Selected quad for the lemma: cause_n
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A15044
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A remembraunce of the wel imployed life, [and] godly end, of George Gaskoigne Esquire who deceassed at Stalmford in Lincolneshire the 7. of October. 1577. The reporte of Geor. Whetstons gent. an eye witnes of his godly and charitable end in this world.
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Whetstone, George, 1544?-1587?
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1577
(1577)
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STC 25346; ESTC S114937
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6,774
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18
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A REMEMBRAVNCE of the wel imployed life godly end of George Gaskoigne Esquire who deceassed at Stalmford in Lincolne Shire the 7. of October 1577. The reporte of Geor. Whetstons Gent. an eye witnes of his Godly and charitable end in this world Forma nulla Fides IMPRINTED AT LONdon for Edward Aggas dwelling in Paules Churchyard and are there to be solde The wel imployed life and godly end of G. Gascoigne Esquire ANd is there none wil help to tel my tales who ah in helth a thousād plaints haue shōe feeles all mē ioy cā no mā skil of bale o yes I see a comfort in my mone Help me good George my life and death to touch some man for thee may one day doo asmuch Thou seest my death and long my life didst knowe my life nay death to liue I now begin But some wil say Durus est hic sermo T is hard indeed for such as feed on sin Yet trust me frēds though flesh doth hardly bow I am resolu'd I neuer liu'd til now And on what cause in order shalt ensue My worldly life is first must play his parte Whose tale attend for once the same is true Yea VVhetston thou hast knowen my hidden hart And therfore I coniure thee to defend when I am dead my life and godly end First of my life which some amis did knowe I leue mine armes my acts shall blase the same Yet on a thorne a Grape wil neuen growe no more a Churle dooth breed a childe of fame but for my birth my birth right was not great my father did his forward sonne defeat This froward deed could scarce my hart dismay Vertue quod I wil see I shall not lacke And wel I wot Domini est terra Besides my wit can guide me from a wrack Thus finding cause to foster hye desire I clapt on cost a help for to aspire But foolish man dect in my Pecocks plumes my wanton wil commaunded strait my wit Yea brainsick I was drunk with fancies fumes But Nemo sine crimine viuit For he that findes himself from vices free I giue him leue to throwe a stone at me It helps my praise that I my fault recite The lost sheep found the feast was made for ioy Euil sets out good as far as black dooth white The pure delight is drayned from anoy But that in cheef ▪ which writers should respect trueth is the garde that keepeth men vnchect And for a trueth begilde with self conceit I thought that men would throwe rewards on me But as a fish seld bites with out a baight So none vnforst mens needs wil hear or see and begging sutes frō dūghil thoughts proceed the mounting minde had rather sterue in need Wel leaue I hear of thriftles wil to write wit found my rents agreed not with my charge ◅he sweet of war sung by the carpet knight I◅ poste haste then shipt me in Ventures Barge These lusty lims Saunce vse quod I wil rust That pitie were for I to them must trust Wel plaste at length among the drunken Dutch though rumours lewd impayred my desert I boldely vaunt the blast of Fame is such As prooues I had a froward sowrs hart My slender gaine a further witnes is For woorthiest men the spoiles of war do mis. Euen there the man that went to fight for pence Cacht by sly hap in prison vile was popt Yea had not woordes fought for my liues defence For all my hands my breth had the◅e been stopt But I in fine did so perswade my foe as scot free I was homewards set to goe Thus wore I time the welthier not a whit Yet awckward chāce lackt force to beard my hope In peace quod I I le trust vnto my wit the windowes of my muse then str◅ight I ope And first I showe the trauail of such time as I in youth imployd in loouing rime Some straight way said th◅ir tungs with enuy fret those wanton layes inductions ◅ers to vice Such did me wrong for quod nocet docet our neyghbours harms are Items to the wise And sure these toyes d◅ showe for your behoof The woes of looue and not the wayes to loue And that the worlde might read them as I ment I left this vaine to path the vertuous waies The lewd I checkt in Glas of gouerment And laboring stil by paines to purchace praise I wrought a Glasse wherin eche man may see Within his minde what canckred vices be The druncken soule transformed to a beast my diet helps a man again to make ▪ But that which should be praisd abooue the rest My Doomes day Drum frō sin dooth you awake For honest sport which dooth refresh the wit I haue for you a book of hunting writ These few books are dayly in your eyes Parhaps of woorth my fame aliue to keep Yet other woorks I think of more em◅e Coucht close as yet within my cofers sleep yea til I ◅y none shall the ◅ame reuele So men wil say that Gas◅ign wrote of Zeale O En◅y ◅ile foule fall thee wretched sot Thou mortall foe vnto the forward minde I curse thee wretch the onely cause godwot That my good wil no more account did finde And not content thy self to doo me scar Thou ni◅st my hart with Spight Suspect Care. And fiest of Spight foule Enuies poysoned pye To Midas eares this As hath Lyntius eyes With painted she wes he heaues him self on hie Ful oft this Dolte in learned authors pries But as the Drone the hony hiue dooth rob with woorthy books so deales this idle lob He filcheth tearms to paint a pratling tung whē God he knowes he knows not what he saies And lest the wise should ◅nde his wit but yung He woorks all means their woorks for to dispraise To smooth his speech that beast this patch doth crop He showes the bad the writers mouthes to stop Ye woorse then this he dealeth in offence Ten good turnes he with silence striketh dead A slender fault ten times beyond pretence This wretched Spight in euery place dooth spread And with his breth the Viper dooth infect The hearers heads and harts with false suspect Now of Suspect the propertie to showe He hides his dought yet stil mistrusteth more The man suspect is so debard to knowe The cause and cure of this his ranckling sore And so in vain hee good account dooth seek Who by this Feende is brought into mislike Now hear my tale or cause which kild my hart These priuy foes to tread me vnder foot My true int◅nt with forged faults did thwart so that I found for me it was no boot to woork as Bees from weeds with hony dranes when Spiders turnd my flowers vnto banes Whē my plain woords by fooles misconst◅ed were by whose fond tales-reward hild his hands back To quite my woorth a cause to settle care within my brest who wel deseru◅d did