dayly troubles great Yea where a storme or braule is once begun All bitter blasts repairs and breathes out heat the eyes will stare the face will frowne and sweat The tung must clap the head wil shake and nod And hart within hath cleane forgotten God Fréends must be wrought with blades to band it out Foes must be whipt and scourged in their kinde Worlde shalbe tost and turned round about Still to maintain the mischeefe of the minde Tale bearers then shall lye within the winde To bring bad newes and set the house a fier That flamde before with sparkes of spites desire My practise strange can all these plagues vnfolde That better were lapt vp in silence héerâ— Too late to call againe that tung hath tolde The wise should sell their words and worship déere But since in world my selfe I cannot cleere I wil goe through this heauy tale of mine That world may well at wicked waies repine Long after this he heard that I lay sicke And then from Court he comes with right great spéed Do comfort me that was both sound and quick To play the Fox or knaue againe for néed But though that time I would not be agréede I tooke his wine and sent him so away With scorne enough in signe of parting day For since that time he neuer saw my face Nor had no minde to come where was my haunt And since that storme I had so little grace In euery soile I make my boste and vaunte I conquerd him and so I doo you graunt For three yéeres more I haue doon what I please And liue at large in lust and lordly ease And these fiue yéeres I haue doon what I can By tung and art and figures that I cast And euery way to shame my plaine good man which shame I feare will sure be mine at last I am so learnd I can play loose and fast My skill is such in Planets hye and low I rule the Skies and heauens where I goe Good Fortunes sure some say that I can tell And many things by figures I vnfolde I say no more but wish that all were well For he that doth this wicked world beholde whose Godhead séeeth into this massie moulde Knowes well how oft I tread my shooe awry And in what plight my sinfull soule dooth lye And if this God regarde with angry chéere The vice on earth that vainely we commit And straitly looke vnto my dooings heere And like a Iudge in trembling conscience sit I am condemd there serues ne force nor wit Out is my Lamp the oyle hath lost his light And my faire day is turnd to foule blacke night The searching heads that sifts my manners throw Will shrinke aside when I draw néere their view The wiuely dames that seeth my blotted brow In my behalfe will blush and change their hue The gentle harts that others harmes doth rue Will much lament my life so lewdly runne And cleane vntwist the threed good name hath spun The basest dame whose faults are borne in brest Wil scorne to heare my folly blazde abroad The frumping flocke at me will make a iest The spitefull swarme wil poulte and swell like tode My guilty minde that beares moste heauy lode Will sinke downe right when worlde shall talke of grace And shame her selfe will slubber all my face The two braue boies I had from husbands bed That Stoner got staines now my honest name And witnes beares to world when I am dead Of secret sins that purchast open shame I kept that close long like a cunning dame Till husband had found out my paultring life Then he at Bathe forsooke his cogging wife The foule reports that dayly I giue him Rebounds like ball to mine owne bosome straight Yet I with craft fac'te out the matter trim But still I beare the blot for all my sleight My backe so crackes vnder this heauy weight That all the ioynts and bones I beare about Uofoldes my faults and filthy manners out The sober sorte that sets by noble brute Will shake their heads as they my boldenesse spie The clapping tungs will neuer sure be mute Shreawd people all will shewe alowryng eye But still I feare the Lorde that sits on hye Will loke more strange on me so late disgraste Then all the worlde that here beneath are plaste The Church wherin both faith and hand I gaue Shall witnes beare of breach of promise due The spousall bed and mariage day so braue Shall make me calde forsworne and most vntrue the holye booke the olde law and the new Against my soule shall such sharpe sentence giue In other worlde where sprite desires to liue Let matrons chaste and modest wiues eche one That falshood hates and loues their troth to kéepe In fury come and fling at me a stone And let no wight my death bewaile nor wéep Let daies vnrest and dreadfull dreames in sléepe Pursue me still and bring me to my graue Since God and man I so offended haue The steps I tread shall tell me my offence the féelds I walke shall bring my fault to minde The harmes I did in worlde shall haste me hence The wealth I wish shall waste and weare with winde The fame I séeke shall fling me far behinde And all good things that vertuous wiues enioy At my most need shal turne to mine annoy The wise that weighes my wiles in ballance right Shall see my wit want weight and be but baâ—e The foole himselfe shall finde my iudgement light In making choise to chop and change my race The poore shall point at me in euery place The rich and those that sway and rule doth heare With curbe of Law shall bring lewde life in feare The freends I had shall froune and shun my sight The foes I haue shall follow me with shame The neighbour loue that pleasde me day and night Shall now draw backe and looke on losse of name The merrie mate and homely countrey dame And all the towne and soyle where I was borne In Parish Church shall laugh my life to scorne The bande once broke that God himselfe hath blest Brings worldly woe and curses in by swarmes The mariage marde that God made for mans rest Turnes vpside downe from happie helpe to harmes The Bridall bed defiled with lothsome charmes Breedes wicked smoke and smoothing slanders base On whose foule sume a worlde of people gaze The knot of loue vnknit by hateful cause Calles greefes to count and cries to clouds for aide The lewde contempt and breach of sacred lawes Makes euery howre offendour sore afraid The fickle faith that is with scourges paide Bids falshood flie the plague that is preparde For those who lookes to life with small regarde No rouffling troupe that sâ—ash and swill vp wine Can ward the blowes that wrath of God sends downe No cunning knacks nor knacking fetches fine Can conquer troth and thrust him out of towne No treasons traine can take way true renowne No cloud can cloke the craft that all
when some of them flue away I say not with my fethers and sat on the top of their aduancements gazing on the basenesse of my fortune which strange accidente ministred by the mutability of time makes me chuse faster friends whose noble disposition breeds greater regard whose constancies will longer continue and whose frendships bringes forth better fruite So good sir Iohn knowing your good inclination towardes the best sorte of men and faitfullnesse towardes your country and friendes I being tyed by good turns to remember you haue deuised a discourse I hope delightfull for your reading because in your sundry trauells beyonde the seas besides your good exercises at home you haue heard of many excellent men and artes of diuers natures and qualitie The worke I present you is a commendation of them that can or hath made gold if any such bee or hath bin the art wherof I haue not only commended but in some part touched as far as my simple capacitie can reach vnto touching setting downe in verse with comly termes some sufficient cause how by transmutation of mettals many men haue aduentured the making of gold Thus crauing the worlds goodwill and your fauour for the setting forth this bold discourse I passe to the matter wish you much worship wordly felicitie and heauenlie blessednesse Thomas Churchyard A Commendation to them that can make gold shewing that many heretofore hath found out the Philosophers stone WHat wordes of worth or â—â—led phrase of men May serue my turne to shew rare gifts of grace What percing speech what toong or flowing pen Is fiâ— to blase the valour of this case My wits are weake my sense and skill to base To talke or treate on thinges of such great weight That séemes so dâ—epe and reacheth such a height With Uirgills verse and Homers haughtie style In golden lines should knowledge glorie shine Would God one man were borne in this our Ile Could catch from cloudes great arts and grace diuine As he were taught of all the muâ—es nine To knowe the course of stars and stately skies And howe deepe seas and floudes doe fall and rise If mortall man may robbe the gods of skill And rule the son the moone and planets all And easly climbe the heauens when he will Or make the spirites belowe obey his call Or clap the earth into a compasse small Knowledge is he nay rather better seed A sacred power hath knowledge in his head That from the Lord of life and glory came No earthly gifte nor worldly wicked knacke For world is vaine most certaine sure I am And all foule artes makes worlolings liue in lacke The cleanest mindes are frée from ruine and wracke For vertue raignes and rules this wretched mould And drawes from drosse huge heapes of massie gold They neuer thriue that workes with hagges of hell Bare liues they lewd bare robes and wéedes they weare They seldome want that in ioyes doying well Great store of fruit a happie trée doth beare A blasted branch but withers euery where A vertuous man whose hart to grace aspires Findes good successe of all his whole desires Great studies gaines great grace and wisdome too Great wisdome lookes into Gods sacred throne And fewe doe knowe what speciall grace can doe Such secrets great doth rest in God alone And God giues man the Philosophers stone Then who hath that hath all that can be gote And needes not care for all the world a grote Some say that knowes how god is pleased best Good life helpes much to make men blessed héere If that be true God doth bad life detest where are we then where shall soule life appéere Who hath faire face who shewes a conscience cléere Such as can purge themselues with praiers still Gets greatest grace and gaineth greatest skil Good arts are armes to all our bodies throwe By force to worke by strength to strike all parts To make stife stones or steele to bend or bowe As nothing could escape the reach of arts Schollers in scholes and merchantes in their marâ—â— Can ply their thrift so they that maketh gold By giftes of grace haue cunning treble fold To catch the heate of son or fire by light And melt and myxe the mettals as they are And put by art compounds together streight As all should yeeld to fine inuention rare When science leaues all hidden secretes bare No mastry then to worke on waxe newe wrought A picture plaine to answere workmans thought Most néerest God the cleanest hartes doe goe They cast of flesh and Angels nature take And than throwe faith they may moue mountaines so Gold by that meanes a mortall man may make God doth great things for his great glories sake That world shall sée some vessels God hath chose To whome he doth his hidden giftes disclose vii of Wisdome The wise king said he saw how world was made How things began and how they end againe How fruits and flowers doe flourish and doe fade How vertues rare in herbes and roots remaine How out of stones comes dewe like drops of raine And how dry dust and earth that seemes nought worth Hides gold in hord yet brings great treasure forth He saw what grace and knowledge could discerne What wisdomes eies could sée in darkest night What God himselfe to his electe did learne What man might doe by Gods cleere lampe of light What might be knowne by simple sacred sight And what poore men by plainenesse might attaine And what fruit comes by trauell toile and paine To gather flowers and wéedes where ere they growe And take vp fruit from tops of trées that fall And mixe these things with flouds that ebbe and floe And at a becke to change their natures all Is art at will and knowledge we it call But to digge out from drosse the gold most fine Is secret skill and speciall power deuine To make fine glasse and giue it forme and shape Was sure an art that fewe at first did knowe A painter made quicke birds to picke the grape That pensell had most finely painted so In dome dead things life hath bin breathd you knowe Who reades shall sée great knowledge vnder son That was with men by grace and vertue won Mercurius Tres migistus king of the Egiptianes A king there was of yâ—er that Hermies hight Who fiâ—st found out the cause how gold was made Some at his torch did there dime candells light That earst did walke for want of Son in shade Since that in seas full many wits did wade To sound and sée how farre weake feete might goe And some did find the depth thereof I troe Gâ—bar a king likewise of great estate A volume large of this great art did write Throw studie long Gebar such knowledge gat That in his books great princes did delight Great thinges of him great actors doe resyte Greater then he some say was neuer none For he did teach how men should make the stone In a vision much matter may you read
had sent With louing wife at home the same he spent He tooke great paines to come by that he had And trauailde sore through many a forraine soile To bring that home that makes the houshold glad And kéepe the wife and houshold folke from â—oile And I tooke care that nothing went to spoile And looke in deede what things that I did lacke Was seene in face or found vppon my backe The world might sée I went in garments good Though small I brought to him as I confesse I spent him much and at great charge I stood Which brings strong harts somtime to great distres But neuer that might make his loue the lesse For looke how he his liking first beganne In fine for troth he proude the selfe same manne I could not sléepe but where in bed he lay I could not eate but where he sate at boorde I could not laugh when liking was away I silent sat gaue he but halfe a woorde Ill newes of him strake me with mortall sword His minde and mine did draw so in one yoke The selfe same sittes he felt where of I spoke Full seauen yeares this constant course we kept Though often times there happened houshold iarrs And tratling tales that in betweene vs crept Made many wounds where yet remains the scarrs Yet alwaies peace tooke vp our brawling warrs And we did seeke to salue each others sore And passe old griefes and thinke thereon no more Swéete is that peace that patcheth vp great harmes Sharpe is the warre that teares a house in â—waine Woe worth those words that brings in brauleâ— by swarms Darke be those cloudes that alwaies threatens raine Curst be the cause that breedeth woe and paine And damnde in Hell those subtill spirites shalbe That councell gaue to part my choise from me Well as our chaunce together was to ioyne And dwell long while as here in briefe you hard So happe came on through hope of wealth or coine And drew my choise where he might be prefarde To warres and I that had a great regard To him that time when I his minde did know Gaue my consent that he to warres should goe With sighes and sobs and bitter teares among We parted tho with promise surely past That one should heare from other ere twere long And sadly so we seured at the last His goods his gold his friends both firme and fast He left me then to comfort me withall But nere a childe as Fortune so did fall He past the seas and sent me tokens still And money such as might supply my néede And for to shew his faith and great good will Long Letters large he made that I might réede Of promise past and to come home in déede But to what end should serue this businesse great My minde was turnde warme loue had lost his heat A new fine man both young and apt for chaunge I those and cleane forgat my former ioy And in a while I was become so straunge As Hagard Hauke that takes in head a toy And flées from Lure and waâ—eth nice and coy My wedlocke now not hearing of these newes Made no hast home till I was ore the shewes Yet knacks I wrought to bleare my husbands eies I made a bruite be blowne that I was dead When that he heard he did his life despise And so forsooke sléepe rest and tast of bread He rent his haire he sadly shooke his head He walkt the woods and shunned all repaire As one would be deuourd with fowles of thaire He daily bledde when little foode he tooke He would not come where woemen were in place And he so leane and like a Ghost did looke That Death it selfe was seene amid his face A noble Earle as he beheld this case Brake with the man that thus tormented was And so in sports the troubled time did passe But ague â—its and sicknesse followed on That in poore plite came home my husband thoe Not leane in purse but bare and néere the bone The bodye then was worne with warre and woe And yet full sound as al the world might know His limmes I saw but I so nice did waxe There was no flame of fire might come to flaxe For I could wéepe and quench by cunning art The hottest loue that euer husband bore And so two yeares I plaied a Foxes part Which ere I die I may repent full sore My husbands bedde I shund and furthermore I fainde I had a sickenesse let it goe I neuer minde that folly forth to shoe A finer â—ricke to compasse that I â—ought I plaide through fleight and casting figures trim To my good man a bastard gâ—rle I brought And from my friend presented her to him Hée saw thereby the find runne ore the brime Yet kept it close and sayd nothing at all Till out by chaunce might further matter fall And alwayes would my husbande tell mée plaine I did him wronge to keepe mee from his bedde But I could vse him in a pleasaunt vaine And make him soone forgett that hee had sedde My doore was lockt howe ere I layde my head My maydes and I kept solempne cheare alone How euer playne poore husbande made his monâ— Two yeares this wise I shoeffled Cardes full cleane Till husband spied a Letter of my hande Whereby hee found what follie I did meane But I was bent against my déede to stande So faest him down and swore when all was scande It was not mine but as hee soundly slept To his beds side my mayde and I wee stept And heaude him vp and so from bolster than Wee tooke his purse wherein the Letter laye When that wée had wee left the sillie man As saffe as hee that sléepes in Cocke of haye Well when he lookt in purse the other daye And found my fraude and falshood as it was Out of the doore in furie did hee passe Yet came againe that night and so fell sicke The cause whereof soone after you shall here Full long hee lay and toucht so neere the quicke That he was like to buy that sicknesse dere But when on foote hee stept and all was cleare He had farewell falâ—â— wife God send thée grace Thy wicked wayes makâ—s husband giue thee place I saw how world would wonder at this act And straight new tales on husband ganne I rayse With forged lies and rayling reasons rackt That still should sound vnto his most disprayse I faynde one while hee vsed wanton wayes With euery mayde that hee might touch or see And then he was to sicke a soule for mee Then poore hee was I sayde to cloke my pride When this serude not I â—wore the man was madd And in his rage would beate mee backe and side So euery daie a new deuice I had To make the world beléeue hee was too bad And at the length when all I had was sold My mayde and I goe trie the world we wold So shutting doore and trusting vp my packâ— I flang from home not bidding friendes farewell But I