there,
And hang on them (who earst) might dread their yre.
This cutthro
•
e life (me séemes) thou shouldst not like,
And shoon the happie hauen of meane estate:
High Ioue (perdie) may send what thou doest séeke,
And heape vp poundes within thy quiet gate.
Nor yet I would that thou shouldst spend thy dayes,
In idlenesse to teare a golden time:
Like country loutes which compt none other prayse,
But grease a shéepe and learne to serue the swine.
In vayne were then the giftes which nature lent,
If Pan so preasse to passe Dame Pallas lore:
But my good friend let thus thy youth be spent,
Serue God thy Lord, and prayse him euermore.
Search out the skill which learned bookes do teach,
And serue in féeld when shadowes make thée sure:
Hold with the head, and rowe not past thy reach.
But plead for peace which plenty may procure.
And (for my life) if thou canst roon this race,
Thy bagges of coyne will multiply apace.
Si fortunatus infoelix.
¶Not long after the writing hereof: he departed from
the company of his sayd friend (whom he entirely loued)
into the west of England, and feeling himselfe so consu
med
by womens craft that he doubted of a safe retorne:
wrote before his departure as followeth.
THe féeble thred which Lachesis hath spoon,
To drawe my dayes in short abode with thée,
Hath wrought a webb which now (welneare) is don
•
,
The wale is worne: and (all to late) I sée
That lingring life doth da
•
ly but in vaine,
For Atrop
•
s will cut the twist in twayne.
I not discer
•
e what life but lothsome were,
When faithfull friends are kept in twayne by want:
Nor yet perceyue what pleasure doth appéere,
To déepe desires where good successe is skant.
Such spight yet showes dame fortune (if she frowne,)
The haughty harts in high mishaps to drowne.
Hot be the flames which boyle in friendly mindes,
Cruell the care and dreadfull is the doome:
Slipper the knot which tract of time vntwynds,
Hatefull the life and welcome were the toome.
Blest were the day which migh deuower such youth,
And curst the want that séekes to choke such trueth.
This wayling verse I bathe in flowing teares,
And would my life might end with these my lynes:
Yet striue I not to force into thine eares,
Such fayned plaintes as fickell fayth resignes.
But high forsight in dreames hath stopt my breath,
And causd the Swanne to sing before his death.
For lo these naked walles do well declare,
My latest leaue of thee I taken haue:
And vnknowen coastes which I must séeke with care
Do well diuine that there shalbe my graue.
There shall my death make many for to mone,
Skarce knowne to them, well knowne to thée alone.
This bowne of thée (as last request) I craue,
When true report shal sounde my death with fame:
Uouchsafe yet then to go vnto my graue,
And there first write my byrth and then my name▪
And how my life was shortned many yeares,
By womens wyles as to the world appeares.
And in reward of graunt to this request,
Permit O God my toung these wordes to tell▪
(When
〈◊〉
his pen shall write vppon my chest)
With shriking voyce mine owne deare friend farewell.
No care on earth did séeme so much to me,
As when my corps was forst to part from thée.
Si fortunatus infoelix.
He wrote to the same friend from
Excester, this Sonet following.
A Hundreth sonnes (in course but not in kind)
Can witnesse well that I possesse no ioye:
The feare of death which fretteth in my mynd
Consumes my hart with dread of darke anoye.
And for eche sonne a thousand broken sléepes,
Deuide my dreames with fresh recourse of cares:
The youngest s
••
ter sharpe hir sheare she kepes,
To cut my thred and thus my life it weares.
Yet let such dayes, such thousand restlesse nightes,
Spit forth their spite, let fates eke showe their force:
Deathes daunting dart where so his buffets lights,
Shall shape no change within my friendly corse:
But dead or liue, in heauen, in earth, in hell
I wilbe thine where so my carkase dwell.
Si fortunatus infoelix.
¶He wrote to the same friend from Founteine belle
eaü in Fraunce
▪ this Sonet in commendation of the said
house of Fountaine bel' eaü.
NOt stately Troy though Priam yet did liue▪
Could now compare Founteine bel eaü to passe▪
Nor Syrriane towers, whose loftie steppes did striue,
To clymbe the throne where angry Saturne was.
For outward shew the ports are of such price,
〈…〉
Such works within as stayne the rare deuise▪
Which whillome he Apelles wrought on toome.
Swift Tiber floud which fed the Romayne pooles,
Puddle to this where Christall melts in streames,
The pleasaunt place where Muses kept their schooles▪
(Not parcht with Phaebe, nor banisht from his beames)
Yéeld to those Dames, nor sight, nor fruite, nor smell,
Which may be thought these gardens to excell.
Si fortunatus infoelix.
¶He wrote vnto a Skotish Dame whom
he chose for his Mistresse in the
french Court, as followeth.
LAdy receyue, receyue in gracious wise,
This ragged verse, these rude ill skribled lynes:
Too base an obiect for your heauenly eyes,
For he that writes his fréedome (lo) resignes
Into your handes: and fréely yéelds as thrall
His sturdy necke (earst subiect to no yoke)
But bending now, and headlong prest to fall▪
Before your féete, such force hath beauties stroke.
Since then myne eyes (which skornd our English) dames
In forrayne courtes haue chosen you for fayre,
Let be this verse true token of my flames,
And do not drench your owne in déepe dispayre.
Onely I craue (as I nill change for new)
That you vouchsafe to thinke your seruaunt trew.
Si fortunatus infoelix.
¶VVritten to a gentlewoman who had refused him and
chosen a husband (as he thought) much inferior to himself, both
in knowledge byrth and parsonage. VVherin he bewrayeth both
their names in cloudes, and how she was woon from him with
sweete gloues and broken ringes.
I Cannot wish thy griefe, although thou worke my woe
Since I profest to be thy friend, I cannot be thy foe:
But if thinges done and past, might wel be cald againe,
Then woulde I wishe the wasted wordes, which I haue
spent in vaine:
Were it vntold to thée, in earnest or in game,
And that my doubtfull musing mind, had neuer thought
the same.
For whyles I thée beheld, in carefull thoughts I spent
My liking lust, my lucklesse loue which euer truly ment▪
And whyles I sought a meane, by pitie to procure,
Too late I foūd that gorged haukes, do not esteme y• lure.
This vaūtage hast thou then, thou mayst wel brag & b
•
st
Thou mightst haue had a lusty lad, of stature with the
most,
And eke of noble mind: his vertues nothing base,
Do well declare that descends, of auncient worthy race.
Saue that I not his name, and though I could it tell,
My friendly pen shall let it passe, bycause I loue him wel.
And thou hast chosen one of meaner parentage,
Of stature small & therwithall, vnequall for thine age.
His thewes vnlike the first, yet hast thou hot desire,
To play thée in his flitting flames, God graūt they proue
not fyre.
Him holdest thou as deare, and he thy Lord shall bée,
(Too late alas) thou louest him, that neuer loued thée.
And for iust proofe hereof, marke what I tell is true,
Some dismold day shall change his mind, and make him
séeke a new.
Then wilt thou much repent thy bargaine made in hast,
And much lament those parfumd gloues, which yéeld such
sower tast.
And eke the falsed faith, which lurkes in broken ringes,
Though hand in hand say otherwise, yet do I know such
thinges.
Then shalt thou sing and say, farewell my trusty Squier▪
Wold god my mind had yéelded once, vnto thy iust desire▪
Thus shalt thou waile my want, and I thy great vnrest,
Which cruel Cupid kindled hath, within thy broken brest.
Thus shalt thou find it griefe, which earst thou thoughtest
game,
And I shal hear y• weary newes, by true reporting fame▪
Lamenting thy mishap, in source of swelling teares,
Harding my hart wt cruel care, which frosen fācy beares.
And though my iust deserte, thy pitie could not moue,
yet wil I wash in waylīg words, thy careles childish loue
And say as Troyl
•
s sayd, since that I can no more,
Thy wanton wil did wauer once, and wo is me therfore.
Si fortunatus infoelix.
In prayse of a gentlewoman who though she wer
•
not very fayre, yet was she as hard
fauored as might be.
IF men may credite giue, to true reported fames,
Who douts but stately Roome had store of lusty louing
Dames?
Whose eares haue bene so deafe, as neuer yit heard tell
How farre the fresh Pompeia, for beautie did excell.
And golden Marcus he, that swayde the Romaine sword,
Bare witnesse of Boemia, by credite of his word.
What neede I mo reherse? since all the world did know
How high y• flouds of beauties blase, within those walles
did flowe.
And yet in all that choyce a worthy Romaine Knight,
Antonius who conquered proude Egypt by his might.
Not all to please his eye, but most to ease his minde,
Chose Cleopatra for his loue, & left the rest behinde.
A wondrous thing to read, in all his victory.
He snapt but hir for his owne share, to please his fātasie.
She was not faire God wot, y• coūtry bréeds none bright,
Well maye we iudge hir skinne the foyle, bycause hir
téeth were white.
Percase hir louely lookes, some prayses did deserue,
But brown I dare be bold she was▪ for so y• solle did serue.
And could Antonius forsake the fayre in Roome?
To loue this nutbrowne Lady best, was this an equall
doome?
I dare wel say dames there, did beare him deadly grudge,
His sentence had bene shortly sayed, if Faustine had bene
iudge.
For this I dare auow, (without vaunt be it spoke)
So braue a knight as Anthony, held al their necks in yoke
I leaue not Lucrece out, beleue in hir who list,
I thinke she would haue lik'd his lure, & stooped to his fist.
What mou'd the chieftain then, to lincke his liking thus?
I wold some Romaine dame were here, the question to
discusse.
But I that read hir life, do find therin by fame,
How cleare hir curtisie did shine, in honour of hir name.
Hir bountie did excell, hir trueth had neuer péere,
Hir louely lookes hir pleasāt spéech, hir lusty louing
•
here.
And all the worthy giftes, that euer yet were found,
Within this good Egiptiā Quéen, did séeme for to aboūd▪
Wherfore he worthy was, to win the golden fléece,
Which scornd the blasing sterres in Roome, to conquere
such a péece.
And she to quite his loue, in spite of dreadfull death,
Enshrinde with Snakes within his tombe, did yéeld hir
parting breath.
Allegoria.
IF fortune fauord him, then may that man reioyce,
And think himself a happy man by hap of happy choice.
Who loues and is belou'd of one as good, as true,
As kind as Cleopatra was, and yet more of bright hewe.
Hir eyes as grey as glasse, hir téeth as white as mylke,
A ruddy lippe, a dimpled chyn, a skinne as smoth as silke.
A wight what could you more y• may content mās mind,
And hath supplies for eu'ry want that any man can find.
And may himselfe assure, when hence his life shall passe,
She wilbe stong to death with snakes, as Cleopatra was.
Si fortunatus infoelix.
¶He began to write by a gentlewoman who passed
by him with hir armes set bragging by hir sides, and left
it vnfinished as followeth.
WEre my hart set on hoygh as thyne is bent,
Or in my brest so braue and stout a will:
Then (long ere this) I could haue bene content,
With sharpe reuenge thy carelesse corps to kyll.
For why thou knowest (although thou know not all)
What rule, what reigne, what power, what segnory,
Thy melting mind did yéeld to me (as thrall)
When first I pleasd thy wandring fantasie.
What lingring lookes bewray'd thyne inward thought,
What pangs were publisht by perplexitie,
Such reakes the rage of loue in thée had wrought
And no gramercy for thy curtesie.
I list not vaunt, but yet I dare auowe
(Had bene my harmelesse hart as hard as thyne)
I could haue bound thée then for sterting now,
In bonds of bale, in pangs of deadly pyne.
For why by proofe the field is eath to win,
Where as the chiefteynes yéeld themselues in chaynes:
The port or passage playne to enter in
Where porters list to leaue the key for gaines.
But did I then deuise with crueltie,
(As tyrants do) to kyll thy yéelding pray?
Or did I bragge and boast triumphantly,
As who should say, the field were myne that day?
Did I retire my self out of thy sight
To beate (a fresh) the bulwarks of thy brest?
Or did my mind in choyse of change delight,
And render thée as refusd with the rest?
No Tygre no▪ the Lion is not lewd,
He showes no force on séely wounded shéepe, &c.
VVhiles he sat at the dore of his lodging▪ deuysing these
verses aboue rehearsed, the same Gentlewoman passed
by agayne, and cast a longe looke towards him, wherby
he left his former inuention and wrote thus.
HOw long she lookt that lookt at mée of late,
As who would say, hir lookes were all for loue:
When God he knowes they came from deadly hate,
To pinch me yit with pangs which I must proue.
But since my lookes hir liking may not moue,
Looke where she likes: for lo this looke was cast,
Not for my loue, but euen to sée my last.
Si fortunatus infoelix.
An other Sonet written by the same Gentlewoman
vppon the same occasion.
I Lookt of late and saw thée looke askance,
Upon my dore to sée if I satt there,
As who should say▪ If he be there by chance,
Yet may he think I looke him euery where.
No cruell no, thou knowst and I can tell,
How for thy loue I layd my lookes a side:
Though thou (percase) hast lookt and liked well
Some new found looks amid this world so wide.
But since thy lookes my loue haue so enchaynd
That in my lookes thy liking now is past:
Looke where thou likest, and let thy hands be staynd,
In true loues bloud which thou shalt lack at last.
So looke so lack, for in theis toyes thus tost,
My lookes thy loue, thy lookes my life haue lost.
Si fortunatus infoelix.
Enough of this Dame. And let vs peruse his other doings
which haue come to my hands, in such disordred order,
as I can best set them down. I will now then present
you with a Sonet written in prayse of the brown
beautie, which he compyled for the loue of Mistresse
E. P. as foloweth.
THe thriftles thred which pampred beauty spinnes,
In thraldom binds the foolish gazing eyes:
As cruell Spyders with their crafty ginnes,
In worthlesse webbes doe snare the simple Flies.
The garments gay, the glittring golden gite,
The tysing talk which floweth from Pallas pooles:
The painted pale, the (too much) red made white,
Are smyling baytes to fishe for louing fooles.
But lo, when eld in toothlesse mouth appeares,
And whoary beares in stéed of bauties blaze:
Than Had I wist, doth teach repenting yeares,
The tickle track of craftie Cupides maze.
Twixt faire and foule therfore, twixt great and small,
A louely nutbrowne
•
ace is best of all.
Si fortunatus infoelix.
Written by a Gentlewoman in court, who (when shee
was there placed) seemed to disdain him, con
trary
to a former profession.
WHen daūger kepes the dor
•
, of lady beauties bowre,
Whē ielouse toys haue chased Trust out of hir strō
gest
towre:
Then faith and troth may flie, then falshod wins the field
Thē féeble naked faultlesse harts, for lack of sence must yeld.
And thē preuailes as much to hop against the hil,
As séeke by suite for to apease a froward Ladies will.
For othes and solemne vowes, are wasted then in vain,
And truth is cōpted but a toy, whē such fond fācies reign.
The sentence sone is said, when will it self is Iudge,
And quickly is the quarel pickt whē ladies list to grudge.
This sing I for my selfe, (which wrote this weary song)
Who iustly may cōplain my case, if euer man had wrong
A Lady haue I seru'd, a Lady haue I lou'd,
A Ladies good will once I had, hir ill will laie I pr
•
u'd.
In country first I knew hir, in coūtrie first I caught hir,
And out of coūtry now in court, to my cost haue I sought
hir.
In court where Princes reign, hir place is now assingd,
And well were worthy for the roome, if she were not vnkind.
There I (in wonted wise) did shew my self of late,
And found y• as the soile was chang'd, so loue was turnd
to hate.
But why? God knowes, not I: saue as I said before,
Pitie is put frō porters place, & daunger kéepes the dore.
If courting then haue skill, to chaunge good Ladies so,
god sēd ech wilful dame in court, som wōd of my like wo
That with a troubled head, she may both turne and tosse,
In restlesse bed whē she should sleepe & féele of loue y• losse.
And I (since porters put me from my wonted place)▪
And déepe deceit hath wrought a wyle to wrest me out of grace:
wil home agein to cart▪ as fitter wer for me,
Then thus in court to serue and starue, wher such proud
porters be.
Si fort
•
natus infoelix.
From this I will skip to certaine verses written to a Gentlewoma
̄
whom he liked very well, and yit had neuer any oportunity to
discouer his affection, being always brydled by ielouse lookes,
which attended them both, and therfore gessing by hir looks,
that she partly also liked him: he wrot in a booke of hirs as fo
loweth.
THou with thy lookes on whom I looke full ofte,
And find therin great cause of déepe delight:
Thy face is faire, thy skin is smooth and softe,
Thy lippes are swéet, thine eyes are cleere and bright,
And euery part séemes pleasant in my sight.
Yit wote thou well, those lookes haue wrought my wo▪
Bicause I loue to looke vpon them so.
For first those lookes allur'd myne eye to looke,
And streight myne eie stird vp my hart to loue:
And cruell loue with déepe deceitfull hooke,
Chokt vp my mind whom fancie cannot moue,
Nor hope reléeue, nor other helpe behoue:
But still to looke, and though I looke too much,
Néeds must I looke, bicause I sée none such.
Thus in thy lookes my loue and life haue hold,
And with such life my death drawes on apace:
And for such death no medcine can be told,
But looking still vpon thy louely face,
Wherein are painted pitie, peace, and grace.
Then though thy lookes should cause me for to dye,
Néedes must I looke, bicause I liue therby.
Since then thy lookes my lyfe haue so in thrall,
As I can like none other lookes but thine:
Lo here I yéeld my life, my loue, and all
Into thy hands, and all things else resigne,
But libertie to gaze vpon thyne eyen.
Which when I doe, then think it were thy part,
To looke again, and linke with me in hart.
Si fortunatus infoelix.
VVith these verses you shall iudge the quick ca
pacity
of the Lady: for she wrot therunder this short
aunswer.
Looke as long as you list, but surely if I take you
looking, I will looke with you.
And for a further profe of this Dames quick vnderstā
ding,
you shall now vnderstand, that soone after this answer
of hirs, the same Author chaūced to be at a supper in hir cō
pany,
where were also hir brother, hir husband, and an old
louer of hirs by whom she had bin long suspected. Nowe, although
there wanted no delicate viands to content them, yit
their chief repast was by entreglancing of lookes. For G. G.
being stoong with hot affection, could none otherwise relie
•
e
his passion but by gazing. And the Dame of a curteous
enclinatiō deigned (now and then) to requite the same with
glancing at him. Hir old louer occupied his eyes with watching:
and hir brother perceyuing all this could not absteyne
from winking, wherby he might put his Sister in remēbrāce,
least she should too much forget hirself. But most of all hir
husband beholding the first, and being euill pleased with the
second, scarse contented with the third, and misconstruing
the fourth, was constreyned to play the fifth part in froward
frowninge. This royall banquet thus passed ouer, G.G.
knowing that after supper they should passe the tyme in propounding
of Riddles, and making of purposes: contryued all
this conceipt in a Riddle as followeth. The which was no
sooner pronounced, but she could perfectly perceyue his intent,
and draue out one nayle with another, as also enseweth.
His Riddle.
I Cast myne eye and saw ten eies at once,
All séemely set vpon one louely face:
Two gaz'd, two glanc'd, two watched for the nonce,
Two winked wyles, two fround with froward grace▪
Thus euery eye was pitched in his place.
And euery eye which wrought eche others wo,
Said to itself, alas why lookt I so?
And euery eye for ielouse loue did pine,
And sigh'd and said, I would that eye were mine.
Si fortunatus infoelix.
In all this louely company was none that could and
would expound the meaning herof. At last the Dame hirself
answered on this wise. Sir, quod she, bicause your dark speech
is much too curious for this simple co
̄panie, I wilbe so bold
as to quit one question with an other. And when you haue
answered myne, it maye fall out peraduenture, that I shall
somewhat the better iudge of yours.
Hir Question.
What thing is that which swims in blisse,
And yit consumes in burning grief:
Which being plast where pleasure is,
Can yit recouer no relief.
Which sées to sighe, and sighes to sée,
All this is one, what may it bée?
He held himselfe herwith contented: and afterwardes when they
were better acquainted, he chaunced once (groping in hir pocket)
to find a letter of hir old louers: and thinking it wer better
to wincke than vtterly to put out his eyes, seemed not too vnderstand
this first offence: but soone after finding a lēman (the
which he thought he saw hir old lemman put there) he deuised
therof thus, and deliuered it vnto hir in writing.
I Groped in thy pocket pretty peat,
And found a Lemman which I looked not:
So found I once (which now I must repeat)
Both leaues and letters which I liked not.
Such hap haue I to find and séeke it not,
But since I sée no faster meanes to bind, then
I will (henceforth) take lemmans as I find them.
The Dame within very short space did aunswere
it thus.
A Lymone (but no Lemmane) Sir you found,
For Lemmans beare their name to broad before:
The which since it hath giuen you such a wound,
That you séeme now offended very sore:
Content your self you shall find (there) no more.
B
•
t take your Lemmans henceforth were you lust,
For I will shew my letters where I trust.
This Sonet of his shall passe (for me) without
any preface.
WHen stedfast friendship (bound by holy othe)
Did parte perforce my presence from thy sight.
In dreames I might behold how thou wert loth
With troubled thoughts to parte from thy delight.
When Popler walles enclos'd thy pensi
•
e mind,
My painted sh
•
dow did thy woes reuiue:
Thine euening walks by Thames in open wind,
Did long to sée my sayling boate ariue.
But when the dismold day did séeke to part
From London walles thy longing mind for me.
The sugred kisses (sent to thy deare hart)
With secret smart in broken sléepes I sée.
W
•
erfore in teares I drenche a thousand fold,
Till these moist eyes thy beauty may behold.
Si fortunatus infoelix.
He wrote (at his friends request) in prayse of a Gent
lewoman,
whose name was Phillip, as followeth.
OF all the byrds that I do know,
Phillip my sparow hath no peare:
For sit shée high or lye shée low,
Be shée far off, or be she neare,
There is no bird so fayre, so fyne,
Nor yit so fresh as this of myne.
Come in a morning merely
When Phillip hath ben lately fed,
Or in an euening soberly,
When Phillip list to goe to bed:
It is a heauen to heare my phippe,
How she can chirpe with chery lippe.
She neuer wanders far abrode,
But is at hand when I doe call:
If I commaund she layes on lode,
With lips, with téeth, with tonge and all.
She chants, she chirpes, she maks such chéere,
That I beléeue she hath no péere.
And yit besides all this good sport,
My Phillip can both sing and daunce:
With newfond toyes of sundry sort,
My Phillip can both prycke and prance:
As if you say but fend cut phippe,
Lord how the peat will turne and skippe
Hir fethers are so fresh of hew,
And so well proyned euery day:
She lacks none oyle, I warrant you:
To trimme hir tayle both tryck and gay.
And though hir mouth be somewhat wyde,
Hir tonge is swéet and short beside.
And for the rest I dare compare,
She is both tender, swéete and soft:
She neuer lacketh daynty fare,
But is well fed and féedeth oft:
For if my phip haue lust to eate,
I warrant you Phip lacks no meat.
And then if that hir meat be good,
And such as like do loue alway:
She will lay lips theron by the
•
rood,
And sée that none be cast away:
For when she once hath felt a fitte,
Phillip will crie still, yit, yit, yit.
And to tell trueth he were to blame,
Which had so fyne a Byrde as she,
To make him all this goodly game,
Without suspect or iellousie:
He were a churle and knew no good,
Would sée hir faynt for lacke of food.
Wherfore I sing and euer shall,
To praise as I haue often prou'd,
There is no byrd amongst them all,
So worthy for to be belou'd.
Let others prayse what byrd they will,
Swéete Phillip shalbe my byrd still.
Si fortunatus infoelix.
Now to begin with another man, take these verses written
to be sent with a ryng, wherein were engraued
a Patrich in a Merlines foote.
THe Partridge in the pretie Merlines foote,
Who feeles hir force supprest with fearefulnesse,
And findes that strength nor strife can do hir boote,
To scape the danger of hir déepe distresse:
These wofull wordes may séeme for to reherse
Which I must write in this waymenting verse.
What helpeth now (sayeth she) dame natures skill,
To die my fethers like the dustie ground?
Or what preuayles to lend me winges at will
Which in the ayre can make my bodie bound?
Since from the earth the dogges me draue perforce,
And now aloft the Hauke hath caught my corse.
If chaunge of coollors, could not me conuey,
Yet mought my wings haue scapt the dogges despite:
And if my wings did fayle to flie awaye,
Yet m
•
ught my strength resist the Merlynes might.
But nature made the Merlyne mée to kyll,
And me to yéeld vnto the Merlines will.
My lot is like (déere Dame) beleue me well,
The quiet life which I full closely kept:
Was not content in happie state to dwell,
But forth in hast to gaze on thee it lept.
Desire the dogge did spring me vp in hast,
Thou wert the Hauke, whose tallents caught me fast.
What should I then, séeke meanes to flie away?
Or striue by force, to breake out of thy féete?
No, no, perdie, I may no strength assay,
To striue with thée ywis, it were not méete.
Thou art that Hauke, whom nature made to hent me,
And I the Byrd, that must therwith content me.
And since Dame nature hath ordayned so,
Hir happie heast I gladly shall embrace:
I yéeld my will, although it were to wo,
I stand content to take, my griefe for grace:
And seale it vp within my secrete hart,
Which seale receiue, as token of my smart.
Spraeta tamen viuunt.
To a Dame which challenged the aucthor bycause he
held his head alwayes downe, and looked
not vppon hir in his wonted wise.
YOu must not wonder, though you thinke it straunge,
To sée me hold, my lowring head so lowe:
And that mine eyes, take no delight to raunge,
About the gleames, which on your face do growe.
The Mouse which once hath broken out of trappe,
Is seldome tysed▪ with the trustlesse bayte:
But lieth aloofe, for feare of more mishappe,
And feedeth still in doubt of déepe disceipt.
The skorched flie, which once hath scapt the flame,
Will hardly come, to play againe with fire:
Wherby I learne, that greuous is the game,
Which followes fancie dazled by desire.
So that I wincke, or els hold downe my head,
Bycause your blazing eyes, my bale haue bred.
Spraeta tamen viuunt.
A louing Lady being wounded in the spring time, and
now galded eftsones with the remembrance of
the spring, doth therfore thus bewayle.
THis tenth of March when Aries receyu'd,
Dame Phoebus rayes, into his horned head:
And I my selfe, by learned lore perceyu'd,
That Ver approcht, and frostie wynter fled.
I crost the Thames, to take the cherefull ayre,
In open féeldes, the weather was so fayre.
And as I rowed, fast by the further shore,
I heard a voyce, which séemed to lament:
Wherat I stay'd, and by a stately dore,
I left my Boate, and vp on land I went.
Till at the last by lasting payne I found,
The wofull wight, which made this dolefull sound.
In pleasaunt garden (placed all alone)
I sawe a Dame, who sat in weary wise,
With scalding sighes, she vttred all hir mone,
The ruefull teares, downe rayned from hir eyes:
Hir lowring head, full lowe on hand she layed,
On knée hir arme: and thus this Lady sayed.
Alas (quod she) behold eche pleasaunt gréene,
Will now renew, his sommers liuery,
The fragrant flowers, which haue not long bene séene,
Will florish now, (ere long) in brauery:
The tender buddes, whom colde hath long kept in,
Will spring and sproute, as they do now begin.
But I (alas) within whose mourning mynde,
The graffes of grief, are onley giuen to growe,
Cannot enioy the spring which others finde,
But still my will, must wyther all in woe:
The cold of care, so nippes my ioyes at roote,
No sunne doth shine, that well can no them boote.
The lustie Ver, which whillome might exchange
My griefe to ioy, and then my ioyes encrease,
Springs now elsewhere, and showes to me but strange,
My winters woe, therfore can neuer cease:
In other coasts, his sunne full clere doth shyne,
And comfort lends to ey'ry mould but myne.
What plant can spring, that féeles no force of Ver?
What flower can florish, where no sunne doth shyne?
These Bales (quod she (within my breast I beare,
To breake my barke, and make my pyth to pyne:
Néeds must I fall, I fade both roote and rynde,
My braunches bowe, at blast of eu'ry wynde.
This sayed: she cast a glance and spied my face,
By sight wherof, Lord how the chaunged hew?
So that for shame, I turned backe a pace
And to my home, my selfe in hast I drew:
And as I could hir woofull wordes reherse,
I set them downe in this waymenting verse.
Now Ladies you, that know by whom I sing,
And féele the wynter, of such frozen wylls:
Of curtesie, yet cause this noble spring,
To send his sunne, aboue the highest hilles:
And so to shyne, vppon hir fading sprayes,
Which now in woe, do wyther thus alwayes.
Spreta tamen viuunt.
The careful louer combred with pleasure,
thus complayneth.
NOw haue I found the way, to wéepe & wayle my
••
ll,
Now can I end my dolefull dayes, & so content my
will.
The way to wéepe inough, for such as list to wayle,
Is this: to go abord ye ship, where pleasure beareth sayle.
And there to marke the iests, of euery ioyfull wight,
And with what wynde and waue they fleete, to nourish
their delight.
For as the striken Deare, that séeth his fellowes féede,
Amid the lustie heard (vnhurt,) & féeles him selfe to bléede.
Or as the séely byrd, that with the Bolte is brusd,
And lieth a loofe among the leaues, of al hir péeres refusd.
And heares them sing full shrill, yet cannot she reioyce,
Nor frame one warbling note to passe, out of hir mournfull
voyce.
Euen so I find by proofe, that pleasure dubleth payne,
Unto a wretched wounded hart, which doth in woe remaine.
I passe where pleasure is, I heare some for sing ioye,
I sée som laugh, some other daūce, in spight of dark anoy.
But out alas my mind, amends not by their myrth,
I déeme al pleasures to be paine, that dwel aboue y• earth.
Such heauy humors féede, y• bloud that lends me breath,
As mery medcines cannot serue, to kepe my corps from death.
Spraeta tamen viuunt.
¶The louer being disdaynfully abiected by a dame
of high calling, who had chosen (in his place) a playe fel
lowe
of baser condicion: doth therfore determine to step
a side, and before his departure giueth hir this farewell
in verse.
THy byrth, thy beautie, nor thy braue attyre,
(Disdainefull Dame, which doest me double wrong)
Thy high estate, which sets thy hart on fire,
Or new found choyce, which cannot serue thée long,
Shall make me dread, with pen for to reherse,
Thy skittish deedes, in this my parting verse.
For why thou knowest, and I my selfe can tell,
By many vowes, how thou to me wert
•
ound:
And how for ioye, thy hart did séeme to swell,
And in delight▪ how thy desires were drownd.
When of thy will, the walles I did assayle,
Wherin fond fancie, fought for mine auayle.
And though my mind, haue small delight to vaunt,
Yet must I vowe, my hart to thée was true:
My hand was alwayes able for to daunt,
Thy slaundrous fooes, and kepe their tongues in mew.
My head (though dull) was yet of such deuise,
As might haue kept thy name alwayes in price.
And for the rest my body was not braue,
But able yet, of substaunce to allay,
The raging lust, where in thy limbes did raue,
And quench the coales, which kindled thée to play.
Such one I was, and such alwayes wilbe,
For worthy Dames, but then I meane not thée.
For thou hast caught a proper paragon,
A théefe, a coward, and a Peacocke foole:
An Asse, a mylksop, and a minion,
Which hath none oyle, thy furious flames to coole,
Such one he is, a pheare for thée most fit,
A wandring guest, to please thy wauering wit.
A théefe I compt him, for he robbes vs both,
Thee of thy name, and me of my delight:
A cowerd is he noted where he goeth,
Since euery child, is matcht to him in might.
And for his pride no more, but marke his plumes,
The which to princke, he dayes and nights consumes.
The rest thy selfe, in secret sort can iudge,
He rydes not me, thou knowest his sadell best:
and thogh these tricks of thine, mought make me grudge
And kyndle wrath, in my reuenging brest:
Yet of my selfe, and not to please thy mind,
I stand content, my rage in rule to bind.
And farre from thée now must I take my flight,
Where tongues may tell, (and I not see) thy fall:
Where I may drincke these dragges of thy despight,
To purge my Melancholicke mind withall.
In secrete so, my stomacke will I sterue,
Wishing thée better than thou doest deserue,
Spraeta tamen viuunt.
An absent Dame thus complayneth.
MUch like the séely Byrd, which close in Cage is pent,
So sing I now, not notes of ioye, but layes of déepe lament.
And as the hooded Hauke, which heares the Partrich spring,
Who though she féele hir self fast tyed, yet beats hir bating wing:
So striue I now to showe, my féeble froward will,
Although I know my labour lost, to hop against the Hill.
The droppes of darke disdayne, did neuer drench my hart,
For well I know I am belou'd, if that might ease my smart.
Ne yet the priuy coales, of glowing iellosie,
Could euer kindle néedlesse feare, within my fantasie.
The rigor of repulse, doth not renew my playnt,
Nor choyce of change doth moue my mone, nor force me thus to faynt.
Onely that pang of payne, which passeth all the rest,
And canker like doth fret the hart, within the giltlesse brest.
Which is if any bée, most like the panges of death,
That present griefe now grypeth me, & striues to stop my breath.
When friendes in mind may méete, and hart in hart embrace,
And absent yet are fayne to playne, for lacke of time and place:
Then may I compt, their loue like séede, that soone is so wen,
Yet lacking droppes of heauēly dew, with wéedes is ouergrowen.
The Greyhound is agrée
•
'd, although he sée his game,
If still in slippe he must be stayde, when he would chase the same.
So fares it now by me▪ who know my selfe belou'd
Of one the best, in eche respect, that euer yet was prou'd.
But since my lucklesse lot, forbids me now to taste,
The dulcet fruites of my delight, therfore in woes I wast.
And Swallow like I sing, as one enforced so,
Since others reape the gaineful crop, which I with pain did sowe.
Yet you that marke my song, excuse my Swallowes voyce,
And beare with hir vnpleasant tunes, which cannot well reioyce.
Had I or lucke in loue, or lease of libertie,
Then should you heare some swéeter notes, so cléere my throte would be.
But take it thus in grée, and marke my playnsong well,
No hart féeles, so much hurt as that: which doth in absence dwell.
Spreta tamen viuunt.
¶This question being propounded by a Dame vnto the writer
therof, to wit, why he should write Spreta tamen viuunt
▪
he aunswereth thus.
DEspysed things may liue, although they pyne in payne:
And things ofte trodden vnder foote, may once yit rise again.
The stone that lieth full lowe, may clime at last full hye:
And stand aloft on stately tow'rs, in sight of euery eye.
The cruell axe which fe
•
les the trée that grew full streight:
Is worne with rust, when it renewes, and springeth vp on height.
The rootes of rotten Réedes in swelling seas are seene:
And when ech tyde hath toste his worst, they grow agein ful gréene.
Thus much to please my self, vnpleasantly I sing:
And shrich to ease my mourning minde, in spyte of enuies sting.
I am now set full light, who earst was dearely lou'd:
Som newfound choyce is more estéemd, thā y• which welwas prou'd
Some Diomede is crept into Dame Cressydes hart:
And trustie Troylus now is taught in vayne to playne his part.
What resteth then for me? but thus to wade in wo:
And hang in hope of better chaunce, when chaunge appointeth so.
I sée no sight on earth, but it to Chaunge enclines:
As little clowds oft ouercast, the brightest sunne that shines.
No Flower is so fresh, but frost can it deface:
No man so sure in any seate but he may léese his place.
So that I stand content (though much against my mind)
To take in worth this lothsome lot, which luck to me assynd,
And trust to sée the time, when they that now are vp:
May féele the whirle of fortunes whéele, and tast of sorrows cup.
God knoweth I wish it not, it had ben bet for mée:
Still to haue kept my quiet chayre in hap of high degrée.
But since without recure, Dame Chaunge in loue must reign:
I now wish chaunge that sought no chaunge, but cōstant did remain.
And if such chaunge do chaunce, I vow to clap my hands,
And laugh at them which laught at me: lo thus my fancy stands.
Spreta tamen viuunt.
A straunge passion of another Author.
AMid my Bale I bath in blisse,
I swim in heauen, I sink in hell:
I find amends for euery misse,
And yit my moane no tonge can tell.
I liue and loue, what would you more?
As neuer louer liu'd before.
I laugh sometimes with little lust,
So iest I oft and féele no ioye:
Myne ease is builded all on trust,
And yit mistrust bréedes myne anoye.
I liue and lack, I lack and haue:
I haue and misse the thing I craue.
These things séeme straūge, yit ar they trew
Beléeue me (swéete) my state is such:
One pleasure which I would eschew,
Both slakes my grief, and bréedes my gruch.
So doth one pain which I would shoon
Renew my ioyes where grief begoon.
Thon like the Larke that past the night
In heauy sléepe with cares opprest:
Yit when shée spies the pleasaunt light,
She sends swéete notes from out hir brest.
So sing I now because I think
How ioyes approch, when sorrowes shrink.
And as faire Philomene ageine
Can watch and singe when other sléepe:
And taketh pleasure in hir payne,
To wray the woo that makes hir wéepe.
So sing I now for to bewray
The lothsome life I lead alway.
The which to thée (deare wench) I write,
That know'st my mirth, but not my moane:
I pray God graunt thée déepe delight,
To liue in ioyes when I am gone.
I cannot liue, it will not bée:
I dye to think to part from thée.
Ferenda Natura.
The Louer leaning onely to his Ladies promises, and fi
•
ding
them to fayle, doth thus lament.
THe straightest trée that growes vpon one only roote:
If that roote fayle, will quickly fade, no props can do it boo
•
e▪
I am that fading plant, which on thy grace did growe.
Thy grace is gone wherefore I mone, and wither all in woe.
The tallest ship that sayles, if shée to Ancors trust:
When ancors slip and cables breake, hir helpe lyes in the dust.
I am the ship my selfe, myne An
•
or was thy faith:
Which now is fled, thy promise broke, and I am driuen to death.
Who clymeth oft on hie, and trusts the rotten bowe:
If that bowe break may catch a fall such state stand I in now.
Me thought I was aloft, and yit my seate full sure:
Thy hart did séeme to me a rock which euer might endure.
And sée, it was but sand, whom seas of subtiltie:
Haue soked so with wanton waues, that faith was forst to flye.
The Fluds of ficklenesse haue vndermyned so,
The first foundation of my ioy, that myrth is ebb'd to wo.
Yit at lowe water
•
arkes, I lye and wayte my time:
To mend the breach, but all in vayn, it cannot passe the prime.
For when the primeflud comes which all this rage begon:
Then waues of will do work so fast, my piles are ouerron.
Dutie and diligence which are my workmen there,
Are glad to take vp tooles in haste and run away for feare.
For fancie hath such force, it ouerfloweth all:
And whispring
•
ales do blow the blasts that make it ryse and fall.
Thus in theis tempests
•
ost, my restles life doth stand:
Because I builded on thy words, as I was borne in hand.
Thou weart that onely stake, wherby I ment to stay:
Alas, alas, thou stoodst so weake, the hedge is borne away.
By thee I thought to liue, by thée now must I dye:
I made thee my Phisicion, thou art my mallady.
For thée I longd to liue, for thée now welcome death:
And welcome be that happie pang, that stops my gasping breath.
Twice happie were that are, would cut my rootes down right:
And sacred were that swelling sea, which would consume me quight.
Blest were that bowe would break to bring downe clyming youth,
Which craks aloft, and quakes full oft, for feare of thine vntruth.
Ferenda Natura.
The constancie of a louer hath thus sometymes
ben briefly declared.
THat selfe same tonge which first did thée entreat
To linke thy liking with my lucky loue:
That trustie tonge must now these words repeate,
I loue the styll, my fancie cannot moue.
That dreadlesse hart which durst attempt the thought
To win thy will with myne for to consent,
Maintaines that vow which loue in me first wrought,
I loue thee still and neuer shall repent.
That happy hand which hardely did touch
Thy tender body, to my déepe delight:
Shall serue with sword to proue my passion such
As loues thee still▪
much more than it can write.
Thus loue I still with tonge, hand, hart and all,
And when I chaunge, let vengeance on me fall.
Ferenda Natura.
Now I must desire you with patience to hearken vnto the works
of another writer
▪ who though he may not compare with the rest
passed, yit such things as he wrote vpon sundrie occa
sions,
I will rehearse, beginning with this
prayse of a Countesse.
DEsire of Fame would force my féeble skill,
To prayse a Countesse by hir dew desert:
But dread of blame holds back my forward will,
And quencht the coales which kindled in my hart.
Thus am I plongd twene dread and déepe desire,
To paye the dew which dutie doth require.
And when I call the mighty Gods in ayd
To further forth some fine inuention:
My bashefull spirits be full ill afrayd
To purchase payne by my presumption.
Such malice reignes (sometimes) in heauenly mynds▪
To punish him that prayseth as he fynds.
For Pallas first whose filed flowing skill,
Should guyde my pen some pleasant words to write▪
With angry mood hath fram'd a froward will,
To dashe deuise as oft as I endite.
For why? if once my Ladies gifts were knowen,
Pallas should loose the prayses of hir own.
And bloudy Mars by chaunge of his delight
Hath made Ioues daughter now myne enemie:
In whose conceipt my Countesse shines so bright,
That Venus pynes for burning ielousie.
She may go home to Vulcane now agayne:
For Mars is sworne to be my Ladies swayne.
Of hir bright beames Dan Phoebus stands in dread,
And shames to shine within our Horizon:
Dame Cynthia holds in hir horned head,
For feare to loose by like comparison.
Lo thus shée liues, and laughes them all to skorne:
Countesse on earth, in heauen a Goddesse borne.
And I sometimes hir seruaunt, now hir friend,
Whom heauen and earth for hir (thus) hate & blame:
Haue yit presumed in friendly wise to spend,
This ragged verse in honor of hir name.
A simple gift, compared by the skill:
Yit what may séeme so deare as such good will.
Meritum petere, grauè.
The Louer declareth his affection, togither
with the cause thereof.
WHen firs
•
I thée beheld in coulors black and whyt,
Thy face in forme wel framed wt fauor blooming stil:
My burning brest in cares did choose his chief delight,
With pen to painte thy prayse; contrary to my skill.
Whose worthinesse compar'd with this my rude deuise,
I blush and am abasht, this work to enterprise.
But when I call to mind thy sundry gifts of grace,
Full fraught with maners méeke in happy quiet mind:
My hasty hand forthwith doth scribble on apace,
Least willing hart might think, it ment to come behind.
Thus do both hand and hart these carefull méetres vse,
Twixt hope and trembling feare, my deutie to excuse.
Wherfore accept these liues, and banish dark disdayn,
Be sure they come from one that loueth thée in chief:
And guerdon me thy friend in like with loue agayne,
So shalt thou well be sure to yéeld me such relief,
As onely may redresse my sorrowes and my smart:
For profe whereof I pledge (deare Dame) to thée my hart.
Meritum petere, grauè.
Another shorter discourse to the same
effecte.
IF euer man yit found the Bath of perfect blisse,
Then swim I now amid the Sea where nought but pleasure is.
I loue and am beloued (without vaunt be it told)
Of one more fayre than shée of Grece for whō proud Tr
•
y was sold▪
As bountifull and good as Cleopatra Quéene:
As constant as Penelope vnto hir make was séene.
What would you more? my pen vnable is to write
The least desart that séemes to shine within this worthy wight.
So that for now I cease, with hands held vp on hye,
And craue of God that when I chaunge, I may be forst to dye.
Meritum petere, grauè.
The louer disdaynefully reiected contrary to former pro
mise,
thus complayneth.
THe deadly droppes of darke disdayne,
Which dayly fall on my desarte.
The lingring suite long spent in vayne,
Wherof I féele no fruit but smart:
Enforce me now theis words to write:
Not all for loue, but more for spyte.
The which to thée I m
•
st rehearce,
Whom I did honor, serue and trust.
And though the musick of my verse
Be plainsong tune both true and iust:
Content thée yit to heare my song,
For else thou doest me doobble wrong.
I must alledge, and thou canst tell
How faithfull I vowed to serue,
And how thou séemdst to like me well:
And how thou saydst I did deserue
To be thy Lord, thy Knight, thy King,
And how much more I list not sing.
And canst thou now (thou cruell one)
Condempne desert to déepe dispayre?
Is all thy promise past and gone?
Is faith so fled into the ayre?
If that be so, what rests for mée?
But thus in song to say to thée.
If Cressides name were not so knowen,
And written wyde on euery wall:
If brute of pryd were not so blowen
Upon Angelica withall:
For hault disdain thou mightst be she,
Or Cressyde for inconstancie.
And in reward of thy desart,
I hope at last to sée thée payed:
With déepe repentance for thy part,
Which thou hast now so lewdly playd.
Medoro he must be thy make,
Since thou Orlando doest forsake.
Such is the fruit that groweth always
Uppon the root of rype disdayn:
Such kindly wages Cupide payes,
Where constant harts cannot remayne▪
I hope to sée thée in such bands,
When I may laugh and clappe my hands.
But yet for thée I must protest,
That sure the fault is none of thine,
Thou art as true as is the best,
That euer came of Cressedes lyne:
For constant yet was neuer none,
But in vnconstancie alone.
Meritum petere, graue.
An absent louer (parted from his Lady by
Sea) thus complayneth.
BOth déepe and dreadfull were the Seas,
Which held Leander from his loue,
Yet could no doubts his mind appease,
Nor saue his life for hir behoue:
But giltlesse bloud it selfe would spyll,
To please the waues and worke his will.
O gréedie gul
•
e, O wretched wau
•
s,
O cruell floods, O
•
inke of shames,
You hold true louers bound like s
•
aues,
And kéepe them from their worthy Dames:
Your open mouth gapes euermore,
Till one or both be drownd therfore.
For proofe wherof my selfe may sing,
And shrich to pearce the loftie skies,
Whose Lady left me lang
•
ishing,
Uppon the shore in woofull wise:
And crost the Seas out of my sight,
Wherby I lost my chiefe delight.
She sayd that no such trustlesse flood,
Should kéepe our loues (long time) in twayne:
She sware no bread should do hir good,
Tyll she might sée my selfe againe.
She said and swore these words and mo,
But now I find them nothing so.
What resteth then for me to doo,
Thou salt sea foome come say thy mind?
Should I come drowne within thée too,
That am of true Leanders kind?
And headlong cast this corps of mine,
Into those gréedy guttes of thine?
No cruel, but in spite of thée,
I will make Seas where earst were none,
My teares shall flowe in full degrée,
Tyll all my myrth may ebbe to mone.
Into such droppes I meane to melt,
And in such Seas my selfe to swelt,
Lenuoie.
Yet you déere Dame for whom I fade,
Thus steruing still in wretched state:
Remember once your promise made,
Perfourme it now though all to late.
Come h
•
me to Mars who may you please▪
Let Vulcane bide beyond the Seas.
Meritum petere, graue.
A Lady being both wronged by false suspect,
and also wounded by the durance
of hir husband, doth thus
bewray hir grief.
GIue me my Lute in bed now as I lye,
And lock the doores of mi
•
e vnluckie bower:
So shall my voyce in mournefull verse des
•
rie▪
The secrete smart which causeth me to lower.
Resound you walles an Eccho to my m
•
ne,
And thou cold bed wherin I lye alone:
Beare witnesse yet what r
•
st thy Lady takes,
Whē other sléepe which may enioy their make
•
,
In prime of youth when Cupid kindled fire,
And warmd my wil with flames of
〈…〉
To further forth the fruite of my desire▪
My fréends deuisd this meane for my
〈◊〉
.
They made a match according to my mind▪
And cast a snare my fansie for to bind:
Short tale to make the deed was almost doon,
Before I knew which way the worke begoon▪
And with this lot I did my selfe content,
I lent a lyking to my parents choyse:
With hand and hart I gaue my frée consent,
And hung in hope for euer to reioyce.
I liu'd and lou'd long time in greater ioy,
Thē she which held kyng Pri
•
ms sonne of Troy:
But three lewd lots haue chāg
•
d my heauē to hel
And those be these, giue eare & mark thē well.
First slaunder he, which alwayes beareth hate,
To happy harts in heauenly state that byde:
Gan play his part to stirre vp some debate,
Wherby suspect into my choyse might glyde.
And by his meanes the slime of false suspect,
Did (as I feare) my dearest friend infect.
Thus by these twayn lōg was I plungd in pain,
Yet in good hope my hart did still remaine.
But now (aye me) the greatest grief of all,
(Sound loud my Lute, and tell it out my tongue)
The hardest hap that euer might befall,
The onely cause wherfore this song is song,
Is this alas: my loue, my Lord, my Roy,
My chosen pheare, my gemme, and all my ioye,
Is kept perforce out of my dayly sight,
Wherby I lacke the stay of my delight.
In loftie walles, in strong and stately towers,
(With troubled mind in sollitary sorte,
My louely Lord doth spend his dayes and howers,
A weary life deuoyde of all disport.
And I poore soule must lie here all alone,
To tyre my trueth, and wound my will with mone:
Such is my hap to shake my blooming time,
With wynters blastes before it passe the prime.
Now haue you heard the summe of all my grief,
Wherof to tell my hart (oh) rends in twayne:
Good Ladies yet lend you me some relief,
And beare a parte to ease me of my payne.
My sortes are such, that waying well my trueth,
They might prouoke the craggy rocks to rueth,
And moue these walles with teares for to lament,
The lothsome life wherin my youth is spent.
But thou my Lute, be still now take thy rest,
Repose thy bones vppon this bed of downe:
Thou hast dischargd some burden from my brest,
Wherfore take thou my place, here lie thée downe.
And let me w
•
lke to tyre my restlesse minde,
Untill I may entreate some curteous wynd:
To blow these wordes vnto my noble make,
That he may see I sorowe for his sake.
Meritum petere, graue.
Eyther a needelesse or a bootelesse compari
son
betwene two letters.
OF all the letters in the christs crosse rowe,
I feare (my swéete) thou louest B. the best,
And though there be good letters many mo,
As A.O.G.N.C.S. and the rest,
Yet such a liking bearest thou to B.
That fewe or none thou thinckest like it to be.
And much I muse what madnesse should thée moue,
To set the Carl before the comely horse:
Must A. giue place, to B. for his behoue?
Are letters now so changed from their course?
Then must I learne (though much vnto my paine,)
To read (a new) my christ crosse rowe againe.
When I first learnd, A. was in high degrée,
A captaine letter, and a vowell too:
Such one as was alwayes a helpe to B,
And lent him sound and taught him what to doo.
For take away the vowels from their place,
And how can then the consonants haue grace▪
Yet if thou like a consonant so well,
Why should not G. seeme better farre then B?
G. spelleth God, that high in heauen doth dwell,
So spell we Gold and all good thinges with G.
B. serues to spell bold, baw
•
y, braynsicke, bolde,
Blacke, browne, and bad, yea worse than may be tolde.
In song, the G. cliffe kéepes the highest place,
Where B. sounds alwayes (or too sharpe or) flat:
In G. sol, re, vt: trebles haue trimme grace,
B. serues the base and is content with that.
Beleue me (swéete) G. giueth sound full swéete▪
When B. cries buzze, as is for bases méete.
But now percase thou wilt one G. permit,
And with that G. thou meanest B. to ioyne:
Alas, alas, me thinkes it were not fit,
(To cloke thy faulte) such fine excuse to coyne.
Take dooble G. for thy most louing letter,
And cast of B. for it deserues no better.
Thus haue I played a little with thy B.
Wherof the brand is thine, and mine the blame
The wight which woundes thy wandring will is he,
And I the man that séeke to salu
•
thy name:
The which to thinke, doth make me sigh sometime,
Though thus I striue to iest it out in rym
•
.
Meritum petere, graue.
An absent louer doth thus encourage his Lady
to continew constant.
COntent thy selfe with patience perforce,
And que
•
th no loue with droppes of darke mistrust:
Let absence haue no power to diuorce,
Thy faithfull fréend which meaneth to be iust,
Beare but a while thy constance to declare,
For when I come one ynch shall breake no square.
I must confesse that promise did me bind,
For to haue séene thy séemely selfe ere now:
And if thou knewst what gréeues did galde my mynde,
Bycause I could not kéepe that faithfull vowe:
My iust
•
xeuse▪
〈…〉
selfe assure,
With little payne thy
〈◊〉
might procure.
B
•
t call to mind how long Vlisses was,
In lingring absence, from his louing make:
And how she deigned then hir dayes to passe,
In sollitary silence for his sake.
Be thou a true Penelope to me,
And thou shalt soone thine owne Vlisses sée.
What sayd I? soone? yea soone I say againe,
I will come soone and sooner if I may:
Beleue me now it is a pinching payne,
To thinke of loue when louers are away.
Such thoughts I haue, and when I thinke on thée,
My thoughts are there, whereas my bones would bée.
The longing lust which Priames sonne of Troy,
Had for to sée his Cressyde come againe:
Could not excéede the depth of mine anoye,
Nor séeme to passe the patterne of my payne.
I fryse in hope, I thaw in hot desire,
Farre from the flame, and yet I burne like fire.
Wherfore deare friend, thinke on the pleasures past,
And let my teares▪ for both our paynes suffise:
The lingring ioyes, when as they come at last,
Are bet then those, wh
•
ch passe in posting wise.
And I my selfe, to proue this tale is true,
In hast, post hast, thy comfort will renew.
Meritum petere, graue.
A letter deuised for a young louer.
REceiue you worthy Dame this rude & ragged verse,
Lēd willīg eare vnto y• tale, which I shal now reherse.
and thogh my witles words, might moue you for to smile
Yet trust to that which I shal tel, & neuer mark my stile.
Amongst fiue hundreth Dames, presented to my view,
I find most cause by due desert, to like the best of you.
I sée your beautie such, as séemeth to suffise,
To bind my hart in lincks of loue, by iudgment of mine eyes.
And but your bountie quench, the coales of quicke desire,
I feare y• face of youres wil set, ten thousād harts on fire.
But bountie so aboundes, aboue all my desert,
As y• I quake & shrink for fear, to shew you of my smart.
Yet since mine eye made choyce, my hart shal not repent,
But yéeld it selfe vnto your will, & therwith stand cōtent.
God knowth I am not great, my power it is not much,
The greater glory shal you gain, to shew your fauor such.
And what I am or haue, all that I yéeld to you,
My hād & sword shal serue alwaies, to proue my toung is true.
Then take me for your owne, & so I wilbe still,
Beleue me now, I make this vow, in hope of your good will.
Which if I may obtein, God leaue me when I change,
This is the tale I ment to tell, good Lady be not strange.
Meritum petere, graue.
¶Three Sonets in sequence, written vppon this oc
casion.
The deuiser hereof amongst other friends had na
med
a gentlewoman his Berzabe: and she was content to
call him hir Dauid
▪ The man presented his Lady with a
Booke of the Golden Asse, written by Lucius Apuleius,
and in the beginning of the Booke wrote this sequence.
You must conferre it with the Historie of Apuleius, for
els it will haue small grace.
THis Apuleius was in Affricke borne,
And tooke delight to trauayle Thessaly,
As one that held his natiue soyle in skorne,
In foraine coastes to féede his fantasie.
And such a gaine as wandring wits find out,
This yonker woon by will and weary toyle,
A youth mispent, a doting age in douvt,
A body brusd with many a beastly broyle,
A present pleasure passing on a pace,
And paynting playne the path of penitence,
A frollicke fauour foyld with foule disgrace,
When hoarie heares should clayme their reuerence.
Such is the fruite that growes on gadding
•
rées,
Such kynd of mell most moueth busie Bées.
For Lucius he,
Estéeming more one ounce of present sporte,
Than elders do a pound of perfect witte:
Fyrst to the bowre of Beautie doth resort,
And there in pleasure passed many a fitte,
His worthy race he (recklesse) doth forget,
With small regard in great affayres he réeles,
No counsell graue nor good aduice can set,
His braynes in brake that whirled still on whéeles.
For if Birhena could haue held him backe,
From Venus Court where he now nousled was,
His lustie limbes had neuer found the lacke
Of manly shape: the figure of an Asse,
Had not béene blazed on his bloud and bones,
To wound his will with torments all attonce.
But Fotys she▪
Who sawe this Lording whitled with the cuppe,
Of vaine delight wherof he gan to tast:
Pourde out apace and fild the Mazor vp,
With dronken dole, yea after that in hast.
She greasd this gest with sauce of Sorcery,
And fed his mind with knacks both queynt and strange:
Lo here the treason and the trechery,
Of gadding gyrles when they delight to raunge.
For Lucius thinking to become a foule,
Became a foole, yea more then that, an Asse,
A bodding blocke, a beating stocke, an owle,
Well wondred at in place where he did passe:
And spent his time his trauayle and his cost,
To purchase paine and all his labour lost.
Yet I poore I.
Who make of thée my Fotys and my fréend,
In like delights my youthfull yeares to spend:
Do hope thou wilt from such sower sauce defend,
Dauid thy King.
Meritum petere graue.
A Ryddle.
A Lady once did aske of me,
This pretie thing in priuetie:
Good sir (quod she) fayne would I craue,
One thing which you your selfe not haue:
Nor neuer had yet in times past,
Nor neuer shall while life doth last.
And if you séeke to find it out,
You loose your labour out of doubt:
Yet if you loue me as you say,
Then giue it me, for sure you may.
Meritum petere, graue.
To a gentlewoman who blamed him for
writing his friendly aduise in
verse vnto another lo
uer
of hirs.
THe cruell ha
•
e which boyles within thy burning brest,
And séekes to shape a sharpe reuenge, on them that loue thée best:
May warne all faythfull friendes, in case of ieoperdie,
How they shall put their harmelesse hands, betwene y• barck & trée.
And I among the rest, which wrote this weary song,
Must needes alledge in my defence, that thou hast done me wrong.
For if i
•
simple verse, I chaunc
•
d to touch thy name,
And toucht the same without reproch, was I therfore to blame?
And if (of great good will) I gaue my best aduise,
Then thus to blame wt out cause why, me thinkes thou art not wise.
Amongst old written tales, this one I beare in mind,
A simple soule much like my selfe, did once a serpent find.
Which (almost dead for colde) lay moyling in the myre
When he for pittie toke it vp and brought it to the fyre.
No soner was the Snake, cured of hir grief,
But streight she sought to hurt the man, that lent hir such relief.
Such Serp
•
nt séemest thou, such simple soule am I,
That for the weight of my good will, am blam'd without cause why.
But as it best beséemes, the harmelesse gentle hart,
Rather to take an open wrong, than for to playne his part:
I must and will endure, thy spite without repent,
The blame is myne, the tryumph thine, and I am well content.
Meritum petere, graue.
An vncurteous farewell to an vnconstant
Dame.
IF what you want, you (wanton) had at will,
A stedfast mind, a faythfull louing hart:
If what you speake you would perfourme it still,
If from your word your déede could not reuert.
If youthfull yeeres your thoughts did not so rule,
As elder dayes may skorne your friendship frayle:
Your doubled fanfie would not thus recule,
For p
•
euish pride which now I must bewayle.
For Cressyde fayre did Troylus neuer loue,
More deare than I estéemd your framed cheare:
Whose wauering wayes (since now I do them proue)
By true report this witnesse with me beare:
That if your friendship be not too deare bought,
The price is great, that nothing giues for nought.
Meritum petere, graue.
A louer often warned, and once againe drouen into fantasti
call
flames by the chase of company, doth thus
bewayle his misfor tunes.
I That my race of youthfull yeares had roon
Alwayes vntyed, and not (but once) in thrall,
Euen I which had the fieldes of fréedome woon,
And liu'd at large, and playde with pleasures ball:
Lo now at last am tane againe and taught,
To tast such sorowes, as I neuer sought.
I loue, I loue, alas I loue in déede,
I crie alas, but no man pitties me:
My woundes are wyde, yet séeme they not to bléede,
And hidden woundes are hardly heald we sée.
Such is my lucke to catch a sodeyne clappe,
Of great mischaunce in séeking my good happe.
My mourning mind which dwelt and dyed in dole,
Sought company for sollace of the same:
My cares were cold, and craued comforts coale,
To warme my wile with flakes of fréendly flame.
I sought and found, I crau'd and did obteyne,
I woo
•
my wish, and yet I got no gaine.
For whiles I sought the cheare of company,
Fayre fellowship did woonted woes reuiue:
And crauing medcine for my malladie,
Dame pleasures plaster prou'd a corosiue.
So that by myrth, I reapt no fruite but mone,
Much worse I feare than when I was alone.
The cause is this, my lot did light too late,
The Byrdes were flowen, before I found the nest:
The stéede was stollen, before I shut the gate,
The cates consumd, before I smelt the feast.
And I fond foole with emptie hand must call,
The gorged Hauke, which likes no lure at all.
Thus still I toyle, to till the barreyne land,
And grope for grapes among the bramble briers:
I striue to sayle and yet I sticke on sand,
I déeme to liue, yet drowne in déepe desires.
These lots of loue, are fitte for wanton will,
Which findes too much, yet must be séeking still.
Meritum petere, graue.
The louer encouraged by former examples, determineth
to make vertue of necessitie.
WHen I record within my musing mind,
The noble names of wightes bewicht in loue:
Such sollace for my selfe therin I find,
As nothing may my fixed fansie moue:
But paciently I will endure my wo,
Because I sée the heauens ordayne it so.
For whiles I read and ryfle their estates,
In eu'ry tale I note mine owne anoye:
But whiles I marke the meanings of their mates,
I séeme to swimme in such a sugred ioye,
As did (percase) entise them to delight,
Though turnd at last, to drugges of sower despite.
Peruse (who list) Dan Dauids perfect déedes,
There shal he find the blot of Berzabe,
Wheron to thinke, my heauie hart it bléedes,
When I compare my loue like hir to be:
Vrias wife, before myne eyes that shynes,
A
•
d Dauid I, from dutie that declines.
Then Salomon this princely Prophets sonne,
Did Phara
•
s daughter make him fall or no?
Yes, es, perdie, his wisedome could not shoon,
Hir subtill snares, nor from hir counsell go.
I nam (as he) the wisest wight of all,
But well I wot, a woman holdes me thrall.
So am I like the proude Assirian Knight,
Which blasphem'd God, and all the world defied:
Yet could a woman ouercome his might,
And daunt his force in all his pompe and pride.
I Holyferne, am dronken brought to bead,
My loue like Iudith, cutting of my head.
If I were strong, as some haue made accompt,
Whose force is like to that which Sampson had?
If I be bold, whose courage can surmount,
The hart of Hercules, which nothing dread?
Yet Dalila, and Deyanyraes loue,
Did teach them both, such pangs as I must proue.
Well let these passe, and thinke on Nasoes name,
Whose skilfull verse did flowe in learned stile:
Did he (thinke you) not dote vppon his Dame?
Corm
•
fayre▪ did she not him beguile?
Yes God he knowes, for verse nor pleasaunt rymes,
Can cons
•
an
•
kéepe, the key of Cressides crimes.
So that to end my tale as I began,
I sée the good, the wise, the stoute, the bolde:
The strongest champion and the learnedst man,
Haue be
•
e and be, by lust of loue controld.
Which when I thinke, I hold me well content,
To liue in loue, and neuer to repent.
Meritum petere, graue.
The absent louer (in ciphers) disciphering
his name, doth craue some spedie
relief as followeth.
L'Escü d'amour, the shield of perfect loue,
The shield of loue, the force of stedfast faith,
The force of fayth which neuer will remoue,
But standeth fast, to byde the broonts of death:
That trustie targe, hath long borne of the blowes,
And broke the thrusts, which absence at me throwes.
In dolefull dayes I lead an absent life,
And wound my will with many a weary thought:
I plead for peace, yet sterue in stormes of strife,
I find debate, where quiet rest was sought.
These panges with mo, vnto my paine I proue,
Yet beare I all vppon my shield of loue.
In colder cares are my conceipts consumd,
Than Dido felt when false Enaeas fled:
In farre more heat, than trusty Troylus fumd,
When craftie Cressyde dwelt with Diomed.
My hope such frost, my hot desire such flame,
That I both fryse, and smoulder in the same.
So that I liue, and dye in one degrée,
Healed by hope, and hurt againe with dread:
Fast bound by fayth when fansie would be frée,
Untyed by trust, though thoughts enthrall my head.
Reuiu'd by ioyes, when hope doth most abound,
And yet with grief, in depth of dollors drownd.
In these assaultes I féele my féebled force
Begins to faint, thus weried still in woes:
And scarcely can my thus consumed corse,
Hold vp this Buckler to beare of these blowes.
So that I craue, or presence for relief,
Or some supplie, to ease mine absent grief.
Lenuoie.
To you (deare Dame) this dolefull plaint I make,
Whose onely sight may sone redresse my smart:
Then shew your selfe, and for your seruauntes sake,
Make hast post hast, to helpe a faythfull harte.
Mine owne poore shield hath me defended long,
Now lend me yours, for elles you do me wrong.
Meritum petere, graue.
I will now deliuer vnto you so many more of Master Gas
coignes
Poems as haue come to my hands, who hath ne
uer
beene dayntie of h
•
s doings, and therfore I conceale
not his name: but his word or posie he hath often changed
and therfore I will deliuer his verses with such sundrie po
sies
as I receiued the
̄. And first I will begin with Gascoigns
Anatomie.
TO make a louer knowne, by playne Anatomie,
You louers all that li
••
beware, lo here behold you me.
Who though mine onely lookes, your pittie wel might moue,
Yet euery part shall play his part to paint the pangs of loue.
If first my féeble head, haue so much matter left,
If fansies raging force haue not his féeble skill bereft.
These locks that hang vnkempt, these hollowe dazled eyes,
These chattring téeth, this trēbling tongue, wel tewed with carefull cries,
These wan & wrinckled chéeks, wel washt wt waues of wo,
May stand for patterne of a ghost, where so this carkasse go.
These shoulders they susteyne, the yoke of heauie care,
And on my brused broken backe, the burden must I beare.
These armes are braunfalne now, with beating on my brest,
This right hand weary is to write, this left hand craueth rest:
These sides enclose the forge, where sorow playes the smith,
And hot desire, hath kindled fire, to worke his mettall with.
The anuile is my hearte, my thoughtes they strike the stroke,
My lights & lungs like bellows blowe, & sighs ascēd for smoke.
My secrete parts are so with secrete sorowe soken,
As for the secrete shame therof, deserues not to be spoken.
My thighes, my knées, my legs, and last of all my féete,
To serue a louers turne, are so vnable and vnméete,
That scarce they can beare vp this restlesse body well,
Unlesse it be to sée the boure, wherin my loue doth dwell,
And there by sight eftsoones to féede my gazing eye,
And so content my hungrie corps tyll dolours doe me die:
Yet for a iust rewarde of loue so dearely bought,
I pray you say, lo this was he, whō loue had worne to nought.
Euer or neuer.
Gascoignes araignement.
AT Beauties barre as I did stande,
When false suspecte accused mée,
George (quod the Iudge) holde vp thy hande,
Thou art araygnde of Flatterie:
Tell therfore howe thou wylte be tryde?
Whose iudgement here wilte thou abyde?
My lorde (quod I) this lady here,
Whome I estéeme aboue the rest,
Dothe knowe my guilte if any were:
Wherefore hir doome shall please mée beste,
Let hir be Iudge and Iurour bothe,
To trie mée giltlesse by myne othe.
Quod Beautie, no, it sitteth not,
A Prince hir selfe to iudge the cause:
Here is oure Iustice well you wote,
Appointed to discusse our lawes:
If you will guil
•
lesse séeme to goe,
God and your countrey quitte you so.
Then crafte the cryer call'd a queste,
Of whome was falshode formoste féere,
A packe of pickethankes were the rest,
Whiche came false witnesse for to beare,
The Iurie suche, the Iudge vniust,
Sentence was sayde I shoulde be trust.
Iealous the Iayler bounde me fast,
To heare the verdite of the bill,
George (quod the Iudge) now thou art cast,
Thou muste goe hence to heauie hill,
And there be hangde all but the head,
God reste thy soule when thou art dead.
Downe fell I then vpon my knée,
All flatte before dame beauties face,
And cryed, good Ladie pardon me,
Whiche here appeale vnto your grace,
You knowe if I haue ben vntrue,
It was in too muche praysing you.
And though this Iudge doe make suche haste▪
To shead with shame my giltlesse bloud:
Yet lette your pitie firste be plaste,
To saue the man that ment you good,
So shall you shewe your selfe a Quéene,
And I may be your seruant séene.
(Quod beautie) well: bicause I guesse
What thou doest meane henceforth to bée,
Although thy faultes deserue no lesse
Than Iustice here hath iudged thee,
Wyl
•
e thou be bounde to stint all stryfe,
And be true prisoner all thy lyfe?
Yea madame (quod I) that I shall,
Lo faith and truthe my suerties:
Why then (quod she) come when I call,
I aske no better warrantise.
Thus am I Beauties bounden thrall,
At hir commaunde when she doth call.
Euer or Neuer.
Gascoignes prayse of Bridges, novve
Ladie Sandes.
IN Court who so demaundes what dame doth most excell,
For my conceit I must néeds say, faire Bridges beares ye bel
•
Upon whose liuely chéeke, to proue my iudgement true,
The Rose and Lillie seeme to striue for equall change of hew:
And therwithall so well hir graces all agrée,
No frouning chéere dare once presume in hir swéet face to bée.
Although some lauishe lippes, which like some other best,
Will say the blemishe on hir browe disgraceth all the rest:
Thereto I thus replie, God wotte they little knowe
The hidden cause of that mishap, nor how the harm did grow.
For when dame nature first had framde hir heauenly face,
And thoroughly bedecked it with goodly gleames of grace.
It lyked hir so well: Lo here (quod she) a péece,
For perfect shape that passeth all Apelles worke in Greece.
This bayt may chaunce to catche the greatest god of loue,
Or mightie thundring Ioue himself that rules the rost aboue:
But out, alas, those wordes were vaunted all in vayne,
And some vnséen wer presēt there (pore Bridges) to thy pain,
For Cupide craftie boy, close in a corner stoode,
Not blyndfold then, to gaze on hir, I gesse it did him good▪
Yet when he felte the flame gan kindle in his brest,
And h
•
rd dame nature boast by hir, to break him of his rest,
His hot newe chosen loue he chaunged into hate,
And sodeynly with myghtie ma
•
e, gan rap hir on the pat
•
.
It gréeued Nature muche to sée the cruell déede:
Me séemes I see hir how she wept to sée hir dearling bléede.
Wel yet (quod she) this hurt shal haue some helpe I trowe,
And quick with skin she couerd it, y• whiter is than snow.
Wherwith Dan Cupide fled, for feare of further flame,
Whē angell like he saw hir shine, whome he had smit with shame.
Lo thus was Bridges hurt, in cradel of hir kynd,
The coward Cupide brake hir brow to wreke his woūded mynd,
The skar stil there remains, no force, there let it be,
There is no cloude that can eclipse so bright a sunne as she.
Euer or Neuer.
Gascoignes prayse of Zouche late the Lorde
Greye of VVilton.
THese rustie walles whome cankred yeares deface,
The comely corps of séemely Zouche enclose,
Whose auncient stocke deriude from worthie race,
Procures hir prayse, where so the carkas goes:
Hir angels face declares hir modest mynde,
Hir louely lookes the gazing eyes allure,
Hir déedes deserue some endlesse prayse to fynde,
To blaze suche brute as euer might endure.
Wherfore my penne in trembling feare shall staye,
To write the thing that doth surmounte my skill,
And I will wishe of God both night and day,
Some worthier place to guyde hir worthie will.
Where princes péeres hir due desertes maye sée,
And I content hir seruant there to bée.
Euer or Neuer.
Gascoignes passion.
I Smile sometimes although my griefe be great,
To heare and sée these louers paint their paine,
And how they can in pleasaunt rimes repeate,
The passing pangs, which they in fancies faine.
But if I had such skill to frame a verse
I could more paine than all their pangs rehearse.
Some say they find nor peace, nor power to fight,
Which séemeth strange: but stranger is my state:
I dwell in dole, yet soiorne with delight,
Reposed in rest, yet weried with debate.
For flatte repulse, might well apease my will
But fancie fights, to trie my fortune still.
Some other say they hope, yet liue in dread,
They friese, they flame, they flie alofte, they fall,
But I nor hope with happe to rai
•
e my hed,
Nor feare to stoupe, for why my gate is small.
Nor can I friese, with colde to kill my harte,
Nor yet so flame, as might consume my smarte.
How liue I then, which thus drawe foorth my daies?
Or tell me how, I found this feuer first?
What fits I féele? what distance? what delayes?
What griefe? what ease? what like I best? what worst?
These things they tell, which séeke redresse of paine,
And so will I, although I coumpt it vaine.
I liue in loue, euen so I loue to liue,
(Oh happie state, twice happie he that finds it)
But loue to life this cognisance doth giue,
This badge this marke, to euery man that minds it,
Loue lendeth life, which (dying) cannot die,
Nor liuing liue: and such a life lead I.
The sunny dayes which gladde the saddest wights,
Yet neuer shine to cleare my misty Moone,
No quiet sléepe, a
••
dde the mooneshine nights
Can close mine eies, when I am wo by gone.
In
•
o su
•
h sh
•
oes my peeuish sorow shrowdes,
That Su
••
e and Moone, are s
••
ll to me in clowdes.
And feuerlike I séede my fancie still,
Wich such repast, as most empaires my helth,
Which feuer first I caught by wanton will,
When coles of kind did stirre my bloud by stelth:
And gazing eies, in bewtie put such trust
That loue enflamd my liuer all with lust.
My fits are like the feuer Ectyck fits,
Which one day quakes within and burnes without,
The next day heate within the boosoms sits,
And shiuring cold the body goes about.
So is my harte most hote when hope is cold,
And quaketh most when I most heate behold.
Tormented thus without delaies I stand,
Alwaies in one and euermore shal be,
In greatest griefe when helpe is nearest hand,
And best at ease if death might make me frée:
Delighting most in that which hurts my hart,
And hating change which might renue my smart.
Yet you dere dame:Lenuoie. to whome this cure perteines,
Deuise betimes some drammes for my disease,
A noble name shall be your greatest games,
Whereof be sure, if you will worke mine ease.
And though fond fooles set forth their fitts as fast,
Yet grant with me that Gascoignes passion past.
Euer or Neuer.
Gascoignes libell of Diuorce.
DIuorce me now good death, from loue and lingring life,
That one hath ben my concubine, that other was my wife.
In youth I liued with loue, she had my lusty dayes,
In age I thought with lingering l
•
fe to stay my wādering ways,
But now abusde by both, I come for to complaine
To thee good death, in whōe my helpe doth wholly now remain,
My libell to behold: wherein I do protest,
The processe of my plaint is true, wherein my griefe doth rest▪
First loue my concubine, whome I haue kept so trimme,
Euen she for whome I séemd of yore, in seas of ioy to swim:
To whome I dare auow, that I haue serued as well,
And played my part as gallantly, as he that beares the bell:
She cast me off long since, and holds me in disdaine,
I cannot pranke to please hir now, my vaunting is but vaine.
My writhled chéekes bewray, that pride of heate is past,
My stagring stepps eke tell the truth, that nature fadeth fast
My quaking crooked ioynts, are combred with the crampe,
The boxe of oile is wasted well, which once did féede my lampe.
The gréenesse of my yeares, doth wither now so sore,
That lusty loue leapes quite away, and liketh me no more.
And loue my le
••
man gone, what liking can I take?
In lothsome life that crooked croanc, although she be my make?
She cloyes me with the cough, hir comforte is but colde
She bids me giue mine age for almes, where first my youth was solde.
No day can passe my head, but she beginnes to brall,
No mery thoughts conceiued so fast, but she co
•
founds them all.
When I pretend to please, she ouerthwarts me still,
When I wold faynest part with hir, she ouerwayes my will.
Be iudge then gentle death, and take my cause in hand,
Consider euery circumstance, marke how the case doth stande.
Percase thou wilte alledge, that cause thou canst no
••
e sée,
But that I like not of that one, that other likes not me:
Yes gentle iudge giue eare, and thou shalt sée me proue,
My concubine incontinent, a common whore is loue.
And in my wife I find, such discord and debate,
As no man liuing can endure the torments of my state.
Wherefore thy sentence say, diuorce me from them both,
Since only thou maist right my wrongs, good death now be not loth
But cast thy pearcing d
•
rt, into my panting brest,
That I may leaue both loue & life, & thereby parchase rest.
Haud ictus sapio.
Gascoignes praise of his Mystres.
THe hap which Paris had, as due for his desert,
Who fauorde Venus for hir face, & skornde Meneruas arte:
May serue to warne the wise, y• they no more estéeme
The glistering glosse of bewties blaze, than reason should it deeme.
Dame Priams yōger son, found out ye fairest dame,
That euer troade on Troyane mold, what followed of the same?
I list not brute hir bale, let others spred it foorth,
But for his part to spek my mind his choice was litle worth
My meaning is but this, who marks the outward shewe
And neuer gropes for grafts of grace which in ye mind shuld grow:
May chance vpon such choise as trusty Troylus had
And dwel in dole as Paris did, when he wold fayne be glad.
How happie then am I? whose happe hath bin to finde
A mistresse first that doth excell in vertues of the minde,
And yet therewith hath ioind, such fauoure and such grace,
As Pādars niece if she wer here wold quickly giue hir place,
Within whose worthy brest, dame Bounty séekes to dwel.
And saith to beawty, yéeld to me, since I do thée excell.
Betwene whose heuēly eies, doth right remorce appeare,
And pittie placed by the same, doth much amend hir chéere.
Who in my dangers déepe, did deigne to do me good,
Who did reléeue my heuie heart, and sought to saue my bloud,
Who first encreast my friends, and ouerthrew my foes,
Who loued all them that wisht me well, an liked none but those.
O Ladies giue me leaue, I praise hir not so farre,
Since she doth passe you all, as much, as Tytan staines a starre.
You hold such seruants deare, as able are to serue,
She held me deare, whē I poore soule, could no good thing deserue.
You set by them that swim in all prosperitie,
She set by me when as I was in great calamitie.
You best estéeme the braue, and let the purest passe,
She best estéemd my poore good will, all naked as it was.
But whether am I went? what humor guides my braine?
I séeke to wey the woolsacke down, with one poore pepper graine.
I séeme to penne hir praise, that doth surpasse myskill,
I striue to row against the tide, I hoppe against the hill.
Then let these fewe suffise, she Helene staines for hew,
Dydo for grace, Cressyde for chéere, and is as Thisbye true.
Yet if you furder craue, to haue hir name displaide,
Dame Fauor is my mistres name, dame Fortune is hir maid.
Attamen ad solitum.
Gascoignes Lullable.
SIng lullabie, as women do,
Wherewith they bring their babes to rest,
And lullabie can I sing to
As womanly as can the best.
With lullabie they still the childe,
And if I be not much beguilde,
Full many wanton babes haue I
Which must be stilld with lullabie.
First lullaby my youthfull yeares,
It is now time to go to bed,
For crooked age and hoarie heares,
Haue wonne the hauen within my head:
With Lullabye then youth be still,
With Lullabye content thy will,
Since courage quayles, and cōmes behynde,
Goe sléepe, and so beguyle thy mynde.
Next Lullabye my gazing eyes,
Whiche woonted were to glaunce apace:
For euery glasse maye nowe suffise,
To shewe the furrowes in my face:
With Lullabye then wynke a whyle,
Witth Lullabye youre lookes beguyle:
Lette no sayre face, nor beautie bryghte
Entice you efte with vayne delyght.
And Lullabye my wanton will,
Lette reasons rule nowe reigne thy thought,
Since all too late I fynde by skill,
Howe deare I haue thy fansies bought:
With Lullabye nowe take thyne ease,
With Lullabye thy doubtes appease:
For trust to this, if thou be still,
My bodie shall obeye thy will.
Eke Lullabye my louing boye,
My little Robyn take thy rest,
Synce Age is colde, and nothyng coye,
Kéepe close thy coyne, for so is beste:
With Lullabye bée thou content,
With Lullabye thy lustes relente,
Lette others paye whiche haue mo pence,
Thou arte to poore for suche expense.
Thus Lullabie my youth, myne eyes,
My will, my ware, and all that was,
I can no mo delayes deuise,
But welcome payne, lette pleasure passe:
With Lullabye nowe take your leaue,
With Lullabye youre dreames deceyue,
And when you rise with waking eye,
Remembre Gascoignes Lullabye,
Euer or Neuer.
Gascoignes Recantation.
NOwe must I néedes recant the wordes whiche once I spoke,
Fonde fansie fumes so nye my nose, I néedes must smell the smoke:
And better were to beare a faggot from the fire,
Than wilfully to burne and blaze in flames of vayne desire.
You Iudges then giue eare, you people marke me well
I say, bothe heauen and earth record the tale which I shall tell,
And knowe that dreade of death, nor hope of better hap,
Haue forced or persuaded me to take my turning cap,
But euen that mightie Ioue of his great clemencie,
Hath giuen me grace at last to iudge the truth from heresie:
I say then and professe, with frée and faithfull harte,
That womens vowes are nothing else but snares of secret smart:
Their beauties blaze are baytes which séeme of pleasant taste,
But who deuoures the hidden hooke, eates poyson for repast:
Their smyling is deceipt, their faire wordes traynes of treason,
Their witte alwayes so full of wyles, it skorneth rules of reason.
Percase some present here, haue hearde my selfe of yore,
Both teach and preach the contrary, my fault was then the more:
I graunt my workes were these, first one Anatomie,
Wherein I paynted euery pang so loues perplexitie:
Nexte that I was araignde, with George holde vp thy hande,
Wherein I yéelded Beauties thrall, at hir commaunde to stande:
Myne eyes so blynded were, (good people marke my tale)
That once I soong, I Bathe in Blisse, amidde my wearie Bale:
And many a frantike verse, then from my penne did passe,
In waues of wicked heresie so déepe I drowned was,
All whiche I nowe recante, and here before you burne
Those trifling bookes, frō whose leud lore my tippet here I turne,
And hencefoorth will I write, howe madde is that mans mynde,
Which is entyst by any trayne to trust in womankynde.
I spare not wedlocke I, who list that state aduaunce,
Aske Astolfe king of Lumbardie, how trim his dwarf could daūce.
Wherefore faire Ladies you, that heare me what I saye,
If you hereafter sée me slippe, or séeme to goe astraye:
Or if my toung reuolte from that whiche nowe it sayth,
Then plague me thus, Beleeue it not, for this is nowe my fayth.
Haud ictus sapio.
I haue herde master Gascoignes memorie commended by
these verses following, the vvhich were written vppon this occasi
on.
He had (in middest of his youth) determined to abandone all
vaine delights and to retourne vnto Greyes Inne, there to vnder
take
againe the study of the common lawes. And being required
by fiue sundrie gentlemen to wrighte in verse somwhat worthy
to be remembred, before he entred into their felowship, he compi
led
these fiue sundry sor
•
es of metre vpon fiue sundry theames
whiche they deliuered vnto him, and the firste was at request of
Francis K
••
welma
•
she who deliuered him this theame Auda
ces
fortuna iunat. And therevpon he wrote thys Sonnet follo
wing.
IF yelding feare, or cancred villanie,
In Caesars haughtie heart had tane the charge,
The walles of Rome had not bene rearde so hye,
Nor yet the mightie empire lefte so large.
If Menelaus could haue rulde his will
With fowle reproch to loose his faire delight,
Then had the stately towres of Troy stood still,
And Greekes with grudge had dronke their owne despight.
If dread of drenching waues or feare of fire,
Had stayde the wandring Prince amidde his race,
Ascanius then, the frute of his desire
In Lauine lande had not possessed place,
But true it is, where lottes doe light by chaunce,
There Fortune helpes the boldest to aduaunce.
Sic tuli.
The nexte vvas at request of Antonie Kynwelma: she,
vvho deliuered him this theame, Satis sufficit, and
therevpon he vvrote as follovveth.
THe vaine excesse of flattering Fortunes giftes,
Enuenometh the mind with vanitie,
And beates the restlesse braine with endlesse driftes
To stay the staffe of worldly dignitie:
The begger stands in like extremitie.
Wherefore to lacke the most, and leaue the least,
I coumpt enough as good as any feast.
By too too much Dan Croesus caught his death,
And bought with bloud the price of glittering gold,
By too too little many one lacks breath
And striues in stréetes a mirroure to behold:
So pride for heate, and pouert pynes for colde.
Wherefore to lacke the moste, and leaue the least,
I co
•
mpt enough as good as any feaste.
Store makes no sore, lo this séemes contrarye,
And mo the meryer is a Prouerbe eke,
But store of sores maye make a maladie,
And one to many maketh some to séeke,
When two be mette that bankette with a léeke:
Wherefore to lacke the moste, and leaue the least,
I coumpte enough as good as any feast.
The ryche man surfetteth by gluttonie,
Whyche féedeth still, and neuer standes content,
The poore agayne he pines for penurie,
Whiche liues with lacke, when all and more is spente:
So too muche and too little bothe bée shente.
Wherefore to lacke the moste, and leaue the least,
I coumpte enough as good as any feast.
The Conquerour with vncontented swaye,
Dothe rayse vp rebells by his auarice,
The recreaunt dothe yéelde hymselfe a praye,
To forrayne soyle by slouth and cowardyse:
So too muche and too little, both be vyce.
Wherefore to lacke the moste, and leaue the least.
I coumpte enough as good as any feast.
If so thy wyfe be too too fayre of face,
It drawes one guest (too manie) to thyne inne:
If she be fowle, and foyled with disgrace,
In other pillowes prickst thou many a pinne:
So fowle proue fooles, and fayrer fall to sinne.
Wherefore to lacke the moste, and leaue the least,
I coumpte enough as good as any feast.
And of enough, enough, and nowe no more,
Bycause my braynes no better can deuise,
When things be
•
adde, a small summe maketh store.
So of suche verse a fewe maye soone suffise:
Yet still to this my wearie penne replyes.
That I sayde last, and though you lyke it least,
It is enough, and as good as a feast.
Sic tuli,
Iohn Vaughan deliuered him this theame. Magnum
vectigal parcimonia, vvherevppon
he vvrote thus.
THe common spéech is, spend and God will send,
But what sends he? a bottell and a bagge,
A staffe, a wallet and a wofull ende,
For such as list in brauery so to bragge.
Then if thou couet come enough to spend,
Learne first to spare thy budget at the brinke,
So shall the bottome be the faster bound:
But he that list with lauish hand to linke,
(In like expence) a pennie with a pound,
May chance at last to sitte aside and shrinke
His harbraind head without dame deinties dore.
Hick, Hobbe and Dick with cloutes vppon their knée,
Haue many times more goonhole groates in store,
And change of crownes more quicke at call than he,
Which let their lease and tooke their rent before.
For he that rappes a royall on his cappe,
Before he put one pennie in his pursse,
Had néede turne quicke and broch a better tappe,
Or else his drinke may chance go downe the wursse.
I not denie but some men haue good hap,
To climbe alofte by scales of courtly grace,
And winne the world with liberalitie:
Yet he that yerks old angells out apace,
And hath no new to purchase dignitie,
When orders fall, may chance to lacke his grace.
For haggard hawkes mislike an emptie ha
•
d:
So stiffely some sticke to the mercers stall,
Till sutes of silke haue swet out all their land.
So ofte thy neighbours banquet in thy hall,
Till Dauie Debet in thy parlor stande,
And bids thée welcome to thine owne decay.
I lyke a Lyons lookes not woorth a léeke
When euery Foxe beguyles him of his praye:
What sauce but sorowe serueth him a weeke,
Whiche all his cates consumeth in one daye?
Fyrste vse thy stomacke to a stonde of ale,
Before thy Malmesey come in Marchantes bookes,
And rather weare (for shifte) thy shirte of male,
Than teare thy silken sléeues with teynter hookes.
Put feathers in thy pillowes greate and small,
Lette them bée princkt with plumes that gape for plummes,
Heape vp bothe golde and siluer safe in hooches,
Catche, snatche, and scratche for scrapings and for crummes,
Before thou decke thy hatte (on highe) with brooches.
Lette firste thyne one hande holde fast all that commes,
Before that other learne his letting flie:
Remember still that softe fyre makes swéete malte,
No haste but good (who meanes to multiplie:)
Bought wytte is deare, and drest with sowre salte,
Repentaunce commes to late, and then saye I,
Who spares the first and kéepes the laste vnspent,
Shall fynde that Sparing yeldes a goodly rent.
Sic tuli.
Alexander Neuile deliuered him this theame, Sat cito,
si sat bene, vvherevpon he compiled these seuen So
nets
in sequence, therin bevvraying his ovvne Ni
mis
cito: and thervvith his Vix bene, as folovveth.
IN haste poste haste, when fyrste my wandring mynde,
Behelde the glistering Courte with gazing eye,
Suche déepe delyghtes I séemde therein to fynde,
As myght beguyle a grauer guest than I.
The stately pompe of Princes and their péeres,
Did séeme to swimme in flouddes of beaten golde,
The wanton worlde of yong delightfull yéeres,
Was not vnlyke a heauen for to beholde,
Wherein did swarme (for euery saint) a Dame,
So faire of hue, so freshe of their attire,
As might excell dame Cinthia for Fame,
Or conquer Cupide with his owne desire.
These and suche lyke were baytes that blazed still
Before myne eye to féede my gréedie will.
2 Before myne eye to féede my gréedie will,
Gan muster eke myne olde acquainted mates,
Who helpte the dishe (of vayne delighte) to fill
My emptie mouthe with dayntie delicates:
And foolishe boldenesse tooke the whippe in hande,
To lashe my lyfe into this trustlesse trace,
Till all in haste I leapte aloofe from lande,
And hoyste vp soyle to catche a Courtly grace:
Eche lingring daye did séeme a worlde of woe,
Tyll in that halplesse hauen my head was broughte:
Waues of wanhope so tost mee too and and fro,
In déepe despaire to drowne my dreadfull thoughte:
Eche houre a daye, eche daye a yeare did séeme,
And euery yeare a worlde my wyll did déeme.
3 And euery yeare a worlde my will dyd déeme,
Till lo, at laste, to Courte nowe am I come,
A séemely swayne, that myght the place beséeme,
A gladsome guest embraste of all and some:
Not there contente with common dignitie,
My wandring eye in haste, (yea poste post haste)
Behelde the blazing badge of brauerie,
For wante wherof, I thought my selfe disgraste:
Then péeuishe pride pufft vp my swelling harte,
To further foorth so hotte an enterpryse:
And comely cost beganne to playe his parte,
In praysing patternes of mine owne deuise:
Thus all was good that myghte be got in haste,
To prinke me vp, and make mée higher plaste.
4 To prinke mée vp and make mée higher plaste,
All came to late that taryed any tyme,
Pilles of prouision pleased not my taste,
They made my héeles too heauie for to clyme:
Mée thought it beste that boughes of boystrous oke,
Shoulde fyrste be shread to make my feathers gaye,
Tyll at the last a deadly dinting stroke,
Brought downe the bulke with edgetooles of decaye:
Of euery ferme I then lette flye a lease,
To féede the pursse that payde for péeuishnesse,
Till rente and all were falne in suche disease,
As scarse coulde serue to maynteyne cleanlynesse:
The bough, the bo
•
ie,
•
yne, ferme, lease and lande,
All were too little for the merchauntes hande.
5 All were too little for the merchantes hande,
And yet my brauerye bigger than his booke:
But when this hotte accompte was coldely scande,
I thoughte highe tyme aboute me for to looke:
With heauie cheare I caste my heade abacke,
To sée the fountayne of my furious race,
Comparde my losse, my liuyng, and my lacke,
In equall balance with my iolye grace,
And sawe expences grating on the grounde
Lyke lumpes of leade to presse my pursse full ofte,
When lyghte rewarde and recompence were founde,
Fléeting lyke feathers in the wynde alofte:
These thus comparde, I lefte the Courte at large,
For why? the gaynes doth seldome quitte the charge.
For why? the gaynes doth seldome quitte the charge,
And so saye I, by proofe too dearely boughte,
My haste made waste, my braue and braynsicke barge,
Did floate to faste, to catche a thing of nought:
Wit
•
leysure, measure, meane, and many mo,
I moughte haue kepte a chaire of quiet state,
But hastie heades can not bee settled so,
Till crooked Fortune giue a crabbed mate:
As busye braynes muste beate on tickle toyes,
As rashe inuention bréedes a rawe deuise,
So sodaine falles doe hinder hastie ioyes,
And as swifte baytes doe fléetest fyshe entice,
So haste makes waste, and therefore nowe I say,
No haste but good, where wysedome makes the waye.
No haste but good, where wysedome makes the waye,
For proofe whereof wée sée the silly snayle,
Who sees the Souldiers carcasse cast awaye,
With hotte assaulte the Castle to assayle,
By lyne and leysure clymes the loftie wall,
And winnes the turrettes toppe more cunningly,
Than doughtie Dicke, who loste his lyfe and all,
With hoysting vp his heade too hastily:
The swiftest bitche brings foorth the blyndest whelpes,
The hottest Feuers coldest crampes ensue,
The nakedst néede hathe euer latest helpes:
With Neuyle then I fynde this prouerbe true,
That Haste makes vvaste, and therefore still I saye,
No haste but good, where wysedome makes the way.
Sic tuli.
Richarde Courtop (the last of the fiue) gaue him this
theame, Durum aneum & miserab
•
le aeuum, and
therevpon he wrote in this wyse.
WHen péerelesse Princes courtes were frée from flatterie,
The Iustice from vnequal doome, the queste from periurie,
The pillers of the state, from proude presumption,
The clearkes from heresie, the Commons from rebellion:
Then righte rewardes were giuen, by swaye of due deserte,
Then vertues dearlings might be plaste aloft to play their parte:
Then might they coumpt it true, that hath ben sayd of olde,
The children of those happie dayes were borne in beds of golde,
And swadled in the same: the Nurse that gaue them sucke,
Was wyfe to Liberalitie, and lemman to Good lucke.
When Caesar woon the fielde, his captains caught the townes,
And euery painful souldiors pursse was crammed full of crownes.
Licurgus for good lawes, loste his owne libertie,
And thoughte it better to preferre common commoditie.
But nowe the tymes are turnde, it is not as it was,
The golde is gone, the siluer sunke, and nothing left but brasse.
To sée a king encroache, what wonder should it séeme,
When commons cannot be content, with countrie Dyade
•
me?
The Prince may dye a babe, trust vp by trecherie,
Where vaine ambition doth moue trustlesse nobilitie.
Errours in pulpit preach, where faith in préesthood failes,
Promotion (not deuotion) is cause why cleargie quailes.
Thus is the stage stakt out, where all these partes be plaide,
And I the prologue should pronounce, but that I am afraide.
First Cayphas playes the priest, and Herode sits as king,
Pylate the Iudge, Iudas the Iurour verdicte in doth bring,
Uayne tatling plaies the vice, well cladde in rich aray.
And pore Tom Troth is laught to skorn, wt garmēts nothing gay▪
The woman wan
•
onnesse, she comes with ticing traine,
Pride in hir pocket playes bo péepe, and bawdrie in hir braine.
Hir handmaides be deceipte, daunger, and dalliance,
Riot and Reuell follow hir, they be of hir alliance:
Nexte these commes in Simme Swash, to sée what sturre they kéepe,
Climme of ye Clough thē takes his héeles, tis time for him to créep:
To packe the pageaunt vp, commes Sorowe with a song,
He says these iestes can get no grotes, & al this geare goth wrong:
Fyrst pride without cause, why he sings the treble parte,
The meane he mumbles out of tune, for lack of life and hart:
Cost lost, the counter Tenor chanteth on apace,
Thus all in discords stands the cliffe, and beggrie sings the base.
The players loose their paines, where so few pens are sturring,
Their garmēts weare for lacke of gains, & fret for lacke of furring
When all is done and past, was no part plaide but one,
For euery player plaide the foole, till all be spent and gone.
And thus this foolish iest, I put in dogrell rime,
Bicause a crosier staffe is best, for such a crooked time.
Sic Tuli.
And thus an end of these siue theames, vvherein hath bene
noted, that as the theames were sundrie and altogither diuers, so
Master Gascoigne did accomplishe them in fiue sundrie sortes of
metre, yea and that seemeth most strange, he deuised all these admounting
to the number of .CCLVIII. verses, riding by the
way, writing none of them vntill he came at the end of his lourney,
the which was no longer than one day in riding, one day in
•
arying with his friend, and the third in returning to Greys lnne:
a small time for suche a taske, neyther wolde I willingly vndertake
the like. The meetres are but rough in many places, and yet
are they true (cum licentia poetica) and I must needes confesse,
that he hath more commonly bene ouer curious in delectation,
then of haughti
•
stile in his dilatations. And therefore let vs pas
••
to the rest of his vvorks.
Gascoignes gloze vppon this text,
Dominus ijs opus habet.
MY recklesse race is runne, gréene youth and pride be past,
My riper mellowed yeares beginne to follow on as fast.
My glancing lookes are gone, which wonted were to prie
In euery gorgeous garish glasse that glistred in mine eie.
My sight is now so dimme, it can behold none such,
No mirroure but the merrie meane, can please my fansie much
•
,
And in that noble glasse, I take delight to view,
The fashions of the wonted worlde, compared by the new.
For marke who list to looke, each man is for him selfe,
And beates his braine to hord & heape this trash & worldly pelfe.
O
•
r hands are closed vp, great gifts go not abroade,
Few men will lend a locke of heye, but for to gaine a loade.
Giue Gaue is a good man, what neede we lash it out,
The world is wōdrous fearfull now, for danger bids men doubte.
And aske how chanceth this? or what meanes all this méede?
Forsooth the common answer is, because the Lord hath neede.
A noble iest by gisse, I find it in my glasse,
The same fréehold our Sauioure Christ, con
•
eyed to his asse.
A text to trie the truth, and for this time full fitte,
For where should we our lessons learne, but out of holy writte?
First marke our only God, which ruleth all the rost,
He sets a side all pompe and pride, wherein fond wordlings boast,
He is not fedde with calues, as in the dayes of old,
He cares but litle for their copes, that glister all of gold.
His traine is not so great, as filthy Sathans band,
A smaller heard may serue to féede, at our great masters hande.
He likes no numbred prayers, to purchase popish méede,
He askes no more but penitence, thereof Cur Lorde hath neede:
Next marke the heathens Gods, and by them shall we sée,
They be not now so good fellowes, as they were wont to be.
Ioue, Mars, and Mercurie, Dame Venus and the rest,
They banquet not as they were wont, they know it were not best:
They shrinke into the cloudes, and there they serue out néede,
As planets and signes moueable, by destenies decréede.
So kings and princes both, haue lefte their halles at large,
Their priuie chambers cost enough, they cut off euery charge:
And when an office falles, as chance sometimes may be,
First kéepe it close a yere or twayne, then geld it by the sée.
And giue it out at last, but yet with this prouiso,
(A bridle for a brainsicke Iade) durante bene placito.
Some think these ladders low, to climbe alofte with spéede:
Well let them créepe at leisure thē, for sure the Lord hath neede.
Dukes Earles and Barons bold, haue learnt like lesson nowe,
They breake vp house and come to courte, they liue not by ye plow▪
Percase their roomes be skant, not like their stately boure,
A field bed in a corner coucht, a pallad on the floure.
But what for that? no force, they make thereof no boast,
They féede themselues with delycates, and at the princes cost.
And as for all their men, their pages and their swaynes,
They cloke thē vp with chynes of béefe, to multiply their gaines.
Themselues lie néere to looke, when any leafe doth fall,
Such croomes were wont to feede poore groomes, but now y• Lords licke al.
And why? oh sir, because, both dukes & lords haue néede,
I mock not I, my text is true, beléeue it as your créede.
Our prelates and our priests, can tell this text with me,
They can hold fast their fattest fermes, and let no lease go frée.
They haue both wife and childe, which may not be forgot,
The scriptures say the Lord hath neeed, & therfore blame thē not.
Then come a litle lower, vnto the countrey knight,
The squier and the gentleman, they leaue the countrey quite,
Their halles were all to large, their tables were to long,
The clouted shoes came in so fast, they kepte to great a throng,
And at the porters lodge, where lubbers wont to féede,
The porter learnes to answere now, hence hence the Lorde hathe neede
His gests came in to thicke, their diet was to great,
Their horses eate vp all the hey, which should haue fed his neate:
Their téeth were farre to fine, to séede on porke and souf
•
,
Fiue flocks of shéepe coulde scarce mainteine good mutton for his house.
And when this count was cast, it was no biding here,
Unto the good towne is he gone, to make his frends good chéere,
And welcome there that will, but shall I tell you how?
At his owne dish he féedeth them, that is the fashion now,
Side bords be laid aside, the tables end is gone,
His cooke shall make you noble chéere, but ostler hath he none.
The chargers now be changde, wherein he wont to eate,
An olde frute dish is bigge enough to holde a iointe of meate,
A sallad or a sauce, to tast your cates with all,
Some strāge deuise to
•
éede mēs eies, mēs stomacks now be small.
And when the tenauntes come to paye their quarters rent,
They bring some fowle at Midsommer, & a dish of Fish in Lent,
At Christmasse a capon, at Mighte
•
masse a goose:
And somwhat else at Newyeres tide, for feare their lease flie loose.
Good reason by my trouth, when Gentlemen lacke groates,
Let Plowmen pinch it out for pence, and patch their russet coates:
For better Fermers fast, than Manour houses fall,
The Lord hath néed, then says the text, bring old Asse, colt and all.
Well lowest now at laste, let see the countrey loute,
And marke how he doth swink & sweate to bring this geare about:
His feastings be but fewe, cast whipstockes clou
•
e his shooen,
The wheaten loafe is locked vp, as soone as dinners doone:
And where he wonte to keepe a lubber, two or thrée,
Now hath he learnd to keepe no more but Sim him sonne and he,
His wyfe and Mawde his mayde, a boy to pitche the carte,
And turne him vp at Hal
•
ontyde, to feele the wynters smarte:
Dame Alyson his wyfe doth knowe the price of meale,
Hir bridecakes be not halfe so bigge as she was wont to steale:
She weares no siluer hookes, she is content with wursse,
Hir pendants and hir siluer pinnes she putteth in hir pursse.
Thus learne I by my glasse, that merrie meane is best,
And he moste wise that fynds the meane to kéep his tackling best.
Perchaunce some open mouth will mutter nowe and than,
And at the market tell his mate, our landlords a zore man:
He racketh vp our rentes, and keepes the best in hande,
He makes a wondrous deale of good out of his owne measne land:
Yea let suche pelters prate, saint Needam be their spéede,
We néede no text to answer them, but this, The Lord hath neede.
Euer or neuer.
Gascoignes good morovv.
YOu that haue spente the silente nighte
In sléepe and quiet reste,
And ioye to sée the chéerefull lighte
That ryseth in the East:
Nowe cléere your voyce, now cheare your heart,
Come helpe me nowe to sing:
Eche willyng wight come beare a parte,
To prayse the heauenly King.
And you whome care in prison kéepes,
Or sickenesse dothe suppresse,
Or secrete sorrowe breakes youre sléepes,
Or dolours doe distresse:
Yet beare a parte in dolefull wyse,
Yea thinke it good accorde,
And acceptable sacrifice,
Eche sprite to prayse the Lorde.
The dreadfull night with darkesome storme
•
Had ouerspread the lyght,
And sluggishe sléepe with drowsynesse,
Had ouerpreste our myght:
A glasse wherein we maye beholde
Eche storme that stoppes our breath,
Our bedde the graue, oure cloathes lyke molde,
And sléepe lyke dreadfull death.
Yet as this deadly nyghte did laste,
But for a little space,
And heauenly daye nowe night is paste,
Doth shewe his pleasant face:
So muste we hope to sée Gods face,
At laste in heauen on hie,
When wée haue chaung'd this mortall place,
For Immortalitie.
And of suche happes and heauenly ioyes,
As then wée hope to holde,
All earthly sightes, all worldly toyes,
Are tokens to beholde:
The daye is lyke the daye of doome,
The sunne, the Sonne of man,
The skyes the heauens, the earth the toombe
Wherein wée reste till than.
The Raynbowe bending in the skye,
Bedeckte with sundrye hewes,
Is lyke the seate of God on hye,
And seemes to tell these newes:
That as thereby he promised
To drowne the worlde no more,
So by the bloud whiche Christe hath shead,
He will oure health restore.
The mistie clowdes that fall sometyme,
And ouercaste the skyes,
Are lyke to troubles of oure tyme,
Whiche doe but dimme oure eyes:
But as suche dewes are dryed vp quite,
When Phoebus shewes his face,
So are suche fansies put to flighte,
Where God dothe guyde by grace.
The carrion Crowe, that lothesome beast,
Whyche cryes agaynst the rayne,
Bothe for hir hew and for the reste,
The Deuill resembleth playne:
And as with goonnes we kill the Crowe,
For spoylyng oure reliefe,
The Deuill so muste wée ouerthrowe,
With goonshot of beliefe.
The little Byrdes whiche syng so swéete,
Are lyke the angels voyce,
Whiche render God his prayses méete,
And teache vs to reioyce:
And as they more estéeme that myrthe,
Than dreade the nightes anoye,
So muste wée déeme oure dayes on earthe,
But hell to heauenly ioye.
Unto whiche Ioyes for to attayne,
God graunte vs all his grace,
And sende vs after worldly payne,
In heauen to haue a place.
Where wée may still enioy that lyght,
Whiche neuer shall decaye:
Lorde for thy mercie lende vs myghte
To sée that ioyfull daye.
Haud ictus sapio.
Gascoignes good nyghte.
WHen thou hast spent the lingring day in pleasure and delight,
Or after toyle and wearie way, dost séeke to rest at night:
Unto thy paynes or pleasures past, adde this one labour yet,
Ere sléepe close vp thyne eye too faste, do not thy God forget,
But searche within thy secret thoughts what déeds did thée befal:
And if thou fynde amisse in ought, to God for mercie call:
Yea though thou find nothing amisse, which thou canst cal to mind
Yet euermore remember this, there is the more behynde:
And think howe well soeuer it be, that thou hast spent the day,
It came of God, and not of thée, so to directe thy waye.
Thus if thou trie thy dayly déedes, and pleasure in this payne,
Thy lyfe shal clense thy corne from wéeds, & thine shal be y• gaine:
But if thy sinfull sluggishe eye, will venture for to winke,
Before thy wading wyll maye trye, how far thy soule may sink,
Beware and wake, for else thy bed, which soft & smoothe is made,
May heap more harm vpō thy head, than blows of enmies blade.
Thus if this payne procure thine
•
ase, in bed as thou doste lye,
Perhaps it shall not God displease, to sing thus soberly:
I see that sléepe is lent mée here, to ease my wearie bones,
As death at laste shall eke appeare, to ease my greeuous grones.
My dayly sports, my paunch full
•
ed, haue causde my drousie eye,
As carelesse lyfe in quiet led, might cause my soule to dye:
The streking arms, the yauning breath, which I to bedward vse,
Are patternes of the pangs of death, when lyfe will me refuse:
And of my bed eche sundrie parte in shadowes doth resemble
The sundry shapes of deth, whose dart sh
•
l make my flesh to trēble,
My bed it self is lyke y• graue, my shéetes y• winding shéete,
My clothes the moulde which I must haue to couer me most mée
•
:
The hungrie fleas which friske so fresh, to worms I can compare▪
Which gréedily shal gnaw my flesh, and leaue the bones ful bare:
The waking Cocke that early crowes to weare the nyght away,
Puts in my mynde the trumpe that blowes before the latter day▪
And as I ryse vp lustily, when sluggishe sléepe is paste,
So hope I to ryse ioyfully, to Iudgement at the laste.
Thus will I wake, thus will I sléepe, thus will I hope to ryse,
Thus will I neyther wayle nor wéepe, but sing in godly wyse.
My bones shall in this bed remayne, my soule in God shall trust,
By whom I hope to ryse agayne from death and earthly dust.
Haud ictus sapio.
These good Morowe and good nyght, together with his Passion,
his Libell of diuorce, his Lullabye, his Recantation, his De profund
•
s,
and his farewell, haue verie sweete notes adapted vnto them:
the which I would you should also enioy as well as my selfe. For
I knowe you
•
ill, delight to heare them. As also other verie good
notes whyche I haue for dyuers other Ditties of other mens deuyse
whiche I haue before rehersed.
Gascoignes De profundis.
The occasion of the vvrighting hereof (as I haue herde Master
Gascoigne say) was this▪ riding alone betwene Chelmisforde
and London, his minde mu
•
ed vppon the d
•
yes past, and therewithall
he gan accuse his owne con
•
cience of muche time misspent,
when a great shoure of rayne did ouertake him, and he beeing
vnprepared for the same, as in a lerken without a cloake, the
wether beeing very faire and vnlikely to haue changed so: he began
to accuse him
•
elfe of his carelesnesse, and therevppon in his
good disposition compiled firste this sonet, and afterwardes, the
translated Psalme of Deprofundis as here followeth.
THe Skies gan scowle, orecast with mistie clo
•
des,
When (as I rode alone by London way,
Clokelesse, vnclad) thus did I sing and say:
Behold quoth I, bright Titan how he shroudes
His hed abacke, and yelds the raine his reac
•
▪
Till in his wrath, Dan
•
oue haue soust the
〈◊〉
,
And washt me wretch which in his trauaile toile.
But holla (here) doth rudenesse me apeach,
Since Ioue is Lord and king of mightie power,
Which can commande the sunne to shew his face,
And (when him list) to giue the raine his place.
Why do not I my wery muses frame,
(Although I be well soused in this shoure,)
To wrighte some verse in honor of his name?
Gascoignes councell to Douglasse Diue vvritten vpon this oc
casion.
She had a booke vvherein she had collected sundry
good ditties of diuers mens doings, in vvhich booke
she vvould needes entreate him to vvrite some
verses. And therevppon he vvrote as
follovveth.
TO binde a bushe of thornes amongst swete smelling floures,
May make the posie séeme the worse, and yet the fault is ours▪
For throw away the thorne, and marke what will ensew,
The posie then will shew it selfe, swéete, faire, and freshe of hew.
A puttocke set on pearche, fast by a falcons side,
Will quickly shew it selfe a kight, as time hath often tride.
And in my musing minde, I feare to finde like fall,
As iust reward to recompence my rash attempts withall.
Thou bidst, and I must bowe, thou wilt that I shall write,
Thou canst command my wery muse some verses to endite.
And yet perdie, thy booke is fraughte with learned verse,
Such skill as in my musing minde I can none like reherse.
What followes then for me? but if I must néedes write,
To set downe by the falcons side, my selfe a sillie kight.
And yet the sillie kight, well weyed in each degrée,
May serue sometimes (as in his kinde) for mans commoditie.
The kight can wéede the worme, from corne and costly
•
éedes,
The kight cā kill the
••
owl
•
iwarpe, in pleasant meads y• bréeds:
Out of the stately stréetes, the kight can clense the filth,
As mē can clēse the worthlesse wéedes, frō fruteful fallowed tilth.
And onely set aside the hennes poore progenie,
I cannot see who can accuse the kight for fellonie.
The falcon, she must féede on partritch, and on quaile,
A pigeon, plouer, ducke and drake, hearne, lapwing, teale, &
•
aile,
Hir hungrie throte deuours both foode and deintie fare,
Whereby I take occasion, thus boldly to compare.
And as a sillie kight, (not falcon like that flie,
Nor yet presume to houer by mount Hellycon on hye)
I frendly yet presume, vppon my frends request,
In barreine verse to shew my skill, then take it for the best.
And Douty Douglas
•
e thou, that arte of faulcons kinde,
Giue willing eare yet to the kight, and beare his words in mind.
Serue thou first God thy Lord, and praise him euermore,
Obey thy Prince and loue thy make, by him set greatest store.
Thy Parents follow next, for honor and for awe,
Thy frends vse alwayes faithfully, for so commands the lawe.
Thy séemely selfe at last, thou shalte likewise regard,
And of thy selfe this lesson learne, and take it as reward:
That loke how farre desertes, may seme in thée to shine,
So farre thou maist set out thy selfe, without empeach or crime.
For this I dare a
••
w, without selfe loue (alight)
It can scarce be that vertue dwell, in any earthly wight.
But if in such selfe loue, thou séeme to wade so farre,
As fall to fowle presumption, and iudge thy selfe a starre,
Beware betimes and thinke, in our Etymologie,
Such faults are plainly called pride, and in french Surquydrye.
Lo thus can I pore kight, aduenture for to teach,
The falcon flie, and yet forewarne, she row not past hir reach.
Thus can I wéede the worme, which séeketh to deuoure
The séeds of vertue, which might grow within thee euery houre.
Thus can I kill the mowle, which else would ouerthrow
The good foundacion of thy fame, with euery litle blowe.
And thus can I conuey, out of thy comely brest,
The sluttish heapes of p
•
euish pride, which might defile the rest.
Perchance some falcons flie, which will not greatly grutch,
To learne thée first to loue thy selfe, and then to loue to mutch.
But I am none of those, I list not so to range,
I haue mās meate enough at home, what néed I thē séeke change.
I am no peacocke I: my fethers be not gay,
And though they were, I sée my féete suche fonde affectes to stay.
I list not set to sale a thing so litle, worth,
I rather could kepe close my crease, than séeke to set it forth.
Wherefore if in this verse, which thou commands to flowe,
Thou chaunce to fall on construing, whereby some doubtes may grow,
Yet grant this only boone, peruse it twise or thrise,
Disgest it well eare thou condemne the depth of my deuise.
And vse it like the nut, first cracke the outward shell,
Then trie the kirnell by the tast, and it may please thée well.
Do not as barbers do, which wash beards curiously,
Then cut them off, then cast them out, in open stréetes to lie.
Remember therewithall, my money is tied in chaines,
The goonshot of calamiti
•
hath battred all my braines.
And though this verse scape out, take thou therat no marke,
It is but like a hedlesse flie, that tumbleth in the darke.
It was thine owne request, remember so it was,
Wherefore if thou dislike the same, then licence it to passe
Into my brest againe, from whence it flew in hast,
Full like a kight which not deserues by falcons to be plast:
And like a stubbed thorne, which may not séeme to serue,
To stād with such swete smelling floures, like praises to deserue.
Yet take this harmelesse thorne, to picke thy teeth withall,
A tooth picke serues some vse perdie, although it be but small.
And when thy téeth therewith, be piked faire and cleane,
Then bend thy to
•
g no worse to me, than mine to thée hath bene.
Euer or Neuer.
Gascoignes councell giuen to master Bartholmew Wi
thipoll
a litle before his latter iourney to
Geane. 1572.
MIne owne good Bat, before thou hoise vp saile,
To make a furrowe in the foming seas,
Content thy selfe to heare for thine auaile,
Such harmelesse words, as ought thée not displease.
First in thy iorney, gape not ouer much,
What? laughest thou Batte, because I write so plaine?
Bléeue me now it is a friendly touch,
To vse few words where frendship doth remaine.
And for I finde, that fault hath runne to fast,
Both in thy flesh, and fancie to sometime,
Me thinks plaine dealing biddeth me to cast
This bone at first amid my dogrell rime.
But shall I say, to giue thée graue aduise?
(Which in my hed is (God he knowes) full geazon)?
Then marke me well, and though I be not wise,
Yet in my rime, thou maist perhaps find reason.
First euery day, beseech thy God on
〈◊〉
,
So to directe thy staggring steppes alwaye,
That he whiche euery secrete thoughte doth sée
Maye holde thée in, when thou wouldst goe astray:
And that he deigne to sende thée safe retoure,
And quicke dispatche of that whyche is thy due:
Lette this my Batte bée bothe thy prime and houre,
Wherein also commende to Nostre Dieu▪
Thy good Companion and my verie frende,
To whome I shoulde (but tyme woulde not permitte)
Haue taken payne some ragged ryme to sende
In trustie token, that I not forget
His curtesie: but this is debte to thée,
I promysde it, and nowe I meane to pay:
What was I saying? sirra, will you sée
Howe soone my wittes were wandering astraye?
I saye, praye thou for thée and for thy mate,
So shipmen sing, and though the note be playne,
Yet sure the musike is in heauenly state,
When frendes sing so, and knowe not howe to fayne.
Then nexte to GOD, thy Prince haue still in mynde,
Thy countreys honour, and the common wealth:
And flée from them, whiche fled with euery wynde
From natiue soyle, to forraine coastes by stealth:
Theyr traynes are trustlesse, tending still to treason,
Theyr smoothed tongues are lyned all with guyle,
Their power slender, scarsly woorthe two peason,
Their malice muche, their wittes are full of wyle:
Eschue them then, and when thou séest them, saye,
Da, da, sir K, I maye not come at you,
You caste a snare youre countrey to betraye,
And woulde you haue me truste you nowe for true?
Remembre Batte the foolishe blinkeyed boye
Whiche was at Rome, thou knowest whome I meane,
Remember eke the preatie beardlesse toye,
Whereby thou foundst a safe returne to Geane,
Doe so againe: (God shielde thou shouldst haue néede,)
But rather so, than to forsweare thy selfe:
A loyall hearte, (beléeue this as thy Creede)
Is euermore more woorth than worldly pelfe.
And for one lesson, take this more of mee,
There are thrée Ps almoste in euery place,
From whiche I counsell thée alwayes to flée,
And take good héede of them in any case,
The first is poyson, perillous in déede
To suche as trauayle with a heauie pursse:
And thou my Batte beware, for thou haste néede,
Thy pursse is lynde wyth paper, whyche is wursse:
Thy billes of credite will not they thinkst thou,
Be bayte to sette Italyan handes on woorke?
Yes by my faye, and neuer worsse than nowe,
When euery knaue hath leysure for to lurke,
And knoweth thou commest for the shelles of Christe:
Beware therefore, where euer that thou go,
It maye fall out that thou shalte be entiste
To suppe sometimes with a Magnifico,
And haue a fico foysted in thy dishe,
Bycause thou shouldest disgeste thy meate the better:
Beware therefore, and rather féede on fishe,
Than learne to spell fyne fleshe with suche a Letter.
Some may presente thée with a pounde or twayne
Of Spanishe soape to washe thy lynnen white:
Beware therefore, and thynke it were small gayne,
To saue thy shirte, and caste thy skinne off quite:
Some cunning man maye teache thée for to ryde,
And stuffe thy saddle all with Spanishe wooll,
Or in thy stirrops haue a toye so tyde,
As bothe thy legges may swell thy buskins full:
Beware therefore, and beare a noble porte,
Drynke not for thyrste before an other taste:
Lette none outlandishe Taylour take disporte
To stuffe thy doublet full of suche Bumbaste,
As it maye caste thée in vnkindely sweate,
And cause thy haire ꝑ companie to glyde,
Straungers are fyne in many a propre feate:
Beware therefore, the seconde P. is Pryde,
More perillous than was the fyrste by farre,
For that infectes but onely bloud and bones,
This poysons all, and myndes of men dothe marre,
It fyndeth nookes to créepe in for the nones:
Fyrste from the mynde it makes the hearte to swell,
From thence the fleshe is pampred euery parte,
The skinne is taughte in Dyers shoppes to dwell,
The haire is curlde or frisled vp by arte:
Beléeue mée Batte, oure Countreymen of late
Haue caughte suche knackes abroade in forayne lande,
That moste men call them Deuils incarnate,
So singular in theyr conceiptes they stande:
Nowe sir, if I shall sée your maistershippe
Come home disguysde and cladde in queynt araye,
As wyth a pyketoothe byting on youre lippe,
Your braue Mustachyos turnde the Turky waye,
A Coptanckt hatte made on a Flemmishe blocke,
A nyghtgowne cloake downe trayling to your
•
oes,
A slender sloppe close couched to youre docke,
A curtold slipper, and a shorte sylke hose:
Bearyng youre Rapier poynte aboue the hilte,
And looking bigge lyke Marquise of al Beefe,
Then shall I coumpte your toyle and trauayle spilte,
Bycause my seconde P, with you is chéefe.
But forwardes nowe, although I stande a whyle,
My hindmoste P, is worsse than bothe these two,
For it bothe soule and bodie dothe defyle,
With fouler faultes than bothe those other doo.
Shorte tale to make, this is a double P,
(God shielde my Batte, shoulde beare it in his breast)
And with a dashe it spelleth Papistrie,
A perlous P, and woorsse than bothe the reste:
Nowe though I finde no cause for to suspecte
My Batte in this, bycause he hath ben tryde,
Yet since the polshorne Prelates can infecte
Kings, Emperours, Princes, and the worlde so wyde.
And since theyr brazen heauen beares suche a glosse,
As moste that trauayle come home ꝑ Papist,
Or else muche woorsse (whyche is a heauie lesse)
Drowned in errours lyke an Atheist:
Therefore I thoughte it méete to warne my frende
Of this foule P, and so an ende of Ps.
Nowe for thy diet marke my tale to ende,
And thanke me then, for that is all my fées.
Sée thou excéede not in thrée double Vs,
The fyrste is Wyne, whiche maye enflame thy bloud,
The seconde, Women, suche as haunte the stewes,
The thirde is Wilfulnesse, whiche dooth no good.
These thrée eschue, or temper them alwayes:
So shall my Batte prolong his youthfull yéeres,
And sée long George agayne, with happie dayes,
Who if he bée as faythfull to his feeres,
As hée was wonte, wyll dayly praye for Batte,
And for Pencoyde: and if it fall oute so,
That Iames a Parrye doo but make good that,
Whiche he hath sayde: and if he bée (no, no)
The beste companyon that long George can fynde,
Then at the Spavve I promyse for to bée
In Auguste nexte, if God turne not my mynde,
Where as I woulde bée glad thy selfe to sée:
Tyll then farewell, and thus I ende my song,
Take it in grée, for else thou doest mée wrong.
Ha
•
d ictus sapi
•
.
Gascoignes Epitaph vppon capitaine Bourcher late slayne in
the vvarres in Zel
••
d
•
, the vvhiche hath bene termed
the tale of a stone as follovveth.
FYe Captaines fie, your tongs are tied to close,
Your souldiers eke by silence purchase shame:
Can no man penne in metre nor in prose,
The life, the death, the valiante acts, the fame,
The birth, behauioure, nor the noble name,
Of such a féere as you in sight haue lost?
Alas such paines would quickly quite the cost.
Bourcher is dead, whome each of you did knowe,
Yet no man writes one word to painte his praise,
His sprite on high, his carkasse here belowe,
Do both condemne your doting idle dayes:
Yet ceasse they not to sound his worthy wayes,
Who liued to die, and died againe to liue,
With death deere bought, he did his death forgiue.
He might for birth haue boasted noble race,
Yet were his manners meeke and alwayes m
•
lde,
Who gaue a gesse by gazing on his face,
And iudgde thereby, might quickly be beguilde:
In fiel
•
e a lion and in towne a childe,
Fierce to his foe, but courteouse to his friende.
Alas the while, his life so soone should end?
To serue his Prince his life was euer prest,
To serue his God, his death he thought but dew,
In all attempts as frowarde as the best,
And all to forwards whiche we all may rew,
His life so shewed, his death eke tried it true:
For where Gods foes in thickest prease did stande,
Bourcher caught bane with bloudy sword in hande.
And marke the courage of a noble harte,
When he in bedde lay wounded wondrous sore,
And heard allarme, he soone forgat his smarte,
And callde for armes to shewe his seruice more:
I will to fielde
•
quoth he) and God before.
Which sayde, he sailde into more quiet coast,
Still praysing God, and so gaue vp the ghost.
Now muze not reader though we stones can speake,
Or write sometimes the déedes of worthy ones,
I could not hold although my harte should breake,
Bycause here by me buried are his bones,
But I must tell this tale thus for the nones.
When men crie mumme and keepe such silence long,
Then stones must speake, els dead men shall haue wrong.
Finis ꝙ Marmaduke M
•
rbl
•
stone.
Gascoignes deuise of a maske for the right honorable Viscount
Mountacute, written (as I haue heard Master Gascoigne himselfe declare) vpon
this occasion, when the sayde L. had prepa
•
ed to solemnise two mariages be
twene
his sonne and heire and the daughter of sir William Do
•
mer knighte,
and betwene the sonne and heire of sir William Dormer, and the daughter
of the saide L. Mountacute: there were eighte gentlemen (all of bloud or a
••
i
ance
to the saide L. Mountacute) which had determined to present a maske at
the day appoynted for the sayd mariages, and so farre they had proceeded ther
in,
that they had alredy bought furniture of silks. &c. and had caused their gar
ments
to be cut of the Venetian fashion. Newe then they began to imagin
•
that (without some speciall demonstracio
̄) it would seeme somewhat obscure
to haue Venetians presented rather than other countrey men. Wherevpon
•
hey
entreated Master Gascoigne to deui
•
e some verses to be vttered by an Actor
wherein mighte be some discourse conuenient to render a good cause of the
Ve
•
etians presence. Master Gascoigne calling to minde that there is a noble
house of the Mountac
•
tes in Italie, and therewithall that the L. Mountacute
here doth quarter the cote of an ancie
̄t english gentlema
̄ called Mounth
•
rme,
and
•
ath the inheritance of the sayde house, did therevppon deuise to bring in
•
Boy of the age of twelue or xiiij. yeres, who shoulde fayne that he was a
Mounthermer by the fathers side, and a Mou
•
tacute by the mothers side, and
that his father being slayne at the last warres against the Tu
•
ke, and he there
taken, he was recoue
•
ed by the Venetians to their last victorie, and with them
sayling towardes Venice, they were driuen by tempest vppon these coasts, and
so came to the mariage vppon report as followeth, and the said Boy pronoun
ced
the deuise in this
•
orte.
WHat wonder you my Lords? why gaze you gentlemen?
And wherefore maruaile you mez Dames, I pray you tell me then?
Is it so rare a sight, or yet so strange a toy,
Amongst so many noble péeres, to sée one Pouer Boy?
Why? boyes haue bene allowed in euery kind of age,
As Gany
•
ede that prety boy, in Heauen is Ioue his page.
Cupid that mightie God although his force be fearse,
Yet is he but a naked boy, as Poets do rehearse.
And many a prety boy a mighty man hath proued,
And serued his Prince at all assayes deseruing to be loued.
Percase my strange attire my glittering golden gite,
Doth either make you maruell thus, or moue you with delite.
Yet wonder not my Lords for if your honors please,
But euen to giue me eare awhile, I will your doubts apease.
And you shall know the cause, wherefore these robes are worne,
And why I go outlandish like, yet being english borne.
And why I thus presume, to presse into this place,
And why I (simple boy) am bold to looke such men in face.
First then you must per stande, I am no stranger I,
But english boy, in England borne, and bred but euen hereby.
My father was a knight Mount Hermer was his name,
My mother of the Mountacutes, a house of worthy fame.
My father from his youth was trained vp in field,
And always toke his chiefe delight, in helmet speare and shielde.
Soldado for his life, and in his happie dayes
Soldado like hath lost his life, to his immortall prayse.
The thundering fame which blew about the world so wide,
How that the christian enmie, the Turke that prince of pride,
Addressed had his power, to swarme vppon the seas,
With gallies, foists, and such like ships, wel armde at all assays,
And that he made his vaunt, the gredy fishe to glut,
With g
•
bs of christians carkasses, in cruell péeces cut.
These newes of this report, did pierce my fathers eares,
But neuer touched his noble harte, with any sparke of feares.
For well he knew the trade of all the
•
urkishe warres,
And had amongst them shed his bloud at many cruell iarres.
In Rhodes his race begon, a slender tall yong man,
Where he by many martial feats, his spurres of knighthod wan.
Yea though the péece was lost, yet won he honoure still,
And euermore against the
•
urkes he warred by his will.
At Chios many know, how hardily he fought,
And howe with streames of striuing bloud, his honoure deare hée bought.
At length enforst to yeld with many captaines mo,
He bought his libertie with lands and let his goodes ago.
Zechynes of glistering golde, two thousand was his price,
The which to pay his lands must leape, for else he were vnwise.
Beléeue me now my lords although the losse be mine,
Yet I confesse them better solde, than like a slaue to pine.
"For lands may come againe, but libertie once lost,
"Can neuer finde such recompence, as counteruailes the cost.
My selfe now know the case, who like my fathers lot,
Was like of late for to haue lost my libertie god wot.
My father (as I say) enforste to leaue his lande
In mortgage to my mothers kinne, for ready coine in hande,
Gan now vppon these new
•
s, which earst I did rehearse,
Prepare himselfe to saue his pawne or else to léese his pheares.
And first his raunsome paide, with that which did remaine,
He rigged vp a proper Barke, was called Leffort Brittayne.
And like a venturer (besides him séemely selfe)
Determined for to venture me and all his worldly pelfe.
Perhaps some hope of gaine perswaded so his minde,
For sure his hauty harte was bent, some great exployte to finde.
How so it were, the winds now hoysted vp our sayles,
We furrowing in the foming floudes, to take our best auailes.
Now hearken to my words, and marke you well the same,
For now I will declare the cause wherefore I hither came.
My father (as I say) had set vp all his rest,
And tost on seas both day and night, disdayning idlenesse,
We lefte our forelands end, we past the coast of France,
We reacht the cape of Finestre our course for to aduance.
We past Marrocchus streights, and at the last descried,
The fertile coasts of Cyprus soile, which I my selfe first spied.
My selfe (a forewarde boy) on highest top was plast,
And there I sawe the Ciprian shoare, whereto we sailde in hast.
Which when I had declared vnto the masters mate,
He lepte for ioy and thanked God, of that our happie state.
"But what remaines to man, that can continue long?
"What sunne can shine so cleare and bright but clouds may rise amōg?
Which sentence soone was proued, by our vnhappie hap,
We thought our selues full nere our frendes, & light in
•
nimies lap.
The Turke y• tirāt he, with siege had girte the walles,
Of famouse Famagosta then and sought to make them thrals.
And as he lay by lande, in strong and stately trenche,
So was his power prest by sea, his christian foes to drenche.
Uppon the waltring waues, his foistes and gallies fléete,
More forrest like than orderly, for such a man most méete.
This heauie sight once seene, we turnd our course a pace,
And set vp all our sailes in haste, to giue such furie place.
But out alas, our wills, and winds were contrarie,
For raging blasts did blowe vs still vppon our enimie.
My father séeing then, whereto he néedes must go,
And that the mightie hand of God, had it apointed so,
Most like a worthy knight (though certeine of his death)
Gan cleane forget al wailing words as lauish of his breath.
And to his christian crew, this (too shorte) tale he told,
To comfort them which séemd to faint, & make the coward bolde,
"Fellowes in armes, quoth he, although I beare the charge,
"And take vpon me chieftaines name, of this vnhappie barge,
"Yet are you all my pheares, and as one companie,
"We must like true companions, togither liue and die,
"You sée quoth he our foes, with furious force at hand,
"And in whose hands our handfull heare vnable is to stand.
"What resteth then to do, should we vnto them yeld?
"And wilfully receiue that yoke, which christians cannot weld.
"No sure, hereof be
•
ure, our liues were so vnsure,
"And though we liue, yet so to liue, as better death endure.
"To heare those hellish fends in raging blasphemie,
"Defye our only sauioure, were this no miserie?
"To see the fowle abuse of boyes in tender yeares,
"The which I knowe must néedes abhor all honest christians eares.
"To sée maides rauished, wiues, wom
•
n f
•
rst by f
•
are,
"And much more mischiefe thā this time can let me vtter here.
"Alas, quoth he, I tell not all, my tong is tide,
"But all the slaueries on the earth we should with them abide,
"How much were better than to die in worthy wise,
"And so to make our carcasses, a willing sacrifice?
"So shall we pay the debt, which vnto God is due,
"So shall you die in his defence, who deind to die for you.
"And who with hardy hand most turkish tikes can quell,
"Let him accompt in conscience, to please his maker well.
"You sée quoth he, my sonne, wherewith he lookte on me,
"Whom but a babe, yet haue I brought, my partner here to be,
"For, him I must confesse, my harte is pensiue now,
"To leaue him liuing thus in youth, to die I know not how.
"But since it pleaseth God, I may not murmure I,
"If God had pleased we both should liue, and as god wil we die.
Thus with a braying sigh, his noble tong he staide,
Commaunding all the ordinance, in order to be laide,
And placing all his men in order for to fight,
Fell groueling first vppon his face, before them all in sight.
And when in secret so he whispered had a while,
He raisde his hed with cherefull looke, his sorrowes to beguile:
And with the rest he prayde, to God in heauen on hie,
Whi
•
h ended thus, Thou only Lord, canst helpe in miserie.
This said, behold, the Turkes enclosde vs round about,
And séemd to wonder that we durst resist so great a ro
••
.
Wherat they doubt not long, for though our power was slender,
We sent them signes by Canon shot, that we ment not to rēder.
Then might we see them chafe, them might we heare them rage,
And all at once they bent their force, about our sillie cage.
Our ordinance bestowed, our men them selues defend,
On euerie side so thicke beset, they might not long contend.
But as their captaine wild, each man his force did strayne,
To send a Turke (some two or thrée) vnto the hellishe trayne.
And he him selfe which sawe, he might no more abide,
Did thrust amid the thickest throng, and so with honoure died.
With him there died likewise, his best approued men.
The rest did yeld as men amazd, they had no courage then.
Amongst the which my selfe, was tane by Turks alas,
And with the Turks a turkish life, in Turkie must passe.
I was not done to death for so I often craude,
But like a slaue before the Gates, of Famagosta saude.
That péece once put to sacke, I thither was conueyed.
And vnder safegard euermore, I sillie boye was stayed.
There did I sée such sights as yet my hart do pricke,
I sawe the noble Bragadine, when he was fleyd quick.
First like a slaue enforst to beare to euery breach,
Two baskets laden full with earth Mustaffa did him teach.
By whome he might not passe before he kisse the ground,
These cruell torments (yet with mo) that worthy souldier foūd.
His eares cut from his head, they set him in a chaire,
And from a maine yard hoisted him alofte into the aire,
That so he might be shewed with crueltie and spight,
Unto vs all, whose weping eies did much abhore the sight.
Alas why do I thus with wofull words rehearce,
These werie newes which all our harts with pitttie néedes muste pearce?
Well then to tell you foorth, I still a slaue remaind,
To one, which Prelybassa hight, who held me stil enchai
•
d.
With him I went to Seas into the gulfe of Pant,
With many christians captiues mo, which did their fredom wāt.
There with the Turkish tirannie we were enforst to stay,
For why? they had aduise, that the Vene
••••
fléete,
Did flote in Argostelly then with whome they hoapt to méete.
And as they waltered thus with tides and billowes tost,
Their hope had hap, for at the last they met them to their cost.
As in O
•
tober last vppon the seuenth day,
They found the force of christian knights addrest in good aray.
And shall I trie my tong to tell the whole discourse,
And how they did encounter first and how they ioynd in force?
Then harken now my lords, for sure my memorie,
Doth yet record the very plot of all this victorie.
The christian crew came on, in forme of battaile pight,
And like a cressent cast them selues preparing for to fight.
On other side the Turkes, which trusted power to much,
Disorderly did spread their force, the will of God was such.
Well, at the last they met, and first with cannons thunder,
Each other sought with furious force to slit their ships in sunder.
The Barkes are battered sore, the galli
•
s gald with shot,
The hulks are hit and euery man must stand vnto his lot.
The powder sendes his smoke into the cruddy skies,
The smoulder stops our nose with stench, the sunne offends our eies,
The pots of lime vnsleakt, from highest top are cast,
The parched peas are not forgot to make them slip as fast.
The wilde fire works are wrought and cast in foemens face,
The grappling hooks are stretched foorth, y• pikes are pusht apace.
The halberts hew on hed, the browne bills bruze the bones,
The harquebush doth spit his spight, with prety percing stones.
The drummes crie dub a dub, the braying trumpets blow,
The whistling fi
•
es are seldome herd, these sounds do drowne thē so.
The voice of warlike wights, to comforte them that faint,
The piteous plaints of goldē harts, which wer wt feares attaint.
The groning of such ghosts as gasped now for breath,
The praiers of the better sort, prepared vnto death,
And to be short, each griefe which on the earth may growe,
Was eath and easie to be found, vppon these flouds to flowe.
If any sight on earth, may vnto hell resemble,
Then sure this was a hellishe sight, it makes me yet to tremble:
And in this blouddie fyght, when halfe the day was spent,
It pleazed God to helpe his flocke, which thus in poūd was pent.
The generall for Spayne, gan galde that Ga
•
ley sore,
Wherin my Prely Ba
••
a was, and grieude it more and more:
Upon that other side, with force of swoorde and flame,
The good
〈◊〉
generall dyd charge vpon the same.
At length they came aboorde, and in his raging pride,
St
•
oke of this Turkish captains hed, which blasphemd as it dide:
Oh howe I féele the bloud now tickle in my brest,
To think what ioy then pierst my heart, and how I thought me blest
To sée that cruell Turke whiche helde me as his slaue
By happie hande of Christians his payment thus to haue:
His head from shoulders cut, vpon a pyke did stande,
The whiche Don Iohn of Austrye helde in his triumphant hand.
The boldest Bassa then, that did in lyfe remayne,
Gan tremble at the sight hereof for priuy griefe and payne.
Thus when these fierce had fo
•
ght from morning vntill night,
Christe gaue his stocke the victorie, and put his foes to flight:
And of the Turkish trayne were eight score Galeys tane,
Fiftéene soonk, fiue and twentie burnt, & brought vnto their bane,
Of Christians set at large were fourtéene thousand soules,
Turks twentie thousande registred in Beelzebub his rolles.
Thus haue you nowe my Lords, the summe of all their fight,
And trust it all for true I tell, for I was still in sight:
But when the seas were calme, and skyes began to cleare,
When foes were all or dead or fled, and victors did appeare,
Then euery christian sought amongst vs for his frende,
His kinsman or companion some succour them to lende:
And as they ransackte so, lo God his will it was,
A noble wyse Venetian by me did chaunce to passe▪
Who gazing on my face, dyd seeme to like mée well
And what my name, and whence I was, commaunded me to tel:
I nowe whiche waxed bolde, as one that scaped had,
From depest hell to highest heauen, began for to be glad▪
And with a
•
yuely spryte, began to pleade my case,
And hid not from this worthie man, myne auncient worthy race:
And tolde my fathers name, and howe I did descende
From Mountacutes by mothers side, nor there my tale did ende:
But furthermore I tolde my fathers late exployte,
And how he lefte landes, goodes and lyfe, to pay son Dieu son dro
•
t.
Nor of my selfe I craued so credited to bée,
For
•
o ther were remayning yet,The foure to
•
chbe
•
rers▪ that came in with the actor
These four vvhom here you see,
Whiche all were Englishe borne, and knew I had not lyed,
And were my fathers souldiours eke, and saw him how he dyed▪
This graue Venetian who hearde the famous name
Of Mountacutes rehersed there, which long had ben of fame
In Italy, and h
•
of selfe same worthie race,
Gan streight wt many courteous words in armes me to embrace,
And kissed mée on cheeke, and bad me make good cheere,
And thanke the myghtie God for that whiche hapned there,
Confessing that he was himselfe a Mountacute,
And bare the selfe same armes that I did quarter in my scute:
And for a further proofe, he shewed in his hat,
This token whiche the Mountacutes do beare always,The actor had a token in his cap like to the Mount
•
cutes of Italy. for that
They couet to be knowne from Capels where they passe,
For ancient grutch which long age twéen those two houses was.
Then tooke me by the hande, and ledde me so aboorde
His galley: where there were yféere, full many a comely Lorde:
Of whome eight Montacutes did sitte in hyghest place,
To whome this first declared first my name, and then my race:
Lo lordings here (quod he) a babe of our owne bloods,
Whō
Turk
•
had tane, his father slain, wt losse of lands and goods:
Sée how God fauours vs, that I should fynde hym nowe,
I straunge to him, he straunge to mée, wée m
•
t I know not how:
But sure when I him sawe, and gazed in his face,
Me thought he was a Mountacute, I chose him by his grace:
Herewith he dyd reherse my fathers valyant déede,
For losse of whome each Mountacute, did séeme in hart to bléede.
They all embrast me then, and streight as you may sée,
In comely garments trimde me vp, as braue as braue may bée:
I was in sackcloath I, nowe am I cladde in golde,
And weare suche roabes as I my selfe take pleasure to beholde.
Amongst their other giftes,The token that he didde weare in his cappe.
this Token they me gaue,
And bad me lyke a Montacute my selfe alway behaue.
Nowe hearken then my Lordes, I staying on the seas,
In consort of these louely Lordes, with comfort and with ease,
Determined with them in Italy to dwell,
And there by trayne of youthfull yeares in knowledge to excell:
That so I might at laste reedifye the walles,
Which my good father had decayde by tossing fortunes balles:
And while they slice the seas to their desired shore,
Beholde a little gale began, encreasing more and more:
At last with raging blast, whiche from Southeast did blowe,
Gan send our sayles vpon these shores, which I full wel did know:
I spyed the Chalkie Clyues vpon the Kentishe coast,
Whereby our lande hight Albyon, as Brutus on
•
e did boast,
Whiche I no sooner sawe, but to the rest I sayde,
Sia
•
e di buona voglia, My lordes be well apayde:
I sée by certayne signes these tempestes haue vs caste,
Upon my natiue countrey coastes with happie hap at laste:
And if your honours please this honour me to doo,
In Englishe hauens to harbour you, & sée our Cities too:
Lo London is not farre, where as my friends woulde be
Right glad, with fauour to requite you fauour shewed to mée:
Uouchsafe my Lordes (quod I) to stay vpon this strande,
And whiles your Barks be rigged new, remain with me on land,
Who though I be a boy, my father dead and slayne,
Yet shal you sée I haue some frendes whiche will you entertaine.
These noble men, whiche are the floure of curtesy,
Did not disdayne thys my request, but tooke it thankfully,
And from their battred Barks commaunded to be cast
Some Gondalaes, wherin vpon our pleasaunt streames they past
Into the mouthe of Thames, thus did I them transport,
And to London at the laste, where as I hearde report,
E
•
en as wée landed first, of this twyse happie day,
To thinke whereon I leapt for ioye, as I bothe must and may:
And to these louely lordes, whiche are Magnificoes,
I did declare the whole discourse in order as it rose:
That you my Lorde who are our chiefest Mountacute,
And he whome Englishe Mountacutes their onely stay impute,
Had
•
ounde the meanes this day to matche your sonne and heire,
In marriage with a worthie dame which is bothe fresh and faire,
And (as reportes are spread) of goodly qualities,
A virgin trayned from hir youth in godly exercise,
Whose brother had lykewise your daughter tane to wyfe,
And so by double lynkes enchaynde themselues in louers lyfe:
These noble Mountacutes whiche were from Venice drouen,
By tempest (as I tolde before) wherwith they long had strouen
Gan nowe giue thankes to God whiche so did them conuey,
To sée such honours of their kinne in suche a happie day:
And straight they me entreat, whom they might wel commande,
That I should come to my Lord first them to recommaunde,
And then this boone to craue, that vnder your protection
They mighte be bolde to enter here, deuoyde of all suspection,
And so in friendly wyse for to concelebrate,
This happie matche solemnized, according to your state.
Lo this is all they craue, the whiche I can not doubt,
But that your Lordship soone will graūnt, with more, if more ye mought:
Yea were it for no more, but for the Curtesye,
Whiche (as I say) they shewed to me in great extremitie:
They are Venetians, and though from Venice reft,
They come in suche Venetian roabes as they on seas had left:
And since they be your frendes, and kinsmen too by blood,
I trust your entertainment will be to them right good:
They will not tarrie long, lo nowe I heare thei
•
drumme,
Beholde, lo nowe I sée them here in order howe they come,
Receyue them well my lorde, so shall I pray alwayes,
That God vouchsafe to blesse this house with many happie days.
After the maske was done, the Actor tooke master. Tho. Bro. by the
hand and brought him to the Venetians, vvith these vvords:
GVardate Signori, my louely Lords behold,
This is another Mountacute, hereof you may be bold.
Of such our patrone here, The viscount Mountacute,
Hath many comely sequences, well sorted all in sute.
But as I spied him first I could not let him passe,
I tooke the carde that likt me best, in order as it was.
And here to you my lords, I do present the same,
Make much of him, I pray you then, for he is of your name,
For whome I dare aduance, he may your tronchman be,
Your herald and ambassadour, let him play all for me.
Then the Venetians embraced and receiued the same master
Tho. Brovvne, and after they had a vvhile vvhispered
vvith him, he tourned to the Bridegroomes
and Brides, saying thus.
BRother, these noble men to you now haue me sent,
As for their tronchman to expound theffect of their intent.
They bid me tell you then, they like your worthy choice,
And that they cannot choose therein but triumph and reioice.
As farre as gesse may giue, they séeme to praise it well,
They say betwene your ladies eyes doth Gentilezza dwell.
I terme it as they do, their englishe is but weake,
And I (God knowes) am all to yong beyond sea speach to speake.
And you my sister eke they séeme for to commend,
With such good words as may be séeme a cosin and a friend.
They like your chosen pheare, so pray they for your sake,
That he may alwayes be to you, a faithfull louing make.
This in effect is all, but that they craue a boone,
That you will giue them licence yet, to come and sée you soone.
Then will they speake them selues, such english as they can,
I feare much better than I speake, that am an english man.
Lo now they take their leaues of you and of your dames,
Hereafter shal you sée their face and know them by their names.
Then vvhen they had taken their leaues the Actor did
make an ende thus.
And I your Seruidore, vibascio le mani.
These words I learnt amongst them yet, although I learnte not many.
Ha
•
d ictus sapio.
Gascoignes vvodmanship vvritten to the L. Grey of wilton
vppon this occasion, the sayde
•
. Grey delighting (amongst many
other good qualities) in chusing of his winter deare, and killing
the same with his bowe, did furnishe master Gascoigne with a
crossebowe cu
̄ Pertinenci
•
s, and vouchsafed to vse his company in
the said excercise, calling him one of his wodme
̄. N
•
w master Gas
co
•
gne
shooting very often, could neuer hi
••
e any deare, yea and
often times he let the heard passe by as though he had not seene
them. Whereat when this noble Lord tooke some pastime, and had
often put him in remembrance of his good skill in choosing, and
redines
•
e in killing of a winter deare, he thought good thus to ex
cuse
it in verse.
MY worthy Lord, I pray you wonder not,
To see your wodman shoote so ofte awrie,
Nor that he stands amased like a sot,
And lets the harmlesse deare (vnhurt) go by.
Or if he strike a doe which is but carren,
Laugh not good Lord, but fauoure such a fault,
Take well I worth, he wold faine hit the barren,
But though his harte be good, his happe is naught:
And therefore now I craue your Lordships leaue,
To tell you playne what is the cause of this:
First if it please your honour to perceiue,
What makes your wodman shoote so ofte amisse,
Beléeue me L. the case is nothing strange,
He shootes awrie almost at euery mark
•
,
His eyes haue bene
•
o vsed for to raunge,
That now God knowes they be both dimme and darke.
For proofe he beares
•
he note of follie nowe,
Who shotte sometimes to hit Philosophie,
And aske you why? for sooth I make auow,
Bycause his wanton wittes went all awrie.
Next that, he shot to be a man of lawe,
And spent some time with lea
•
ned Litleton,
Yet in the end, he proued but a dawe,
For lawe was darke and he had quickly done.
Then could he wish Fitzharbert such a braine,
As Tully had, to write the law by arte,
So that with pleasure, or with litle paine,
He might perhaps, haue caught a trewants parte.
But all to late, he most mislikte the thing,
Which most might helpe to guide his arrow streight,
He winked wrong, and so let slippe the string,
Which cast him wide, for all his queint conceit.
From thence
•
e shotte to catch a courtly grace,
And thought euen there to wield the world at will,
But out alas he much mistooke the place,
And shot awrie at euery rouer still.
The blasing baits which drawe the gazing eye,
Unfethered there his first affect
•
on,
No wonder then although he shot awrie,
Wanting the fethers of discretion.
Yet more than them, the marks of dignitie,
He much mistooke and shot the wronger way,
Thinking the purse of prodigalitie,
Had bene best meane to purchase such a pray,
He thought the flattring face which fleareth still,
Had bene full fraught with all fi
•
elitie,
And that such words as courti
•
rs vse at will.
Could not haue varied from the veritie.
But when his bonet butte
•
ed with gold,
His comelie cape begarded all with gay,
His bumbast hose, with linings manifold,
His knit silke stocks and all his queint aray,
Had pickt his pu
•
se of all the Peter pence,
Which might haue paide for his promotion,
Then (all to late) he found that light expence,
Had q
•
ite quencht out the courts deuotion.
So that since then the tast of miserie,
Hath bene alwayes full bitter in his bit,
And why? forsooth bicause he shot awrie,
Mistaking still the markes which others hit.
But now behold what marke the man doth find,
He shootes to be a souldier in his age,
Mistrusting all the vertues of the minde,
He trusts the power of his personage.
As though long limmes led by a lusty hart,
M
•
ght yet suffice to make him rich againe,
But flussing fraies haue taught him such a parte,
That now he thinks the warres yeld no such gaine.
And sure I feare, vnlesse your lordship deigne,
To traine him yet into some better trade,
It will be long before he hit the veine,
Whereby he may a richer man be made.
He cannot climbe as other catchers can,
To leade a charge before himselfe be led,
He cannot spoile the simple sakeles man,
Which is content to féede him with his bread.
He cannot pinch the painefull souldiers pay,
And sheare him out his share in ragged shéetes,
He cannot stop to take a gredy pray
Upon his fellowes groueling in the stréetes.
He cannot pull the spoile from such as pill,
And séeme full angrie at such foule offence,
Although the gayne content his gréedie will,
Under the cloake of contrarie pretence:
And nowe adayes, the man that shootes not so,
Maye shoote amisse, euen as your Woodman dothe:
But then you maruell why I lette them go,
And neuer shoote, but saye farewell forsooth:
Alas my Lorde, whyle I doe muze hereon,
And call to mynde my youthfull yeares myspente,
They giue mée suche a boane to gnawe vpon,
That all my senses are in silence pente.
My mynde is rapte in contemplation,
Wherein my dazeled eyes onely beholde,
The blacke houre of my constellation,
Whyche framed mée so lucklesse on the molde:
Yet therewithall I can not but confesse,
That vayne presumption makes my heart to swell,
For thus I thinke, not all the worlde (I) guesse,
Shootes bet than I, nay some shootes not so well.
In Aristotle somewhat did I learne,
To guyde my manners all by comelynesse,
And Tullie taught me somewhat to discerne
Betwéene swéete spéeche and barbarous rudenesse.
Olde Parkyns, Rastall, and Dan Bractens bookes,
Did lende mée somewhat of the lawlesse Lawe,
The craftie Courtyers with their guylefull lookes,
Muste néedes put some experience in my mawe:
Yet can not these with manye maystries mo,
Make me shoote streyght at any gaynfull pricke,
Where some that neuer handled such a bow,
Can hit the white, or touch it neare the quicke,
Who can nor speake, nor write in pleasant wise,
Nor leade their life by Aristotles rule,
Nor argue well on questions that arise,
Nor pleade a case more than my Lord Maiors mule,
Yet can they hit the marks that I do misse,
And winne the meane which may the man mainteine,
Nowe when my mynde dothe mumble vpon this,
No wonder then although I pyne for payne:
And whyles myne eyes beholde this mirroure thus,
The hearde goeth by, and farewell gentle does:
So that your lordship quickely may discusse
What blyndes myne eyes so ofte (as I suppose.)
But since my Muse can to my Lorde reherse
What makes me musse, and why I doe not shoote,
Let me imagine in this woorthlesse verse:
If right before mée, at my standings foote
There stoode a Doe, and I shoulde strike hir deade,
And then shée proue a carrion carkas too,
What figure might I fynde within my head,
To scuse the rage whiche rulde mée so to doo?
Some myghte interprete by playne paraphrase,
That lacke of skill or fortune ledde the chaunce,
But I muste otherwyse expounde the ca
•
e,
I saye Iehoua did this Doe aduaunce,
And made hir bolde is stande before mée so,
Till I had thrust myne arrowe to hir harte,
That by the sodaine of hir ouerthrowe,
I myght endeuour to amende my parte,
And turne myne eyes that they no more beholde,
Suche guylefull markes as séeme more than they be:
And though they glister outwardely lyke golde,
Are inwardly but brasse, as men may sée:
And when I see the milke hang in hir teate,
Me th
•
nkes it sayth, olde babe nowe learne to suche,
Who in thy youthe couldst neuer lerne the feate
To hitte the whytes whiche liue with all good lucke.
Thus haue I tolde my Lorde, (God graunt in season)
A tedious tale in rime, but little reason.
Haud ictus sapio.
Gascoignes gardnings, vvhereof vvere vvritten in one end of
a close vvalke vvhich he hath in his Garden, this
discourse follovving.
THe figure of this world I can compare,
To Garden plots, and such like pleasaunt places,
The world bréedes men of sundry shape and share,
As herbes in gardens, grow of sundry graces:
Some good, some bad, some amiable faces,
Some foule, some gentle, some of
•
roward mind,
Subiect like bloome, to blast of euery wind.
And as you sée the floures fresh of hew,
That they proue not alwayes the holsomest,
So fairest men are not alwayes found true:
But euen as withred weedes fall from the rest,
So flatterers fall naked from their neast:
When truth hath tried, their painting tising tale,
They loose their glosse, and all their iests séeme stale.
Yet some do present pleasure most estéeme,
Till beames of brauerie wither all their welth,
And some againe there be can rightly déeme,
Those herbes for best, which may mainteine their helth.
Considering well, that age drawes on by stelth,
And when the fairest floure is shronke and gone,
A well growne roote, will stand and shifte for one.
Then thus the restlesse life which men here leade,
May be resembled to the tender plant,
In spring it sprouts, as babes in cradle bréede,
Florish in May, like youthes that wisdome want,
In Autumne ripes and r
•
otes, least store ware skante
In winter shrinks and shrowdes from euery blast,
Like crooked age when lusty youth is past.
And as the grounde or grasse whereon it grewe,
Was fatte or leane, euen so by it appeares,
If barreyn soyle, why then it chaungeth hewe,
It fadeth faste, it flits to fumbling yeares,
But if he gathered roote amongst his féeres,
And lyght on lande that was well muckte in déede,
Then standes it still, or leaues increase of séede.
As for the reste, fall sundrye wayes (God wote)
Some faynt lyke froathe at euery little puffe,
Some smarte by swoorde, lyke herbes that serue the po
•
,
And some be wéeded from the fyner stuffe,
Some stande by proppes to maynteyne all their ruffe:
And thus vnder correction (bée it tolde)
Hath Gascoigne gathered in his Garden molde.
Ha
•
d ictus sapio.
In that other ende of his sayde close vvalke, vvere
vvritten these toyes in ryme.
IF any floure that there is growne,
Or any herbe maye ease youre payne,
Take and accompte it as your owne,
But recompence the lyke agayne:
For some and some is honeste playe,
And so my wyfe taughte me to saye.
If here to walke you take delyght,
Why come, and welcome when you will:
If I bidde you suppe here this nyght,
Bidde me an other tyme, and still
Thynke some and some is honest playe,
For so my wyfe taughte me to saye.
Thus if you suppe or dine with mée,
If you walke here, or sitte at ease,
If you desire the thing you sée,
And haue the same your mynde to please,
Thinke some▪ and some is honest playe,
And so my wyfe taught me to saye.
Haud ictus sapio.
In a chayre in the same Garden was written
this followyng.
IF thou sitte here to viewe this pleasant garden place,
Think thus: at last will come a frost, & al these floures deface.
But if thou sitte at ease to rest thy wearie bones,
Remember death brings finall rest to all oure gréeuous grone
•
.
So whether for delyght, or here thou sitte for ease,
Thinke still vpon the latter day, so shalt thou God best please.
Haud ictus sapio.
Vpon a stone in the wall of his Garden he had written
the yeare wherein he did the coste of these deuises,
and therwithall this poesie in Latine.
Quoniam etiam humiliatos, amoena delectant.
Gascoignes voyage into Hollande, An. 1572. written
to the ryghte honourable the Lorde Grey of Wilton.
A Straunge conceyte, a vayne of newe delight,
Twixte weale and woe, twixte ioy and bitter griefe,
Hath pricked foorthe my hastie penne to write
This worthlesse vers
•
in hazarde of repréefe:
And to myne Alderlieucst Lorde I must endite
A wofull case, a chippe of sorie chaunce,
A tipe of heauen, a liuely hew of hell,
A feare to fall, a hope of high aduance,
A life, a death, a drearie tale to tell▪
But since I know the pith of my pastaunce
Shall most consist in telling of a truth,
Uouchsafe my Lord (en bo
•
gré) for to take
This trustie tale the storie of my youth,
This Chronicle which of my selfe I make,
To shew my Lord what healplesse happe ensewth,
When heddy youth will gad without a guide,
And raunge vntide in leas of libertie,
Or when bare néede a starting hole hath spide
To péepe abroade from mother Miserie,
And buildeth Castels in the Welkin wide,
In hope thereby to dwell with wealth and ease.
But he the Lord (whome my good Lord doth know)
Can bind or lose, as best to him shall please,
Can saue or spill, raise vp or ouerthrowe,
Can gauld with griefe, and yet the payne appease.
Which thing to proue if so my L. take time,
(When greater cares his head shall not possesse)
To sitte and reade this raunging ragged rime,
I doubt not then but that he will confesse,
What falles I found when last I leapt to clime.
In March it was, that cannot I forget,
In this last March vpon the nintenth day,
When from Grauesend in b
•
ate I gan to iette
To boord our shippe in Quinborough that lay,
From whence the very twentith day we set
Our sayles abrode to slice the Salt sea
•
ome,
And ancors weyde gan trust the trustlesse floud:
That day and night amid the waues we
•
om
•
To séeke the coast of Holland where it stoode.
And on the next when we were farre from home,
And neare the hauen whereto me sought to sayle,
A
•
erly chaunce: (whereon alone to thinke)
My hande nowe qu
•
kes, and all my senses fayle)
Gan vs befall: the Pylot gan to shrinke,
And all agaste his courage séemde to quayle.
Whereat amazed, the Maister and his mate
Gan aske the cause of his so sodeyne chaunge.
And from alofte the Stewarde of our state,
(The sounding plumbe) in haste poste hast must raung
•
,
To trye the depth and goodnesse of oure gate.
Mée thinkes (euen yet) I heare his heauie voyce,
•
adome thrée, foure, foote more,
•
oote lesse, that cryde:
Mée thinkes I heare the fearefull whispring noyse,
Of suche as sayde full softely (me besyde)
God graunte this iourney cause vs to reioyce.
When I poore soule, whiche close in caban laye,
And there had reacht till gaule was welneare burste,
With giddie head, my
••
umbling steppes must stay
To looke abroade as boldly as I durste.
And whyles I hearken what the Saylers saye,
The so
•
der sings,
•
adome two full no more.
Aloofe, aloofe, then cryed the maister out,
The Stearesmate striues to sende vs from the shore,
And trustes the streame, whereof wée earst had doubt.
Tw
•
ene two extremes thus were we tossed sore,
And wen
••
to Hull: vntill we leyzure had
To talke at large, and eke to knowe the cause
What moode had made our Pylot looke so sad.
At las
•
e the Dutche with butterbitten iawes,
(For so he was a Dutche, a deuill, a swadde,
A
•
oole, a drunkarde, or a traytour tone)
Gan aunswere thus: Ghy
•
zyt te vro
•
gh here come,
Tis met goet
〈◊〉
: and standing all alone,
Gan preache to vs, whiche fooles were all and some
To truste him foole, in whome there skill was none.
Or what knewe wée if Albaes subtill brayne
(So to preuent our enterprise by treazon)
Had him subornde to tice vs to this traine
And so him selfe (per Companye and seazon)
For spite, for hate, or else for hope of gayne.
This must we thinke that Alba would not spare
To giue out gold for such a sinfull déede:
And glistring gold can oftentimes ensnare,
More perfect witts than Holland soyle doth bréede.
But let that passe, and let vs now compare
Our owne fond fact with this his foule offence.
We knew him not, nor where he wond that time,
Nor if he had▪
Pylots experience,
Or Pylats crafte, to cleare him selfe from cryme.
Yea moreth an that (how voyde were we of sense)
We had small smacke of any tale he tolde,
He powrde out Dutch to drowae vs all in drinke,
And we (wise men) vppon his words were bolde,
To r
•
nne on head▪ but let me now bethinke
The m
•
sters spéech: and let me so vnfold
The dept
•
of all this folish ouerlight.
The ma
•
ter spake euen like a skilfull man,
And sayde I sayle that Seas both day and night,
I know the tides as well as other can,
From pole to pole I can the courses plight.
I know France, Spayne, Gréece, Denmarke, Dausk and all,
Frize, Flaunders, Holland, euery coast I know,
But truth to tell, it seldome doth befall,
That English merchants euer bend their bowe
To shoote at Breyll, where now our flight should fall,
They send their shafts farder for greater gayne.
So that this hauen is yet (quoth he) vnkouth,
And God graunt now that England may attayne
Such gaines by Breyll, (a gospell on that mouth)
As is desired: thus spake the master playne.
And since (saide he) my selfe knew not the sowne,
How could I well a better Pylot fynde,
Than this (which first) dyd saye he dwelt in towne,
And knewe the way where euer sat the wynde?
While we thus talke, all sayles are taken downe,
And we to
〈◊〉
(as earst I sayd) gan wend,
Tyll full two houres and somewhat more were past,
Our guyde then spake in Dutch and bad vs bend
All sayles againe: for now quod he (at last)
D
•
e
〈◊〉
is goet, dat heb ick weell bekend.
Why staye I long to ende a wofull tale?
We trust his Dutch, and vp the foresayle goes,
We fall on knées amyd the happy gale,
(Which by gods wyll full kynd and calmely blowes)
And vnto him we there vnfolde our
•
ale,
Wheron to thinke I wryte and wéepe for ioye,
That pleasant song the hundreth and seuenth psalme,
There dyd we reade to comfort ouer annoye,
Which to my soule (me thought) was swéet as balme,
Yea farre more sweet than any worldly toye.
And when we had with prayers praysd the Lord,
Our Edell Bloetts, gan fall to eate and drynke,
And for their sauce, at takyng vp the borde
The shippe so strake (as all we thought to sinke)
Against the grounde, then all with one accorde
We
〈◊〉
•
gayne on knées to pray apace,
And there withall euen at the seconde blowe,
(The number cannot from my mynde outpace)
Our helme strake of, and we must fléete and flowe.
Where winde and waues would guide vs by their grace.
The winde waxt calme as I haue saide before,
(O mightie God so didst thou swage our woes)
The selly shyppe was sowst and smytten sore,
With counter buffetts, blowes and double blowes.
At last the kéele which might endure no more,
Gan rende in twayne and suckt the water in:
Then might you sée pale lookes and wofull cheare,
Th
•
n might you heare lo
•
de cryes and deadly dinne:
Well noble minds in perils best appeare,
And b
•
ldest har
•
s in base will neuer blinne.
For there were some (of whome I will not say
That I was one) which neuer changed hew,
But pumpt apace, and labord euery way
To saue themselues, and all their louely erew,
Which cast the best fraight ouerboorde awaye,
Both corne and cloth, and all that was of weight,
Which halde and pulde at euery helping corde,
Which prayed to God and made their conscience streight.
As for my self: I here protest my Lorde,
My words were these: O God in heauen on height,
Behold me not as now a wycked wyght,
A sacke of sinne, a wretch ywrapt in wroth,
Let
〈◊〉
fault past (O Lord) offende thy sight,
But weye my will which now those faults doth lothe,
And of thy mercy pittie this our plight.
Euen thou good God which of thy grace didst saye
That for one good, thou wouldst all Sodome saue,
Behold vs all: thy shyning beames displaye,
Some here (I trust) thy goodnesse shall engraue,
To be chast vessells vnto thée alwaye,
And so to liue in honour of thy name:
Beleue me Lord, thus to the Lord I sayde.
But there were some (alas the more their blame)
W
••
ch in the pumpe their onely comfort layde,
And trusted that to turne our griefe to game.
Alas (quod I) our pumpe good God must be
Our sayle, our sterne, our tackling, and our trust.
Some other cryed to cleare the shipboate frée,
To saue the chiefe and leaue the rest in dust.
Which word once spoke (a wondrous thing to sée)
All hast post hast, was made to haue it done:
And vp it commes in hast much more than spéede.
There did I sée a woful worke begonne,
Which now (euen now) doth make my hart to bléede.
Some made such hast that in the boate they wonne,
Before it was aboue the hatches brought.
Straunge tale to tell, what hast some men shall make
To find their death before the same be sought.
Some twixt the boate and shippe their bane do take,
Both drownd and flayne with braynes for hast crusht out.
At last the boate halfe fraighted in the aire
Is hoyst aloft, and on the seas downe set,
When I that yet in God could not despaire,
Still plioe the pumpe, and patiently did let
All such take boate as thither made repaire.
And herewithall I safely may protest
I might haue woonne the boate as well as one,
And had that séemd a safetie for the rest
I should percase euen with the first haue gone,
But when I saw the b
•
ate was ouer prest
And pestred full with moe than it might beare,
And therewithall with cherefull looke might sée
My chiefe companions whome I held most deare
(Whose companie had thither trained me)
Abiding still aboord our shippe yfeare:
Nay then (quoth I) good God thy will be done,
For with my féeres I will both liue and dye.
And eare the boate farrefrom our sight was gon
The waue so wrought, that they which thought to flée
And so to scape, with waues were ouerronne.
Lo how he striues in vayne that striues with God,
For there we lost the flowre of the band,
And of our crew full twenty soules and odde,
The Sea sucks vp, whiles we on hatches stand
In smarting feare to féele that selfe same rodde.
Well on (as yet) our battred barke did passe,
And brought the rest within a myle of lande,
Then thought I sure now néede not I to passe,
For I can swymme and so escape this sande.
Thus dyd I déeme all carelesse like an Asse,
When sodaynely the wynde our foresayle tooke,
And turnd about and brought vs eft to Seas.
Then cryed we all cast out the ancor hooke,
And here let byde, such helpe as god may please:
Which ancor cast, we soone the same forsooke,
And cut it off, for feare least therevpon
Our shippe should bowge, then callde we fast for fire,
And so dischargde our great gunnes euerychone,
To warne the towne therby of our d
•
sire:
But all in vayne, for succor sent they none.
At last a Hoye from Sea came flynging fast,
And towards vs helde course as streight as lyne.
Then myght you sée our hands to heauen vp cast
To render thanks vnto the power deuine,
That so vouchsafte to saue vs yet at last:
But when this Hoye gan (welnéere) boorde our barke,
And might perceiue what peryll we were in,
It turnd away and left vs still in carke,
This tale is true (for now to lye were sin)
It lefte vs there in dreade and daungers darke.
It lefte vs so, and that within the sight
And hearing both of all the peare at Bryll.
Now ply thée pen, and paint the foule despite
Of drunken Dutchmen standing there euen still,
For whome we came in their cause for to fight,
For whom we came their state for to defende,
For whom we came as friends to grieue their
•
oes,
They now disdaynd (in this distresse) to lend
One helping boate for to asswage our woes,
They sawe our harmes the which they would not mend,
And had not bene that God euen then did rayse
Some instruments to succor vs at néede,
We had bene sunk and swallowed all in Seas.
But gods will was (in waye of our good spede)
That on the peare (lamenting our mysea
•
e)
Some englishe were, whose naked swordes did force
The drunken dutch, the cankred churles to come,
And so a
•
last (not moued by remorce,
But forst be feare) they sent vs succor some:
Some must I say: and for to tell the course,
They sent vs succor saust with sowre despyte,
They saued our liues and spoylde vs of the rest,
They stale our goods by day and
•
ke by night,
They shewed the worst and closely kept the best.
And in this time (this treason must I wryte)
Our
•
ylo
•
fled, but how? not emptie handed:
He fled from vs, and with him did conueye
A Hoy full fraught (whiles we meane while were landed)
With pouder, shotte, and all our best araye:
This skill he had, for all he set vs sanded.
And now my Lord, declare your noble mynde,
Was this a Pylo
•
, or a Pilat
•
iudge?
Or rather was he not of Iudas kynde:
Which left vs thus and close away c
•
uld trudge?
Wel, at the Bryell to tell you what we fynde,
The Gouernour was all bedewed with drinke,
His trulls and he were all layde downe to sleepe,
And we must shift, and of our selues must thinke
What meane was best, and how we best might kéepe
That yet remaynd: the rest was close in clynke.
Wel, on our knees with trickling teares of ioye.
We gaue God thanks: and as we might, did learne
What might by founde in euery pynke and hoye.
And thus my Lord, your honour may descerne
Our perills past, and how in
•
ur aroye
God saued me your Lordshippes bound for euer,
W
•
o else should not be able now to tell,
The state wherin this countrey doth perseuer,
N
•
h
•
w they seeme in carelesse mindes to dwell,
(So dyd they earst and so they will do euer)
And to my Lord for to bewray my mynde
Me thinkes they be a race of Bulbéefe borne,
Whose hartes their Butter mollyfyeth by kinde,
And so the force of bée
•
e is cleane outworne:
As
•
ke their bray
•
es with double béere are lynde:
So that they march bumbast with butterd beare,
Like soppes of Browesse puffed vp with froth,
Where inwardly they be but hollow geare,
As weake as wynde, which with one pufft vp goeth.
And yet they br
•
gge and thinke they haue no peare,
Bycause Harlem hath hetherto helde out,
Athough in dede (as they haue suffred Spayne)
The ende therof euen now doth rest in doubt.
Well as for that, let it (for me) remayne
In God his hands, whose hand hath brought me out,
To tell my Lord this tale now tane in hand,
As how they traine their treasons all in drinke,
And when themselues for dronk can scarcely stand,
Yet sucke out secretes (as themselues do thinke)
From guests, the best (al
•
ost) in all their lande,
(I name no man, for that were brode before)
Will (as men say) enure the same sometime,
But surely this (or I mistake him sore)
Or else he can (but let it passe in rime)
Dissemble déepe, and mocke sometimes the more.
Well, drunkenesse is here good companye,
And therewithall per consequence it falles,
That whoredome is accoumpted Iollytie:
A gentle state, where two such Tenisballes
Are tossed still and better boules let lye.
I cannot herewith from my Lord conceale,
How God and Mammon here do dwell yfeare,
And how the Mas
•
e is cloked vnder veale
Of pollicie, till all the coast be cleare:
Ne can I chuse, but I must ring a peale,
To tell what hypo
•
rytes the Nunnes here be:
And how the olde Nunnes be content to go,
Before a man in stréetes like mother B,
Untill they come whereas there dwells a Ho,
(Re: ceiue that halfe and let the rest go frée)
There can they poynt with fynger as they passe,
Yea sir sometimes they can come in themselfe,
To strike the bargaine tw
•
ne a wanton lasse,
And
〈…〉
now is not this good pelfe?
As for the yong Nunnes, they be bright as glasse,
And chast forsothe:
〈◊〉
and a
•
ders
〈◊〉
What sayd I? what? that is a mysterie,
I may no verse of such a theame endyte,
Yong Rouland Yorke may tell it bette than I,
Yet to my Lord this litle will I write,
That though I haue (my selfe) no skill at all,
To take the countnance of a Colonell,
Had I a good Lieuetenant generall,
As good Iohn Zuche whereuer that he dwell,
Or else Ned Dennye, (faire mought him befall,)
I could haue brought a noble regiment,
Of smoogskind Nunnes into my countrey soyle,
But farewell they as things impertinent,
Let them (for me) go dwell with mast
•
r Moyle
Who hath behight to place them well in kent.
And I shall well my seelly selfe content,
To come alon
•
vnto my louely Lorde,
And vnto him (when
〈◊〉
sport is spent)
To tell some sadde and reasonable worde,
Of Holland
•
state, the which I will present,
In Cartes, in Mappes, and eke in Modells made,
If God of heauen my purpose not preuent.
And in meane while although my wittes do wade
In rangyng ryme, and flyng some folly forth,
I trust my Lord wyll take it yet in worth.
Haud lctus sapio.
And nowe to recomfort you and to ende this worke, receyue the
delectable historie of sundry aduentures passed by
Dan Bartholmew of Bathe, reade it
and iudge of it.
The Reporter.
TO tell a tale without authoritye,
Or fayne a Fable by inuention,
That one proceedes of quicke capacitye,
That other proues but small discretion,
Yet haue both one and other oft bene done.
And if I were a Poet as some be,
You might perhappes heare some such tale of me.
But for I fynde my féeble skyll to faynte,
To fa
•
e in figures as the learned can,
And yet my tongue is tyed by due constrainte,
To tell nothing but truth of euery man:
I will assaye euen as I fyrst began,
To tell you now a tale and that of truth,
Which I my selfe sawe proued in my youth.
I néede not séeke so farre in coastes abrode,
As some men do, which wryte st
•
ange historyes,
For whyles at home I made my childe abode
And sawe our louers playe their Tragedyes,
I founde enow
•
which séemed to suffice,
To set on worke farre siner wits than mine,
In painting out the pangs which make them pi
•
e.
Amongst the rest I most remember one
Which was to me a deare familiar friend,
Whose doting dayes since they be past and gone,
And his anoy now com
•
vnto an end,
Although he séeme his angrie brow to bend,
I will be bold (by his leaue) for to tell,
The restlesse state wherein he long did dwell.
Learned he was, and that became him best,
For though by birth he came of worthy race,
Yet beuty, birth, braue personage, and the rest,
In euery choyce, must néedes giue learning place:
And as for him he had so hard a grace,
That by aspect he séemde a simple man,
And yet by learning much renowne he wan.
His name I hide, and yet for this discourse,
Let call his name Dan Ba
•
tholmew of Bathe,
Since in the end he thether had recourse,
•
nd (as he said) did skamble there inskath:
In déede the rage which wroong him ther, was rathe,
As by this tale I thinke your selfe will gesse,
And then (with me) his lothsome life confesse.
For though he had in all his learned lore
Both redde good rules to bridle fantasie,
And all good authours taught him euermore,
To loue the meane, and leaue extremitie,
Yet kind had lent him such a qualitie,
That at the last he quite forgat his bookes,
And fastned fansie with the fairest lookes.
For proofe, when gréene youth lept out of his eye
And left hi
•
now a man of middl
•
age,
His happe was yet wish wandr
•
ng lookes to spie
A faire yong
〈◊〉
of proper personage,
Eke borne (as he) of honest parentage:
〈◊〉
truth to tell, my skill it cannot serue,
To praise hir bewtie as it did deserue.
First for hir head, the heares were not of gold,
But of some other metall farie more fine,
Whereof
•
ach
••
inet seemed to behold,
Like glist
•
ing wiers against the sunne that shine,
And therewithall the blazing of hir eyne,
Was like the beames of
•
ytan, truth to tell,
Which glads vs all that in this world do dwell.
Uppon hir chéekes the lillie and the rose
Did entreméete, with equall chaunge of hew,
And in hir gifts no lacke I can suppose,
But that at last (alas) she was vntrue.
Which flinging fault, bycause it is not new,
Nor seldome seene in kits of Cresside kind,
I meruaile n
•
t, nor beare it much in mind.
Dame Natures frutes, where with hir face was fraught,
Were so frost bitten with the cold of crafte,
That all (saue such as Cupides snares had caught)
Might soone espie the fethers of his shafte:
But Bartholmew his wits had so beda
•
t,
That all séemd good which might of hir be gotten,
Although it proued no sooner ripe than rotten.
That mouth of hirs which séemde to flowe with mell,
In speech, in voyce, in tender touch, in tast,
That dympled chin wherein delight did dwell,
That ruddy lippe wherein was pleasure plast,
Those well shapt hands, fine armes and slender waste,
With all the gifts which gaue hir any grace,
Were smiling baites which caught fond fooles apace.
Why striue I then to paint hir name with praise?
Since forme and frutes were found so farre vnlike,
Since of hir cage Inconstance kept the keyes
And Change had cast hir honoure downe in dike:
Since fickle kind in hir the stroke did strike,
I may no praise vnto a knife bequeath,
With rust yfret, though painted be the sheath.
But since I must a name to hir assig
•
e,
Let call hir now Ferenda Natura,
And if thereat she séeme for to repine,
No force at all, for hereof am I sure a,
That since hir pranks were for the most vnpure a,
I can appoint hir well no better name,
Than this, wherein dame Nature beares the blame.
And thus I say, when Bartholmew had spent
His pride of youth (vntide in links of loue)
Behold how happe contrary to intent,
(Or destemes ordeined from aboue)
From which no wight on earth may wel remoue)
Presented to his view this fierie dame,
To kindle coles where earst had bin no flame.
Whome when he sawe to shine in séemely grace,
And there withall gan marke hir tender youth,
He thought not like, that vnder such a face
She could conuey the treason of vntruth:
Whereby he vowed, (alas the more his ruth)
To serue this Saint for terme of all his life,
Lo here both roote and rind of all his strife.
I cannot nowe in louing t
•
rmes displaye
His suite, his seruice, nor his sorie fare:
His obseruaunces, nor his queynt aray,
His skalding sighes, nor yet his cooling care,
His wayting still to snatche himselfe in snare,
I can not write what was his swéetest soure,
For I my selfe was neuer paramoure.
But to conclude, muche worth in little writte,
The highest flying hauke will s
•
oupe at laste,
The wyldest beast is drawne with hungrie bitte,
To
•
ate a homely bayte sometymes in haste,
The pricke of kynde can neuer be vnplaste,
And so it séemed by this dayntie dame,
Whome he at laste with labour did reclame.
And when he had with mickell payne procured
The calme consente of hir vnweldie will,
When he had hir by faithe and trouth assured
To lyke him beste, and ay to loue him still,
When fansie had of flatterie fedde his fill,
I not discerne to tell my tale aright,
What man but he had euer suche delight?
The lingring dayes he spente in trifling toyes,
To whette the tooles whiche carued his contente,
The poasting nightes he past in pleasing ioyes,
Wearyng the webbe whiche loue to him had lente:
I
•
suche a pinfolde were his pleasures pent
That
•
elde he coulde hir companie eschewe,
Or leaue such lookes as might his lacke renewe.
But if by force he forced were to parte,
Then mighte you sée howe fansie fedde his mynde,
Then all alone he muzed on his marte.
All com
•
anie séemd then (but hirs) vnkind:
Then sent he tokens true loue for to bind,
Then wrote he letters, lines and louing layes,
So to begyle his absent dolefull dayes.
And since I know as others eke can tell,
What skill he had, and how he could endite,
Me thinks I cannot better do than well
To set downe here, his ditties of delight,
For so at least I may my selfe acquite,
And vaunt to shew some verses yet vnknowne,
Well worthy prayse though none of them mine owne▪
No force for that, take you them as they be,
Since mine emprise is but to make report:
Imagine then before you that you sée
A wight be witcht in manie a subtile sorte,
A louer lodgd in pleasures princely port,
Uaunting in verse what ioyes he did possesse,
His triumpes here I thinke will shewe no lesse.
Dan Bartholmew his Triumphes.
REsigne king Pryams sonnes, that princes were in Tr
•
y.
Resigne to me your happie dayes, and boast no more of ioy:
Sir Paris first stand forth, make aunswere for thy pheare,
And if thou cāst defend hir cause, whome Troy did bye so deare:
What? blush not man, be bold, although thou beare some blame,
Tell truth at last, and so be sure to saue thy selfe from shame.
Then gentle Shepheard sat: what madnesse did thée moue
To choose of all the flowres in Greece, foule Helene for thy loue?
Néedes must I coumpt hir foule, whose first frutes wer forlorne
Although she solde hir second chaffe, aboue the price of corne.
Alas, she made of thée, a noddye for the nonce,
For Menelaus lost hir twice, though thou hir foundst but once.
But yet if in thine eye, she séemd a péerelesse péece,
Aske Theleu
•
y• mighty Duke, what towns she knew in Greece?
Aske him what made hir leaue hir wofull aged sire,
And steale to Athens gyglot like: what? what but foule desire?
Alas pore Paris thou didst nothing else but gleane
The partched eares which he cast by, whē he had reaped cleane:
He sliude the gentle Slippe, which could both twist and twind,
And growing left the broken braunch, for thē that came behind.
Yet hast thou filld the worlde with brute, the more thy blame,
And saist, that Hellens bewty past each other stately dame.
For proofe thou canst alledge the tast of ten yeares warre,
And how hir blasing beames first brought both Greece & Tr
•
y to iarre:
No no, thou art deceiude, the drugs of foule despite
Did worke in Menelaus will, not losse of such delighte,
Not loue but lothsome hate, not dolour but disdayne,
Did make him seeke a sharpe reuēge, til both is foes wer slaine.
Thy brother Troylus eke, that gemme of gentle déedes,
To thinke how he abused was, alas my heart it bléedes:
He bet about the bush, whiles other caught the birds,
Whome craftie Cresside mockt to muche, yet fed him still with words.
And God he knoweth not I, who pluckt hir first sprong rose,
Since Lollius and Chauser both, make doubt vppon that glose.
But this I know too well, and he to farre it felt,
How Diomede vndid his knots, and caught both brooch and belt,
And how she chose to change, and how she changed still,
And how she died leaper like, against hir louers will.
Content you then good knights, your triumphe to resigne,
Confesse your starres both dimme and darke, wheras my sunne doth shine:
For this I dare avow, without vaunt be it told,
My derling is more faire thā she, for whome proud Troy was solde.
More constant to conteine, than Cresside to be coy,
No Calcas can contriue the craft, to traine hir out of Troy,
No Diomede can draw hir settled hart to change,
No madding moode can moue hir mind, nor make hir thoughts to range,
For hir alone it is, that Cupide blindfold goes,
And dare not looke for feare least he his libertie should loose:
At hir dame Venus chafes, and pines in ielowsie,
Least bloudy Mars should hir espie, and change his fantasie.
Of hir the Quéene of Heauen doth stand in dreadfull doubte,
Least
•
oue should melt in drops of gold, if once he find hir out.
Oh that my tong had skill, to tell hir praise aright,
Or that my pen hir due deserts, in worthy verse could write:
Or that my mind could muse, or happie hart conceiue,
Some wor
•
s that might resound hir worth, by high Mineruas leaue.
Oh how the blooming ioyes, do blossome in my brest,
To thinke within my secret thought, howe farre she steynes the rest.
Me thinks I heare hir speake, me thinks I sée hir still,
Me thinks I feele hir féelingly, me thinks I know hir will.
Me thinks I sée the states, which sue to hir for grace,
Me thinks I sée one looke of hirs repulse them all apace.
Me thinks that houre is yet, and euermore shall be,
Whereine my happie happe was first, hir heauenly face to sée:
Wherein I spide the writte, which woond betwéene hir eyne,
And said behold, be bold, for I, am borne to be but thine.
Me thinks I feele the ioyes which neuer yet was felt,
Whome flame before yet neuer toucht, me thinks I féele them melt.
One word & there an end: me thinks she is the sunne,
Which only shineth now a dayes, she dead, the world wer done.
The rest are twinckling starres, or Moones which borrow light
To comfort other carefull soules, which wander in the night.
And night God knowes it is, where other ladies be,
For sure my dame adornes the day, there is no sunne but she.
Then louers by your leaue, and thinke it nothing straunge
Although I séeme with calme content, in Seas of ioyes to range:
For why, my sailes haue sound both wind and waues at will,
And depths of all delights in hir, with whome I trauell still charge.
And ancors being wayed, I leaue you all at large,
To steare this séemely Shippe my selfe, suche is my mistresse
Fato non f
•
rtuna.
Dan Bartholmew, Dolorous discourse
•
.
I Haue entreated care to cut the thred
Which all to long hath held my lingring life,
And here aloofe now haue I hid my head,
From companie, thereby to stint my strife.
This solitarie place doth please me best,
Where I may weare my willing mind with mone,
And where the sighes which boyle out of my brest,
May skald my heart, and yet the cause vnknowne.
All this I do, for thée my swéetest sowre,
For whome (of yore) I counted not of care,
For whome with hungrie iawes I did deuoure
The secret baite which lurked in the snare:
For whome I thought all foreine pleasures payne,
For whome againe, all paine did pleasure séeme,
But only thine, I found all fansies vayne,
But onely thine, I did no dolours déeme.
Such was the rage, that whylome did possesse
The priuie corners of my mazed mind:
When hote desire, did coumpt those torments lesse
Which gaind the gaze that did my fredome bind.
And now (with care) I can record those dayes,
And call to mind the quiet life I led
Before I first beheld thy golden rayes,
When thine vntruth yet troubled not my hed.
Remember thou, as I cannot forget,
How I had layd, both loue, and lust aside,
And how I had my fixed fancie set,
In constant vow, for euer to abide.
The bitter proofe of pangs in pleasure past,
The costly tast, of hony mixt with gall:
The painted heauen, which turnde to hell at last
The fréedome faind, which brought me but to thrall.
The lingring sute, well fed with fresh delayes.
The wasted vowes which fled with euery winde:
The restlesse nights, to purchase pleasing dayes,
The toyling dayes to please my restlesse minde.
All these (with mo) had brused so my brest,
And graft such griefe within my gronyng heart,
That I had left dame fansie and the rest
To gréener yeares, which might endure the smart.
My wearie bones did beare away the skarres,
Of many a wounde, receyued by disdayne:
So that I founde the fruite of all those warres,
To be naught else but pangs of vnknowne payne.
And now myne eyes were shut from such delight,
My fansie faynt, my hote desires were colde,
When cruell hap, presented to my sight,
Thy maydens face, in yeares which were not olde.
I thinke the goddesse of reuenge deuysde,
So to be wreackt on my rebelling will,
Bycause I had in youthfull yeares dispysde,
To taste the baytes, which tyste my sansie still.
How so it were, God knowes, I cannot tell:
But if I lye, you heauens, the plague be myne,
I sawe no sooner, how delight did dwell
Betwéene those lytle infants eyes of thine,
But streight a sparkling cole of quicke desire,
Did kyndle flame within my frozen heart,
And yelding fansie softly blewe the fire,
Which since hath bene the cause of all my smart.
What néede I say? thy selfe for me can sweare,
How much I tendred thée in tender yeares:
Thy life was then to me (God knowes) full deare,
My life to thée is light, as nowe appeares.
I loued thée first, and shall do to my laste,
Thou flattredst first, and so thou woldst do still:
For loue of thée full many paynes I past,
For deadly hate thou séekest me to kyll.
I cannot now, with manly tongue rehearse,
How soone that melting mind of thine did yelde,
I shame to wirte, in this waymenting verse,
With how small fight, I vanquisht thée in fielde:
But Cesar he, which all the world subdude,
Was neuer yet so proude of Uictorye,
Nor Hanyball, with martiall feates endude,
Did so much please himselfe in pollicie,
As I (poore
•
) did séeme to triumphe then,
When first I got the Bulwarks of thy brest,
With hole Alarmes I comforted my men,
In formost ranke I stoode before the rest,
And shooke my flagge▪ not all to shewe my force,
But that thou mightst thereby perceiue my minde:
Askaunces lo, now coulde I kyll thy corce,
And yet my life, is vnto thée resinde.
Well let them passe, and thin
•
vpon the ioye,
The mutuall loue, the confidence, the trust,
Whereby we both abandoned annoye,
And fed our mindes with fruites of louely lust.
Thinke on the Tythe, of kysses got by stealth,
Of swéete embracings shortened by feare,
Remember that which did mainteine our health,
Alas, alas why should I name it here.
And in the mydst of all those happie dayes,
Do not forget the chaunges of my chaunce,
When in the depth of many way ward wayes,
I onely sought, what might thy state aduaunce.
Thou must confesse how much I carde for thée,
When of my selfe, I carde not for my selfe,
And when my hap was in mishappes to be,
Estéemd thée more, than all the worldly pelfe.
Myne absent thoughts did beate on thée al
•
ne,
When thou hadst found a fond and newfound choyce:
For lacke of thée I sunke in endlesse mone,
When thou in chaunge didst tumble and reioyce.
O mightie goddes néedes must I honour you,
Néedes must I iudge your iudgements to be iust,
Bycause she did forsake him that was true,
And with false loue, did cloke a fayned luste.
By high decrées, you ordeyned the chaunge,
To light on such, as she must nedes myslike,
A méete
•
eward for suche as séeke to raunge,
W
•
en fansies force, their féeble fleshe doth strike.
B
•
t did I then giue bridle to thy fall,
Thou hedstrong thou, accuse me if thou can?
Did I not hazard loue yea life and all,
To ward thy will, from that vnworthy man?
And when by toyle I trauailed to fynde,
The secrete causes of thy madding moode,
I founde naught else but tricks of Cressides kynde,
Which plainly provde, that thou weart of hir bloud.
I founde that absent Troyius was forgot,
W
•
en Dyomede had got both br
••
che and belt,
Both gloue and hand, yea hart and all god wot,
When absent Troylus did in sorrowes swelt.
These tricks (with mo) thou knowest thy self I found,
Which now are nedelesse héere for to reherse,
Unlesse it were to touche a tender wound,
With corosiues my panting heart to perce.
But as that Hound is counted lytle worthe,
Which giueth ouer for a losse or twayne,
And cannot finde the meanes to single forth,
The stricken D
•
are which doth in heard remayne:
Or as the kindly Spanyell which hath sprong
The prety partriche, for the Falcons flight,
Doth neuer spare but thrusts the thornes among,
To bring this byrde yet once againe to sight,
And though he knowe by proofe (yea dearely bought)
That selde or neuer, for his owne auayle,
This wearie worke of his in vaine is wrought,
Yet spares he not but labors tooth and nayle.
So labord I to saue thy wandring shippe,
Which recklesse then, was running on the rockes,
And though I saw thée seeme to hang the lyppe.
And set my great good will, as light as flockes:
Yet h
••
ld I in, the mayne sheate of thy mynde,
And stayed thy course by ancors of aduyce,
I woo
•
thy will into a better wynde,
To saue thy ware, which was of precious price.
And when I had so harbored thy Barke,
In happy hauen, which saufer was than Douer,
The Admyrall, which knewe it by the marke,
Streight challengd all, and said thou weart a rouer:
Then was I forst in thy behalfe to pleade,
Yea so I did, the iudge can say no lesse,
And whyles in toyle, this lothsome life I leade,
Camest thou thy selfe the fault for to confesse,
And downe on knée before thy cruell foe,
Didst pardon craue, accusing me for all,
And saydst I was the cause, that thou didst so,
And that I spoon the thred of all thy thrall.
Not so content, thou furthermore didst sweare
That of thy selfe thou neuer ment to swerue,
For proofe wherof thou didst the colours weare,
Which might be wray, what saint y• ment to serue▪
And that thy blood was sacrificed eke,
To manyfest thy stedfast martyrd mynde,
Till I perforce, constraynde thée for to séeke,
These raging seas, aduentures there to finde.
Alas, alas, and out alas for me,
Who am enforced, thus for to repeate
The false reports and cloked guyles of thée,
Whereon (to oft) my restlesse thoughts do beate.
But thus it was, and thus God knowes it is.
Which when I founde by playne and perfect proofe,
My m
•
si
•
g minde then thought it not amisse,
To shrinke aside, lamenting all aloofe,
And so to beate my simple shiftlesse brayne,
For some deuice, that might redéeme thy state,
Lo here the cause, for why I take this payne,
Lo how I loue the wight which me doth hate:
Lo thus I lye, and restlesse rest in Bathe,
Whereas I bathe not now in blisse pardie,
But boyle in Bale and skamble thus in skathe,
Bycause I thinke on thine vnconstancie.
And wilt thou know, how here I spend my time,
And how I drawe my dayes in dolours still?
Then stay a while: giue eare vnto my rime,
So shalt thou know the weight of all my will.
When Titan is constrayned to forsake,
His lemans couche, and clymeth to his carte,
Then I begin to languishe for thy sake,
And with a sigh, which may bewray my smarte,
I cleare mine eyes whom gūme of teares had glewed,
And vp on foote I set my ghostlike corse,
And when the stonie walls haue oft renewed
My pittious plaintes, with Ecchoes of remorce,
Then doe I cry and call vpon thy name,
And thus I say, thou curst and cruell bothe,
Beholde the man, which taketh griefe for game,
And loueth them, which most his name doth loth.
Behold the man which euer truely ment,
And yet accusd as author of thine yll,
Beholde the man, which all his life hath spent,
To serue thy selfe, and aye to worke thy will:
Beholde the man, which onely for thy loue,
Did loue him selfe, whome else he set but light:
Beholde the man, whose blood (for thy behoue)
Was euer prest to shed it selfe outright.
And canst thou nowe condemne his loyaltie?
And canst thou crafte to flatter such a friend?
And canst thou sée him sincke in ieoperdie?
And canst thou seeke to bring his life to ende?
Is this the right reward for suche desart?
Is this the fruite of séede so timely sowne?
Is this the price, appoynted for his part?
Shall truth be thus by treason ouerthrowne?
Then farewell faithe, thou art no womans pheare:
And with that word I stay my tongue in time,
With rolling eyes I looke about eche where,
Least any man should heare my rauing ryme.
And all in rage, enraged as I am,
I take my shéete, my slyppers and my gowne,
And in the Bathe from whence but late I came,
I cast my selfe in dolors there to drowne.
There all alone I can my selfe conueye,
Into some corner where I sit vnseene,
And to my selfe (there naked) can I saye,
Beholde these braunefalne armes which once haue bene.
Both large and lust
••
,
•
ble for to fight,
Nowe are they weake, and wearishe God he knowes,
Unable now to daunt the foule despight
Which is presented by my cruell foes.
My thighes are thyn, my body la
•
ck and leane,
It hath no
•
umbast now, but skyn and bones:
And on mine Elbowe as I lye and leane,
I sée a trustie token for the nones.
I spy a bracelet bounde aboute mine arme,
Which to my shadowe séemeth thus to saye,
Beleue not me: for I was but a Charme,
To make thée sléepe, when others went to playe.
And as I gaze thus galded all with griefe,
I finde it
•
azed almost quite in sunder,
Then thinke I thus: thus was
•
eth my reliefe,
And though I fade, yet to the world no wonder.
For as this lace, by leysure learnes to weare,
So must I fainte, euen as the candle wasteth,
These thoughts (déere swéete) within my brest I beare,
And to my long home, thus my life it hasteth.
Here with I feele the droppes of sweltring sweate,
Which trickle downe my face, enforced so,
And in my body féele I like wyse beate,
A burning harte, which tosseth to and fro.
Thus all in flames I sinderlyke consume,
And were it not that wanhope le
•
ds me wynde,
Soone might I fret my facyes all in fume,
And like a G
•
ost my ghost his graue might finde.
But frysing hope doth blowe full in my face,
And colde of c
•
res becōmes my cordiall,
So that I still endure that yrcksome place,
Where sorowe séethes to skald my skynne withall.
And when from thence our company me driues,
Or weary woes do make me chaunge my seate,
Then in my bed my restlesse payne reuyues,
Untill my fellowes call me downe to meate,
And when I rise, my corpse for to araye,
I take the glasse, sometimes (but not for pride,
For God he knowes my minde is not so gaye)
But for I would in comelynesse abyde:
I take the glasse, wherin I séeme to sée,
Such wythred wrynckles and so foule disgrace,
That little maruell seemeth it to mée,
Though thou so well didst like the noble face.
The noble face was faire and freshe of hewe,
My wrinckled face is fo
•
le and fadeth fast:
The noble face was vnto thée but newe,
My wrinckled face is olde and cleane outcast:
The noble face might moue thée with delight,
My wrinckled face could neuer please thine eye:
Lo thus of crime I couet thée to quite.
And still accuse my selfe of Surcuydry:
As one that am vnworthy to enioye,
The lasting fruite of such a loue as thine,
Thus am I tyckled still with euery toye,
And when my Fellowes call me downe to dyne,
No chaunge of meate prouokes mine appetite,
Nor sauce can serue to taste my meates withall,
Then I deuise the iuyce of grapes to dight,
For Suger and for Sinamon I call,
For Ginger, Graines, and for eche other spyce,
Where with I mixe the noble wine apace,
My fellowes prayse the depth of my deuise,
And say it is as good as Ippocrace.
As Ippocrace say I? and then I swelt,
My faynting lymmes streight fall into a sowne,
Before the taste of Ippocrace is felt,
The naked name in dolours doth me drowne,
For then I call vnto my troubled mynd,
That Ippocrace hath bene thy dayly drincke,
That Ippocrace hath walkt with euery winde
In bottells that were fylled to the brincke.
With Ippocrace thou banquetedst full ofte,
With Ippocrace thou madst thy selfe full merry,
Such chéere had set thy new loue so alofte,
That olde loue now was scarsely worth a cherry.
And then againe I fall into a traunce,
But when my breth returnes against my will,
Before my tongue can tell my wofull chaunce,
I heare my fellowes how they whisper still.
One sayth that Ippocrace is contrary,
Unto my nature and comple
•
ion,
Whereby they iudge that all my maladye,
Was long of that by alteration.
An other sayth, no, no this man is weake,
And for such weake, so hote things are not best,
Then at the last I heare no liar speake,
But one which knowes the cause of myne vnrest,
And saith, this man is (for my life) in loue,
He hath receiued repulse, or dronke disdaine,
Alas crie I: and ere I can remoue,
Into a sowne I soo
•
e returne againe.
Thus driue I foorth, my dolefull dining time,
And trouble others with my troubles still,
But when I here, the bell hath passed prime
Into the Bathe I wallow by my will,
That there my teares (vnséene) might ease my griefe,
For though I sterue yet haue I fed my fill,
In priuie pangs I count my best reliefe.
And still I striue in wery woes to drench.
But when I plondge▪ then wo is at an ebbe,
My glowing coles are all to quicke to quench,
And I (to warme) am wrapped in the webbe,
Which makes me swim against the wished waue,
Lo thus (déere wench) I leade a lothsome life,
And gréedely I séeke the gréedy graue,
To make an end of all these stormes and strife.
But death is deafe, and heares not my desire,
So that my dayes continue still in dole,
And in my nights, I féele the secret fire,
Which close in embers, coucheth like a cole,
And in the day hath bin but raked vp,
With couering ashes of my companie,
Now breaks it out, and boyles the carefull cuppe,
Which in my hart, doth hang full heauily.
I melt in teares, I swelt in chilling sweat,
My swelling heart, breaks with delay of payne
I fréeze in hope, yet burne in hast of heate,
I wish for death, and yet in life remaine.
And when dead sléepe doth close my dazeled eyes,
Then dreadfull dreames my dolors do encrease,
Me thinks I lie awake in wofull wise,
And see thée come, my sorrowes for to cease.
Me seemes thou saist (my good) what meaneth this?
What ayles thée thus to languish and lament?
How can it be that bathing all in blisse,
Such cause vnknowne disquiets thy content?
Thou doest me wrong to kéepe so close from me
The grudge or griefe, which gripeth now thy heart,
For well thou knowest, I must thy partner be
In bale, in blisse, in solace, and in smarte.
Alas, alas, these things I déeme in dreames,
But when mine eyes are open and awake,
I sée not thée, wherewith the flowing streames,
Of bri
•
ish teares their wonted flouds do make,
Thus as thou séest I spend both nights and dayes,
And for I find the world did iudge me once
A witlesse writer of these louers layes,
I take my pen and paper for the nonce,
I lay aside this folish riding time,
And as my troubled head can bring to passe,
I thus bewray the torments of my time:
Beare with my Muse, it is not as it was.
Fa
•
o non fortuna.
The extremitie of his Passion.
AMong the toye
•
which tosse my brayne,
and reaue my mind from quiet rest,
This one I find, doth there remayne,
to breede debate wit bin my brest.
When woe would worke▪ to wound my will,
I cannot weepe▪ nor wayle my fill.
My tong hath not the skill t
•
•
ell,
the smallest gri
•
f
•
which gripes my heart,
Myne eyes haue not the power to swell,
into such Seas of secret smarte,
That will might melt to waues of woe,
and I might swell in sorowes so.
Yet shed mine eyes no trickling teares,
but fluddes which flowe abundantly▪
Whose fountaine first enforst by feares,
found out the gappe of iealowsie.
And by that breath, it soketh so,
that all my face, is still on flowe.
My voyce is like the raging wind,
which roareth still, and neuer stayes▪
The thoughts which tomble in my minde,
are like the wheele which whirles alwayes,
Now here, now there, now vp, now downe,
in depth of waues, yet cannot drowne.
The sighes which boyle out of my brest,
are not like those, which others vse,
For louers sighes, sometimes take rest,
and lend their mindes, a leaue to muse,
But mine are like the surging seas,
whome calme nor quiet can appeas.
And yet they be but sorrowes smoke,
my brest the fordge where fury play
••
,
My panting hart, it strikes the stroke,
my fan
•
ie blowes the flame alway
•
s,
The coles are kindled by desire,
and Cupide warmes him by the fire.
Thus can I neither d
•
owne in dole,
nor burne to ashes,
•
hough I wast,
Myne eyes can neither quench the cole,
which warmes my hart in all this hast.
Nor ye
•
my fancie make such flame,
that I may smoulder in the same.
Wherefore I come to seeke out care▪
bese
•
hing him of curtesie,
To cut the thred which cannot weare,
by pangs of such perplexitie.
And but he graunt this boone of mine,
thus must I liue and euer pine.
Fato non fortuna▪
LO thus (déere hart) I force my frantike Muse,
To frame a verse in spite of my despighte,
But whiles I do these mirthlesse méeters vse
This rash conceite doth reue me from delight.
I call to mind how many louing layes,
How manie Sonets, and how many songs
I did deuise within those happie dayes,
When yet my will had not receiued wrongs.
All which were euermore regarded so,
That little frute I séemd thereby to reape,
But rather when I had bewrayed my woe
Thy loue was light, and lusted still to leape.
The rymes which pleased thée were all in print,
And mine were ragged, hard for to be red,
Lo dere: this dagger dubbes me with this di
•
t,
And leaues this wound within my iealouse hed
But since I haue confessed vnto care,
That now I stand vppon his curtesie,
And that the bale, which in my brest I bare,
Hath not the skill to kill me cunningly,
Therefore with all my whole deuotion,
To Care I make this supplication.
Fat
•
non fortuna.
His libell of request exhibited to Care.
O Curteous Care, whome others (cruell) call,
And raile vppon thine honorable name,
O knife that canst cut off the thred of thrall,
O sheare that shredst the semerent shéete of shame,
O happie end of euery greuous game:
Uouchsafe O Prince, thy vassall to behold,
Who loues thée more, than can with tong be told.
And now vouchsafe to pittie this his plaint,
Whose teares bewray,
His truth alway,
Although his féeble tong be forst to faint.
I must confesse O noble king to thée,
That I haue bin a Rebell in my youth,
I preast always in pleasures courte to be,
I fled from that, which Cupide still eschuth,
I fled from Care, lo now I tell the truth,
And in delights, I loued so to dwell,
Thy heauenly house, did séeme to me but hell.
Such was my rage, the which I now repent,
And pardon craue,
My soule to saue,
Before the webbe of weary life be spent.
But marke what frutes did grow on such a tré
•
,
What crop did rise vppon so rash sowne séede,
For when I thought my selfe in heauen to be,
In depth of hell I drowned was in déede:
Whereon to thinke my heauie hart doth bléede:
Me thought I swumme in Seas of all delight,
When as I sunke in puddles of despite,
Alas alas I thought my selfe belou'd,
When deadly hate,
Did play check mate,
With me poore pawne, that no such prancks had prou'd.
This when I tryed (ay me) to be to true,
I wept for woe, I pined all for paine,
I tare my heare, I often chaunged hewe,
I lefte delight, with dolours to complayne,
I shund each place where pleasure did remaine,
I cride, I calde on euery kind of death,
I stroue each way to stop my fainting breath.
Shorte tale to make, I slept so farre in strife,
That still I sought,
With all my thought,
Some happie helpe to leaue my lothed life.
But hope was he that held my hand abacke,
From quicke dispatch of all my g
•
iping griefe,
When heate of hate had burnt my will to wracke,
Then hope was cold and lent my life reliefe,
In euery choyce hope challengde to be chiefe.
When coldest crampes had cleane or
•
come my harte,
Then hope was hotte, and warnde my weary smart,
When hart was hardie, hope was still in dread,
When hart was faint,
With feares attaint,
Then hardie hope held vp my fearefull head.
Thus when I found that neither flowing teares
Could drowne my hart in waues of wery wo,
Nor hardy hand could ouercome my feares,
To cut the sacke of all my sorrow so,
Nor death would come, nor I to death could go.
And yet I felt great droppes of secret smart▪
Distilling still within my dying harte:
I then perceiud that only Care was he,
Which as my frend,
Might make an end,
Of all these paines, and set my fansie frée.
Wherefore (oh Care) graunt thou my iust request▪
Oh kill my corps, oh quickly kill me now,
Oh make an end and bring my bones to rest,
Oh cut my thred (good Care) I care not how,
Oh Care be kind: and here I make a vowe,
That when my life out of my brest shall parte▪
I will present thée with my faithfull harte▪
And send it to thée as a Sacrifice,
Bycause thou hast,
Uouchsaft at last,
To end my furies in this friendly wise.
Fato non fortuna.
WHat greater glory can a Keysar gaine,
If madde moode moue his subiects to rebell,
Than that at last (when all the traytours traine,
Haue trod the path▪ of déepe repentance well,
And naked néede with Cold and Hunger both,
Hath bitten them abrode in forren land,
Whereby they may their lewde deuises loth.
When harebraind hast, with cold aduise is scande)
If then at last, they come vpon their knée,
And pardon craue with due submission,
And for this cause, I thinke that Care of me,
Was moued most, to take compassion.
For now I find, that pittie pricks his mind,
To sée me ploo
•
ged still in endlesse paine,
And right remorse, his princely hart doth bind,
To rule the rage wherein I do remaine.
I féele my teares do now begin to stay,
For Care from them their swelling springs doth soke,
I féele my sighes their labours now allaye,
For care hath quencht the coles that made them smoke.
I féele my panting harte begins to rest,
For Care hath staide the hammers of my hed,
I féele the flame which blazed in my brest,
Are now with carefull ashes ouerspred.
And gentle Care, hath whet his karuing knife,
To cut in twaine the thred of all my thrall,
Desired death now ouercommeth life,
And we still works to helpe in hast with all.
But since I féele these pangs approching so,
And lothed life begin to take his leaue,
Me thinks it méete, to giue before I go.
Such lands, and goodes, as I behind me leaue.
So to discharge my troubled conscience,
And eke to set an order for mine heire,
Who might (perhaps) be put to great expence,
To sue for that, which I bequeath him here.
Wherefore (déere wench) with all my full intent,
I thus begin to make my Testament.
Fato non fortuna.
His last will and Testament.
IN Ioue his mightie name, this eight and twentith day,
Of frosty bearded Ianuar, the enemie to May:
Since Adam was create, fiue thousand yeares I gesse,
Fiue hundreth, forty more and fiue, as stories do expresse.
I being whole of mind, (immortall Gods haue praise)
Though in my body languishing with pang
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of paine alwayes,
Do thus ordeyne my will which long in woes haue wepte,
Beseeching myne executours to sée it duely kepte.
Firste I bequeath my soule on Charons boate to tende,
Untill thy lyfe (my loue) at laste may light on luckie ende,
That there it may awayte, to wayte vpon thy ghost,
When y• haste quite & clean forgot what prāks now please thée most.
So shal it wel be seene whose loue is lyke to myne:
For so I meane to trie my truth, and there till then to pine.
My bodie be enbalmde, and cloazed vp in chest,
With oyntments and with spiceries of euery swéete the best:
And so preserued still vntill the day doe come,
That death deuorce my loue frō life, & trusse hir vp in tombe.
Then I bequeath my corps to couche beneath hir bones,
And there to féede the gréedie woorms that linger for the nones
To frette vpon hir fleshe, whiche is too fyne therefore,
This seruice may it doe hir yet, although it do no more.
My hearte (as heretofore) I must bequeath to Care,
And God he knowes, I thinke the gift to simple for his share,
But that he may perceiue, I meane to pay my dew,
I will it shall be taken quick, and borne him bleding new,
As for my funeralls, I leaue that toye at large,
To be as mine executors will giue thereto in charge.
Yet if my goods will stretch vnto my straunge deuice,
Then let this order be obseru'd, mine heire shall pay the price:
First let the torche bearers be wrapt in wéedes of woe,
Let all their lights be virgin waxe, bicause I lou'd it so.
And care not though the twist be course that lends them light,
If fansie fume, & frewill flame, thē must they néeds burn bright.
Next them let come the quyer, with psalmes & dolefull song,
Recording all my rough repulse and wraying all my wrong,
And when the deskant sings, in tréeble tunes aboue,
Then let fa burden, say (by lowe) I liu'd and dayde for loue:
About my heauie hearse, some mourners wold I haue,
Who might the same accompany, and stand about the graue,
But let them be suche men, as may confesse with me,
Howe contrary the lots of loue, to all true louers be.
Let Pacience be the Priest, the Clearke be Close conceit,
The Sexten be Symplicitie, which meaneth no disceit.
Let almes of Loue be delt, euen at the Chauncell dore,
And feede them there with fresh delayes, as I haue
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en of yore:
Then let the yongest sort, be set to ring Loues bells,
And pay Repentance for their paines, but giue thē nothing else,
Thus when the Dirge is done, let euery man depart,
And learne by me what harme it is to haue a faithfull hart.
Those little lands I haue, mine heyre must néedes possesse,
His name is Lust, the lands be losse, few louers scape with lesse.
The best of all my goods, which I not here rehearse,
Giue learned Poets for their paines, to deck my tomb wt verse:
And let them wryte these words vpon my carefull chest,
Lo here he lyes, that was as true (in loue) as is the best.
Alas I had forgot the persons dewe to paye,
And so my soule in Purgatory, might remaine alway.
Then for my priuie Tythes; as kysses caught by stealth,
Swete collings & such other knachs as multiplyed my wealth:
I giue the Uicar here, to please his gredie will,
A deyntie dishe of suger soppes but saust with sorow still:
And twice a wéeke at least, let dight them for his dishe,
O
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frydayes and on wednesdayes, to saue expence of fishe.
Now haue I much bequeathed and little left behynde,
And others mo must yet be serued or else I were vnkynde.
Wet eyes and wayling words, Executors I make,
And for their paines ten pounde of teares let either of thē take▪
Let sorow at the last my Suprauisor be,
And stedfastnesse my surest stead, I giue him for his fée:
Yet in his pattent place this Sentence of prouiso,
That he which loueth stedfastly, shall want no sa
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se of sorow.
Thus now I make an ende, of this my wearie will,
And signe it with my simple hand, and set my seale there till.
And you which reade my words, although they be in rime,
Yet reason may perswade you eke, Thus louers dote sometime.
The Subscription and seale.
MY Mansion house was Mone: from Dolors dale I came,
I Fato: Non Fortuna, hight, lo now you know my name:
My seale is sorowes sythe, within a fielde of fame,
Which cuts in twaine a carefull hart, y• sweltreth in the same.
Fato non Fortuna.
ALas, lo now I heare the passing Bell,
Which Care appoynteth carefully to knoule,
And in my breast, I féele my hart now swell,
To breake the strings, which ioynde it to my soule.
The Cristall y
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e, which lent mine eyes their light,
Doth now waxe dym, and dazeled all with dread,
My senses all, will now forsake me quite,
And hope of health abandoneth my head,
My weary tongue can talke no longer now,
My trembling hand now leaues my penne to holde,
My ioynts now stretch, my body cannot bowe,
My skynne lokes pale, my blood now waxeth colde.
And are not these, the very pangs of death?
Yes sure (swéete hart) I know them so to be,
They be the pangs, which striue to stop my breath,
They be the pangs, which part my loue from thée.
What said I? Loue? Nay lyfe: but not my loue,
My life departes, my loue continues still:
My lothed lyfe may from my corpse remoue,
My louing Loue shall alwayes worke thy will.
It was thy will euen thus to trye my truth,
Thou hast thy will, my truth may now be séene,
It was thy will, that I should dye in youth,
Thou hast thy will my yeares are yet but grene.
Thy penance was that I should pyne in paine,
I haue performd thy penance all in wo,
Thy pleasure was that I should here remayne,
I haue bene glad to please thy fansie so.
Now since I haue performed euery part
Of thy commaunde, as neare as tong can tell,
Content thée yet before my Muse departe,
To take this Sonet for my last farewell.
Fato non fortuna.
His Farewell.
FArewell déere loue whome I haue loued and shall,
Both in this world, and in the world to come,
For proofe wherof my spryte is Charons thrall,
And yet my corpse attendant on thy toome.
Farewell déere swéete, whose wanton will to please
Eche taste of trouble séemed mell to me,
Farewell swete déere, whose doubts for to appease,
I was contented thus in bale to be.
Farewell my lyfe, farewell for and my death,
For thée I lyu'd, for thée nowe must I dye,
Farewell from Bathe, whereas I féele my breath
Forsake my brest in great perplexitie,
Alas how welcome were this death of mine,
If I had dyde betwéene those armes of thine.
Fato non Fortuna.