heart so neare the pith Except suche sâ—lue as when the Scorpion stinges I might receâ—ue to heale my wounde therewith In vaine for ease my tongue alwayes it ringes And I for paines shall pearish through her guilt That can reioyce to see how I am spilt Finis E. S. 35 Though Fortune haue sette thee on hie Remember yet that thou shalt die TO die Dame nature did man frame Death is a thing most perfect sure We ought not natures workes to blame Shee made nothing still to endure That lawe shee made when we were borne That hence we should retourne againe To render right we must not scorne Death is due debt it is no paine The ciuill lawe doth bidde restore That thou hast taken vp of trust Thy life is lent thou must therfore Repâ—y except thou be vniust This life is like a poynted race To the ende wherof when man hath trode He must returne to former place He may not still remaine abrode Death hath in all the earth aright His power is great it stretcheth farre No Lord no Prince can scape his might No creature can his duetie barre The wise the iust the strong the hie The chast the meeke the free of hart The rich the poore who can denie Haue yeelded all vnto his dart Could Hercules that tamde eache wight Or else Vlisses with his witte Or Ianus who had all foresight Or chast Hypolit scape the pitte Could Cresus with his bagges of golde Or Irus with his hungrie paine Or Signus through his hardinesse bolde Driue backe the dayes of Death againe Seeing no man then can Death escape Nor hire him hence for any gaine We ought not feare his carraine shape He onely brings euell men to paine If thou haue ledde thy life aright Death is the ende of miserie If thou in God hast thy delight Thou diest to liue eternallie Eache wight therefore while he liues heere Let him thinke on his dying day In midst of wealth in midst of cheere Let him accompt he must away This thought makes man to God a frend This thought doth banish pride and sinne This thought doth bring a man in th end Where he of Death the field shall win 39 All thinges ar Vaine ALthough the purple morning bragges in brightnes of the sunne As though he had of chased night a glorious conquest wonne The Time by day giues place againe to forse of drowsie night And euery creature is constraind to chaunge his lustie plight Of pleasures all that heere we taste We feele the contrary at laste In spring though pleasant Zephirus hath frutefull earth inspired And nature hath each bushe each branch with blossomes braue attired Yet fruites and flowers as buds and blomes full quickly witherd be When stormie Winter comes to kill the Somers iolitie By Time are gotte by Time are lost All things wherein we pleasure most Although the Seas so calmely glide as daungers none appeare And dout of stormes in skie is none king Phebus shines so cleare Yet when the boistrous windes breake out and raging waues do swel The seely barke now heaues to heauen now sinkes againe to hel Thus chaunge in euery thing we see And nothing constant seemes to bee Who floweth most in worldly wealth of wealth is most vnsure And he that cheefely tastes of ioy doth sometime woe indure Who vaunteth most of numbred frends forgoe them all he must The fairest flesh and liuelest bioud is turnd at length to dust Experience geues a certaine grounde That certen heere is nothing founde Then trust to that which aye remaines the blisse of heauens aboue Which Time nor Fate nor Winde nor Storme is able to remoue Trust to that sure celestiall rocke that restes in glorious throne That hath bene is and must be still our anker holde alone The world is but a vanitie In heauen seeke we our suretie Finis F. K. 37 A vertuous Gentle woman in the praise of his Loue. I Am a Virgine faire and free and freely doe reioyce I sweetely warble sugred notes from siluer voyce For which delightfull ioyes yet thanke I curtesie loue By whose allmightie power such sweete delites I proue I walke the pleasant fieldes adornd with liuely greene And view the fragrant flowres most louely to be seene The purple Columbine the Cousloppe and the Lillie The Violet sweete the Daizie and Daffadillie The Woodbines on the hedge the red Rose and the white And cache fine flowres else that rendreth sweete delite Among the which I choose all those of seemeliest grace In thought resembling them to my deare louers face His louely face I meane whose golden flouring giftes His euer liuing Fame to loftie skie vpliftes Whom louing me I loue onely for vertues sake When vertuously to loue all onely care I take Of all which freshe faire flowers that flowre that doth appeare In my conceit most like to him I holde so deare I gather it I kisse it and eake deuise with it Suche kinde of liuely speeche as is for louers fit And then of all my flowres I make a garland fine With which my golden wyer heares together I doe twine And sette it on my head so taking that delight That I would take had I my louer still in sight For as in goodly flowres myne eyes great pleasure finde So are my louers gyftss most pleasant to my minde Vpon which vertuous gyftes I make more sweete repast Then they that for loue sportes the sweetest ioyes doo tast Finis M. K. 38. Oppressed with sorowe he wysheth death IF Fortune may enforce the carefull hart to cry And griping greefe constrayne the wounded wight lament Who then alas to mourne hath greater cause then I Agaynst whose hard mishâ—p both Heauen and Earth are bent For whom no helpe remaynes for whom no hope is left From whom all happy happes is fled and pleasure quite bereft Whose lyfe nought can prolong whose health nought can assure Whose death oh pleasant port of peace no creature can procure Whose passed proofe of pleasant ioy Mischaunce hath chaunged to greefes anoy And loe whose hope of better day Is ouerwhelmd with long delay Oh hard mishap Eache thing I plainely see whose vertues may auayle To ease the pinching payne which gripes the groning wyght By Phisickes sacred skill whose rule dooth seldome fayle Through labours long inspect is playnely brought to lyght I knowe there is no fruite no leafe no roote no rynde No hearbe no plant no iuyce no gumme no mettal deepely mind No Pearle no Precious stone ne Ieme of rare effect Whose vertues learned Gallens bookes at lardge doo not detect Yet all theyr force can not appease The furious fyttes of my disease Nor any drugge of Phisickes art Can ease the greefe that gripes my hart Oh straunge disease I heare the wyse affyrme that Nature hath in store A thousand secrete salues which Wysdome hath outfound To coole the scorching heate of euery smarting sore And healeth deepest scarre though greeuous be the wound The auncient prouerbe sayes
that none so festred greefe Dooth grow for which the gods them selues haue not ordeynd releefe But I by proofe doo knowe such prouerbes to be vayne And thinke that Nature neuer knewe the plague which I sustayne And so not knowyng my distresse Hath leaft my greefe remedilesse For why the heauens for me prepare To liue in thought and dye in care Oh lastyng payne By chaunge of ayre I see by haute of healthfull soyle By dyet duely kept grose humours are expeld I know that greefes of minde and inward heartes turmoile By faithfull frendes aduise in time may be repeld Yet all this nought auailes to kill that me anoyes I meane to stoppe these floudes of care that ouerflow my ioyes No none exchaunge of place can chaunge my lucklesse lot Like one I liue and so must die whome Fortune hath forgoe No counsell can preuaile with mee Nor sage aduise with greefe agree For he that feeles the paines of hell Can neuer hope in heauen to dwell Oh deepe despaire What liues on earth but I whose trauaile reapes no gaine The wearyed Horse and Oxe in stall and stable rest The Ante with sommers toyle beares out the winters paine The Fowle that flies all day at night retournes to rest The Ploughmans weary worke amid the winters mire Rewarded is with somers gaine which yeeldes him double hire The sillye laboring soule which drudges from day to day At night his wages truely paide contented goth his way And comming home his drowsie hed He cowcheth close in homely bed Wherein no sooner downe he lies But sleepe hath straight possest his eyes Oh happie man. The Souldier biding long the brunt of mortall warres Where life is neuer free from dint of deadly foyle At last comes ioyfull home though mangled all with scarres Where frankly voyde of feare he spendes the gotten spoyle The Pirate lying long amidde the fooming floodes With euery flawe in hazard is to loose both life and goodes At length findes view of land where wished Porte he spies Which once obtained among his mates he partes the gotten prise Thus euery man for trauaile past Doth reape a iust reward at last But I alone whose troubled minde In seeking rest vnrest doth finde Oh lucklesse lotte Oh curssed caitife wretche whose heauie harde mishappe Doth wish tenne thousande times that thou hadst not bene borne Since fate hathe thee condemned to liue in sorrowes lappe Where waylinges waste thy life of all redresse forlorne What shall thy griefe appease who shall thy torment stay Wilt thou thy selfe with murthering handes enforce thy owne decay No farre be thou from me my selfe to stoppe my breath The gods forbid whom I beseeche to worke my ioyes by death For lingering length of lothed life Doth stirre in mee such mortall strife That whiles for life and death I crie In Death I liue and liuing die Oh froward fate Loe heere my hard mishappe loe heere my straunge disease Loe heere my deepe despaire loe heere my lasting paine Loe heere my froward fate which nothing can appease Loe heere how others toyle rewarded is with gaine While luckelesse loe I liue in losse of laboures due Compeld by proofe of torment strong my endlesse greefe to rue In which since needes I must consume both youth and age If olde I liue and that my care no comfort can asswage Henceforth I banishe from my brest All frustrate hope of future rest And truthlesse trust to times reward With all respectes of ioyes regard Here I forsweare 39 Where reason makes request there wisedome ought supplie With friendly answere prest to graunt or else denie I Sigh why so for sorrowe of her smart I morne wherfore for greefe that shee complaines I pitie what her ouerpressed hart I dread what harme the daunger shee sustaines I greeue where at at her oppressing paines I feele what forse the fittes of her disease Whose harme doth me and her alike displease I hope what happe her happy healthes retyre I wishe what wealth no wealth nor worldly store But craue what craft by cunnyng to aspyre Some skyll whereto to salue her sickly sore What then why then would I her health restore Whose harme me hurtes howe so so woorkes my wyll To wyshe my selfe and her lyke good and yll What moues the mind whereto to such desyre Ne force ne fauour what then free fancies choyse Art thou to choose my charter to require Eache Ladyes loue is fred by customes voyce Yet are there grauntes the euidence of theyr choyse What then our freedome is at lardge in choosyng As womens willes are froward in refusing Wotes she thy wyll she knowes what I protest Daynde she thy sute she daungerd not my talke Gaue she consent she graunted my request What dydst thou craue the roote the fruite or stalke I asked them all what gaue she Cheese or chalke That taste must try what taste I meane the proofe Of freendes whose wyls withhold her bowe aloofe Meanst thou good fayth what els hopest thou to speede Why not O foole vntaught in carpet trade Knowest not what proofes from such delayes proceede Wylt thou like headles Cocke be caught in glade Art thou like Asse too apt for burden made Fy fy wyl thou for saint adore the shrine And woo her freend eare she be wholy thine Who drawes this drift moued she or thou this match T was I oh foole vnware of womens wyles Long mayst thou wayte like hungry houndes at hatche She crafty Foxe the seely Goose beguiles Thy sute is shaped so fyt for long delay That shee at wyll may chek from yea to nay But in good soothe tell me her frendes intent Best learne it first their purpose I not knowe Why then thy will to woorse and worse is bent Dost thou delight the vnkindled cole to blowe Or childelike louest in anckred bote to rowe What meane these termes who sith thy sute is such Know of or on or thou afect to much No haste but good why no the meane is best Admit shee loue mislike in lingring growes Suppose shee is caught then Woodcocke on thy crest Till end approues what skornefull sedes shee sowes In loytring loue such dangers ebbes and flowes What helpe herein why wake in dangerous watch That too nor fro may make thee marre the match Is that the way to ende my wery woorke By quicke dispatch to lesson long turmoyle Well well though losse in lingering wontes to lurke And I a foole most fitte to take the foyle Yet proofe from promise neuer shall recoyle My woordes with deedes and deedes with woordes shal wend Tyll shee or hers gayuesay that I entend Art thou so fond not fond but firmely fast Why foole her freendes wote how thy wyl is bent Yet thou lyke doult whose witte and sense is past Sest not what frumpes doo folowe thy entent Ne knowe how loue in lewe of skorne is lent Adewe for sightes such folly should preuent Well well their skoffes with scornes might be repaid If my requestes were fully yead or
tree I clime I can not catche the fruite And yet the pleasant branches oft in yeelding wyse to me doo bowe When I would touch they spring aloft sone are they gone I wot not howe Thus I pursue the fleting flood like Tantalus in hel belowe Would god my case she vnderstood which can ful sone releue my woe Which yf to her were knowen the fruite were surely mine She would not let me grone and brouse vpon the rine But if my ship with tackle turne with rented sailes must needes retire And streame wind had plainely sworne by force to hinder my desire Like one that strikes vpon the rocks my weerie wrack I should bewaste And learne to know false fortunes mocks who smiles on me to small auaile Yet sith she only can my rented ship restore To helpe her wracked man but once I seeke no more Finis M. Edwardes 21. Trye before you trust IN freendes are found a heape of doubtes that double dealing vse A swarme of such I could finde out whose craft I can accuse A face for loue a hart for hate these faigned freendes can beare A tongue for troth a head for wyles to hurt eche simple eare In humble port is poyson pact that plainenesse can not spie Which credites all and can not see where stinging serpentes lye Through hastie trust the harmelesse hart is easely hampred in And made beleeue it is good golde when it is lead and tin The first deceit that bleares mine eyes is faigned faith profest The second trappe is grating talke that gripes eche strangers brest The third deceit is greeting woordes with colours painted out Which biddes suspect to feare no smart nor dread no dangerous dout The fourth and last is long repaire which creepes in freendships lap And dayly hauntes that vnder trust deuiseth many a trap Lo how false freendes can frame a fetch to winne the wil with wyles To sauce their sleightes with sugred sops shadowe harme with smiles To serue their lustes are sundry sortes by practise diuers kindes Some carries honnie in their mouthes and venime in their mindes Mee thinkes the stones within the streetes should crie out in this case And euery one that doth them meete should shunne their double face Finis D. S. 22. A Lady forsaken complayneth IF pleasures be in painefulnesse in pleasures dooth my body rest If ioyes accorde with carefulnesse a ioyfull hart is in my brest If prison strong be libertie in libertie long haue I been If ioyes accord with miserie who can compare a lyfe to myne Who can vnbind that is sore bound who can make free that is sore thrall Or how can any meanes be found to comfort such a wretch withall None can but he that hath my hart conuert my paines to comfort then Yet since his seruant I became most like a bondman haue I beene Since first in bondage I became my woord and deede was euer such That neuer once he could me blame except from louing him too much Which I can iudge no iust offence nor cause that I deserud disdayne Except he meane through false pretēce through forged loued to make a traine Nay nay alas my fained thoughts my frēded my fained ruth My pleasures past my present plaints shew wel I meane but to much truth But since I can not him attaine against my wil I let him goe And lest he glorie at my paine I wyl attempt to cloke my woe Youth learne by me but doo not proue for I haue proued to my paine What greeuous greefes do grow by loue what it is to loue in vaine Finis M. D. 23. Finding worldly ioyes but vanities he wysheth death FOrlorne in filthy froward fate wherein a thousand cares I finde By whom I doo lament my state annoide with fond afflicted mind A wretche in woe and dare not crie I liue and yet I wishe to dye The day in dole that seemeth long I pas with sighes heauy cheere And with these eyes I vewe the wrong that I sustaine by louing here Where my mishappes as rife doo dwell As plagues within the pit of hell A wailing wight I walke alone in desart dennes there to complaine Among the sauage sort to mone I flee my frends where they remaine And pleasure take to shun the sight Where erst I felt my cheefe delight A captiue clapt in chaynes of care lapt in the lawes of lethall loue My fleshe bones consumed bare with crauling greefes ful strange to proue Though hap dooth bidde me hope at least Whiles grasse dooth growe yet starues the beast A seeged fort with forraine force for want of ayde must yeelde at last So must my weeried pined corse submit it selfe to bitter tast Of crauling care that carkes my brest Tyll hop or death shall breede my rest Finis F. M. 24. Hauing marryed a woorthy Lady and taken away by death he complayneth his mishap IN youth when I at large did leade my life in lustie libertie When heuy thoughtes no one did spreade to let my pleasant fantesie No fortune seemd so hard could fall This freedome then that might make thrall And twentie yeres I skarse had spent whē to make ful my happy fate Both treasures great were on me cast with landes and titles of estate So as more blest then I stoode than Eke as me thought was neuer man. For of Dame Fortune who is he coulde more desyre by iust request The health with wealth and libertie al which at once I thus possest But maskyng in this ioly ioy A soden syght prooud al a toy For passyng on these merie dayes with new deuice of pleasures great And now then to viewe the rayes of beauties workes with cunnyng fret In heauenly hewes al which as one I oft behelde but bounde to none And one day rowlyng thus my eyes vpon these blessed wyghts at ease Among the rest one dyd I see who strayght my wandryng lookes dyd sease And stayed them firme but suche a syght Of beautie yet sawe neuer wyght What shal I seke to praise it more where tongs can not praise the same But to be short to louers lore I strayght my senses al dyd frame And were it wyt or were it chaunce I woonne the Garlande in this daunce And thus wher I before had thought no hap my fortune might encrese ▪ A double blis this chance forth brought so did my ladies loue me plese Her fayth so firme and constant suche As neue◠hart can prayse too muche But now with torments strange I tast the fickle stay of fortunes whele And where she raysde from height to cast with greater force of greefe to feele For from this hap of soden frowne Of Princes face she threwe me downe And thus exchange now hath it made my libertie a thing most deare In hateful prison for to fade where sundred from my louing feare My wealth and health standes at like stay Obscurely to consume away And last when humaine force was none could part our loue
will I loue though she be coye H. A foole hym self will still anoye M. Who will not die for suche a one H. Be wise at length let her alone M. I can not doe so H. then be thy owne foe M. Alas I die H. what remedie Finis E. S. ¶ A louers ioye I Haue no ioye but dreame of ioye and ioye to thinke on ioye A ioye I withstoode for to enioye to finishe myne anoye I hate not without cause alas yet loue I knowe not why I thought to hate I can not hate although that I should die A foe moste swete a frende moste sower I ioye for to embrace I hate the wrong and not the wight that workt my wofull case What thyng it is I knowe not I but yet a thyng there is That in my fancie still perswads there is no other blisse The ioyes of life the pangs of death it make me feele eche daie But life nor death this humour can deuise to weare awaie Faine would I dye but yet in death no hope I see remaines And shall I liue since life I see a sourse of sorie paines What is it then that I doe seke what ioye would I aspire A thyng that is deuine belike to high for mans desire Finis FK ¶ The iudgement of desire THe liuely Larke did stretche her wyng The messenger of mornyng bright And with her cherefull voyce did syng The daies approche dischargyng night When that Aurora blushyng redd Discride the gilt of Thetis bedd Laradon tan tan Tedriton teight I went abroad to take the aire And in the meadds I mett a knight Clad in carnation colour faire I did salute the youthfull wight Of hym I did his name enquire He sight and saied I am desire Laradon tan tan Tedriton teight Desire I did desire to staie A while with hym I craued talke The courteous wight saied me no naie But hande in hande with me did walke Then in desire I askte againe What thing did please and what did pain Laradon tan tan He smild and thus he answered me Desire can haue no greater paine Then for to see an other man The thyng desired to obtaine No ioye no greater to then this Then to inioye what others misse Laridon tan tan Finis E. O. ¶ The complaint of a louer wearyng Blacke and Tawnie. A Croune of Bayes shall that man weare That triumphs ouer me For blacke and Tawnie will I weare Whiche mournyng colours be The more I folowed on the more she fled awaie As Daphne did full long agone Apollos wishfull praie The more my plaints resounde the lesse she pities me The more I saught the lesse I founde that myne she ment to be Melpomeney alas with dolefull tunes helpe than And syng bis wo worthe on me â–ª forsaken man Then Daphnes baies shal that man weare that triumphs ouer me For Blacke Taunie will I weare which monrnyng colours be Droune me you tricklyng teares you wailefull wights of woe Come help these haÌ„ds to reÌ„t my heares my rufull happs to showe On whom the scorchyng flames of loue doeth feede you se Ah a lalalantida my deare dame hath thus tormented me Wherefore you Muses nine with dolefull tunes helpe than And syng Bis wo worthe on me forsaken man Then Daphnes Baies shall that man weare that triumps euer me For Blacke Taunie will I weare which mourning colours be An Ancres life to leade with nailes to scratche my graue Where earthly Wormes on me shall fede is all the ioyes I craue And hid my self from shame sith that myne eyes doe see Ah a alantida my deare dame hath thus tormented me And all that present be with dolefull tunes helpe than And syng Bis woe worthe on me forsaken man. Finis E.O. ¶ He complaineth thus LO heare the man that must of loue complaine Lo heare that seas that feeles no kinde of blisse Lo here I seke for ioye and finde but paine Lo what despite can greater be then this To freze to death and stande yet by the fire And she that shonneth me moste I doe desire L. But shall I speake alas or shall I die A. By death no helpe in speache some helpe doeth lie L. Then from that breast remoue a Marble minde A. As I see cause so are ye like to finde L. I yelde my self what would you more of me A. You yelde but for to winne and conquer me L. Saâ—e and kill not madame A. Forsake your sute for shame No no no no not so O happie man now vaunt thy self That hath this conquest gainde And now doeth liue in greate delight That was so lately painde Triumph triumph triumph wholouers be Thrise happie is that woyng That is not long a doyng Triumph triumph triumph that hath like victorie Finis ¶ Findyng no relief he complaineth thus IN quest of my relief I finde distresse In recompence of loue moste depe disdaine My langour is suche words maie not expresse A shower of teares my watrishe eye doeth raine I dreame of this and doe deuine of wo I wander in the thoughts of my swete fo I would no peace the cause of warre I flie I hope I feare I burne I chill in froste I lye alowe yet mounts my minde on hie Thus doubtfull stormes my troubled thoughts haue toste And for my paine this pleasure doe I proue I hate my self and pine in others loue The worlde I graspe yet holde I nought at all At libertie I seme in prison pent I taste the sweete more lower then bitter gall My shipp semes sounde and yet her ribbs be rent And out alas on Fortune false I crie Looke what I craue that still she doeth denie Bothe life and death be equall vnto me I doe desire to die yet craue I life My witts with sondrie thoughts doe disagre My self am with my self at mortall strife As warmth of sonne doeth melte the siluer Snowe The heate of loue beholde consumes me so Finis R.H. ¶ Beyng in loue he complaineth VVHat dome is this I faine would knowe That demeth all by contraries What God or whether height or lowe Now would I learne some warrantise Some saie the blinded God aboue Is he that woorketh all by loue But he that stirreth strife the truthe to tell I alwaies feele but knowe not well Some saie Alecto with her mates Are thei whiche breedeth all anoye Who sitts like Haggs in hellishe gates And seeks still whom thei maie destroye Some saie againe t is destinie But how it comes or what it is I let it passe before I misse Despite doeth alwaies worke my wo And happ as yet holds hardly still For feare I set my frendshipp so And thinke againe to reape good will. I doe but striue against the winde For more I seeke the lesse I finde And where I seeke moste for to please There finde I alwaies my desease And thus I loue and doe reape still Nothyng but hate for my good will. Finis L. V. A louer disdained complaineth IF euer man had loue to
toyle the Seas Life ledd with losse of paines no lacke In stormes to winne muche restlesse case A bedlesse horde in seas vnrest Maie happ to hym that chaunseth best How sundrie sounds with lead and line Vnto the depe the shipman throwes No foote to spare he cries oft tymes No nere when how the master blowes If Neptune frown all be vndoen Strait waie the shipp the wrack hath won These daungers greate doe oft befall On those that there vpon the sande Iudge of their liues the best who shall How vile it is fewe vnderstande Alacke who then maie iudge their game Not thei whiche haue not felt the same But thei that fall in stormes and winde And daies and yeres haue spent therein Suche well may iudge since profe thei find In rage no rest till calme begin No more then those that loue doe faine Giue iudgement of true louers paine Finis W. H. No pleasure without some paine HOw can the tree but wast and wither awaie That hath not sometyme comfort of the Sonne How can that flower but fade and sone decaie That alwaies is with darke clouds ouer ronne Is this a life naie death you maie it call That feeles eche paine and knoweth no ioye at all What foodles beast can liue long in good plight Or is it life where sences there be none Or what auaileth eyes without their light Or els a tonge to hym that is alone Is this a life naie death you maie it call That feeles eche paine and knowes no ioye at all Whereto serue eares if that there be no sounde Or suche a head where no deuise doeth growe But all of plaints since sorrowe is the grounde Whereby the harte doeth pine in deadly woe Is this a life naie death you maie it call That feeles eche paine and knows no ioye at all Finis L. Vaux ¶ The fruites of fained frendes IN choise of frends what happy had I to chuse one of Cirenes kinde Whose harpe whose pipe whose melodie could feede my eares make me blinde Whose pleasant noise made me forget that in sure trust was great deceit In trust I see is treason founde and man to man deceitfull is And whereas Treasure doeth abounde of flatterers there doe not misse Whose painted speache and outward showe doe seme as frends and be not so Would I haue thought in thee to be the nature of the Crokadill Whiche if a man a slepe maie see with bloudy thirst desires to kill And then with teares a while gan wepe the death of hym thus slaine a slepe O flatterer false thou traitor borne what mischief more might thou deuise Then thy deare frende to haue in scorne and hym to wounde in sondrie wise Whiche still a frende pretends to be and art not so by profe I se Fie fie vpon suche trechery Finis W. H. Beyng importunate at the length he obtaineth A. SHall I no waie winne you to graunt my desire B. What woman will graunt you the thyng you require A. You onely to loue me is all that craue B. You onely to leaue me is all I would haue A. My deare alas now saie not so B. To loue you best I must saie no A. Yet will I not flitt B. then plaie on the bitt A. I will B. doe still A. yet kill not B. I will not A. Make me your man B. beshrewe me than A. The swifter I followe then you fly awaie B. Swift hauks in their fliyng oft times misse their pray A. Yet some killeth dedly that flie to the marke B. You shall touche no feather thereof take no carke A. Yet hope shall further my desire B. You blowe the coales and raise no fire A. Yet will I not flitt B. then plaie on the bitt A. I will B. doe still A. yet kill not B. I will not A. Make me your man B. beshrewe me than A. To loue is no daunger where true loue is ment B. I will loue no ranger lest that I repent A. My loue is no ranger I make God auow B. To trust your smoth saiyngs I sure knowe not how A. Moste truthe I meane as tyme shall well trie B. No truthe in men I oft espie A Yet will I not flitt B. then plaie on the bitt A. I will B. doe still A. yet kill not B. I will not A. Make me your man B. Be shrewe me than A. Some women maie saie naie and meane loue moste true B. Some women can make fools of as wise men as you A. In tyme I shall catche you I knowe when and where B. I will sone dispatche you you shall not come there A. Some speds at length that oft haue mist B. I am well armed come when you list A. Yet will I not flitt B. then plaie on the bitt A. I will B. doe still A. yet kill not B. I will not A. Make me your man B. beshrewe me than A. Yet worke your kinde kindly graunt me loue for loue B. I will vse you frendly as I shall you proue A. Moste close you shall finde me I this doe protest B. Then sure you shall binde me to graunt your request A. O happie threde now haue I sponne B. You syng before the conquest wonne A. Why then will you swarne B. euen as you deserue A. Loue still B. I will A. yet kill not B. I will not A. Make me your man B. come to me than Finis M. B. ¶ Requiryng the fauour of his loue She aunswereth thus M. WHat death maie be compared to loue H. What grief therein now doest thou proue M. My paines alas who can expresse H. I see no cause of heauinesse M. My Ladies looks my wo hath wrought H. Then blame thyne eyes that first haue sought M. I burne alas and blowe the fire H. A foole consumes by his desire M. What shall I do than H come out and thou can H. Alas I die M. what remedie M. My sugred sweete is mixed with gall H. Thy Ladie can not doe with all M. The more I seeke the lesse I finde H. Then striue not with the streame and winde M. Her must I loue although I smarte H. With thy owne sworde thou slaiest thy harte M. Suche pleasaunt baites who can refraine H. Suche beats will sure brede the greate paine M. What shal I do than H. Come out and thou can H. Alas I die M. what remedie M. Her golden beames myne eyes doe daze H. Vpon the Sonne thou maiest not gaze M. She might reward my cruell smarte H. She thinks thou bearest a fained harte M. She laughs to heare my wofull cries H. Forsake her then in tyme be wise M. No no alas that maie not bee H. No wise man then will pitie thee M. What shall I do than H. come out and thou can M. Alas I die H. what remedie M. A liuyng death loe thus I proue H. Suche are the fruts of froward loue M. O that I might her loue once againe H. Thy gaine would not halfe quite the paine M. Her
dearly bought Lo I am he that plaies within her maze And finds no waie to get the same I sought But as the Dere are driuen vnto the gaze And to augment the grief of my desire My self to burne I blowe the fire But shall I come ny you Of forse I must flie you What death alas maie be compared to this I plaie within the maze of my swete foe And when I would of her but craue a kis Disdaine enforceth her awaie to goe My self I check yet doe I twiste the twine The pleasure hers the paine is myne But shall I come ny you Of forse I must flie you You courtly wights that wants your pleasant choise Lende me a floud of teares to waile my chaunce Happie are thei in loue that can reioyse To their greate paines where fortune doeth aduaunce But sith my sute alas can not preuaile Full fraight with care in grief still will I waile Sith you will needs flie me I maie not come ny you Finis L.V. ¶ Beyng in loue he complaineth IF care or skill could conquere vaine desire Or reasons raines my strong affection staie Then should my sights to quiet breast retire And shunne suche signes as secret thoughts bewraie Vncomely loue whiche now lurks in my breast Should cease my grief through wisdoÌ„s power opprest But who can leaue to looke on Venus face Or yeldeth not to Iunos high estate What witt so wise as giues not Pallas place These vertues rare eche Godds did yelde amate Saue her alone who yet on yearth doeth reigne Whose beauties stryng no Gods can well destraine What worldly wight can hope for heauenly hire When onely sights must make his secret mone A silent sute doeth seâ—de to Grace aspire My haples happe doeth role to restles stone Yet Phebe faire disdainde the heauens aboue To ioye on yearth her poore Endimions loue Rare is reward where none can iustly craue For chaunce is choise where reason maks no claime Yet lucke sometymes dispairyng souls doeth saue A happie starre made Giges ioye attaine A slauishe Smith of rude and rascall race Founde means in tyme to gaine a Goddes grace Then loftie Loue thy sacred sailes aduaunce My sithyng seas shall flowe with streames of teares Amidds disdaine driue forthe my dolefull chaunce A valiaunt minde no deadly daunger feares Who loues alofte and setts his harte on hie Deserues no paine though he doe pine and die Finis M.B. ¶ A louer reiected complaineth THe tricklyng teares that fales along my cheeks The secret sighs that showes my inward grief The present paines perforce that loue aye seeks Bidds me renew my cares without relief In wofull song in dole displaie My pensiue harte for to bewraie Bewraie thy grief thou wofull harte with speede Resigne thy voyce to her that causde thy woe With irksome cries bewaile thy late doen deede For she thou louest is sure thy mortall foe And helpe for thee there is none sure But still in paine thou must endure The striken Deare hath helpe to heale his wounde The haggerd hauke with toile is made full tame The strongest tower the Canon laies on grounde The wisest witt that euer had the fame Was thrall to Loue by Cupids sleights Then waie my case with equall waights She is my ioye she is my care and wo She is my paine she is my ease therefore She is my death she is my life also She is my salue she is my wounded sore In fine she hath the hande and knife That maie bothe saue and ende my life And shal I liue on yearth to be her thral And shall I sue and serue her all in vaine And kisse the stepps that she let ts fall And shall I praie the gods to kepe the pain From her that is so cruell still No no on her woorke all your will. And let her feele the power of all your might And let her haue her moste desire with speede And let her pine awaie bothe daie and night And let her moue and none lament her neede And let all those that shall her se Dispise her state and pitie me Finis E. O. ¶ Not attainyng to his desire he complaineth I Am not as seme to bee Nor when I smile I am not glad A thrall although you count me free I moste in mirthe moste pensiue sadd I smile to shade my bitter spight As Haniball that sawe in sight His countrey soile with Carthage toune By Romaine force defaced doune And Caesar that presented was With noble Pompeyes princely hedd As t were some iudge to rule the case A floud of teares he semde to shedd Although in deede it sprong of ioye Yet others thought it was annoye Thus contraries be vsed I finde Of wise to cloke the couert minde I Haniball that smiles for grief And let you Caesars teares suffice The one that laughs at his mischief The other all for ioye that cries I smile to see me scorned so You wepe for ioye to see me wo And I a harte by loue slaine dead Presents in place of Pompeyes head O cruell happ and harde estate That forceth me to loue my foe Accursed be so foule afate My choise for to profixe it so So long to fight with secret sore And finde no secret salue therefore Some purge their paine by plaint I finde But I in vaine doe breathe my winde Finis E. O. ¶ His mynde not quietly setled he writeth this EVen as the waxe doeth melt or dewe consume awaie Before the Sonne so I behold through careful thoughts decaie For my best lucke leads me to suche sinister state That I doe wast with others loue that hath my self in hate And he that beats the bushe the wished birde not getts But suche I see as sitteth still and holds the foulyng netts The Drone more honie sucks that laboureth not at all Then doeth the Bee to whose most pain least pleasure doth befall The Gardner sowes the seeds whereof the flowers doe growe And others yet doe gather them that tooke lesse paine I knowe So I the pleasaunt grape haue pulled from the Vine And yet I languish in greate thirst while others drinke the wine Thus like a wofull wight I woue my webb of woe The more I would wede out my cares the more thei seme to grow The whiche betokeneth hope forsaken is of me That with the carefull culuer climes the worne withered tree To entertaine my thoughts and there my happe to mone That neuer am lesse idle lee then when I am alone Finis E. O. ¶ Of the mightie power of Loue. MY meanyng is to worke what wondes loue hath wrought Wherwith I muse why meÌ„ of wit haue loue so derely bought For loue is worse then hate and eke more harme hath doen Record I take of those that rede of Paris Priams sonne It semed the God of slepe had mazed so muche his witts When he refused witt for loue whiche cometh but by fitts But why accuse I hym whom yearth hath couered long There be of his
words you would me write a message must I sende A wofull errande sure a wretched man must write A wretched tale a wofull head besemeth to endite For what can he but waile that hath but all he would And yet that all is nought at all but lacke of all he should But lacke of all his minde what can be greater greif That haue lacke that likes him best must neds be most mischief Now foole what maks thee waile yet some might saie full well That hast no harme but of thy self as thou thy self canst tell To whom I aunswere thus since all my harmes doe growe Vpon my self so of my self some happ maie come I trowe And since I see bothe happ and harme betids to me For present woe my after blisse will make me not forget thee Who hath a field of golde and maie not come therein Must liue in hope till he haue forse his treasure well to winne Whose ioyes by hope of dreade to conquere or to lose So greate a wealth doeth rise and for example doeth disclose To winne the golden flese stoode Iason not in drede Till that Medeas hope of helpe did giue hym hope to spede Yet sure his minde was muche and yet his feare the more That hath no happ but by your helpe maie happ for to restore The ragyng Bulls he dread yet by his Ladies charme He knewe it might be brought to passe thei could doe little harme Vnto whose grace yelde he as I doe offer me Into your hands to haue his happ not like hym for to be But as kyng Priamus did binde hym to the will. Of Cressed false whiche hym forsooke with Diomede to spill So I to you commende my faithe and eke my ioye I hope you will not be so false as Cressed was to Troye For if I be vntrue her Lazares death I wishe And eke to thee if I be false her clapper and her dishe Finis R. L. ¶ Beyng in trouble he writeth thus IN terrours trapp with thraldome thrust Their thornie thoughts to tast and trie In conscience cleare from case vniust With carpyng cares did call and crie And saied O God yet thou art he That can and will deliuer me Bis. Thus tremblyng there with teares I trodd To totter tide in truthes defence With sighes and sobbs I saied O God Let right not haue this recompence Lest that my foes might laugh to see That thou wouldest not deliuer me Bis. My soule then to repentaunce ranne My ragged clothes berent and torne And did bewaile the losse it wanne With lothsome life so long forlorne And saied O God yet thou art he That can and will deliuer me Bis. Then comfort came with clothes of ioye Whose semes were faithfull stedfastnesse And did bedecke that naked boye Whiche erst was full of wretchednesse And saied be glad for God is he That shortly will deliuer thee Bis. Finis T. M. ¶ Beyng troubled in mynde he writeth as followeth THe bitter sweate that straines my yelded harte The carelesse count that doeth the same embrace The doubtfull hope to reape my due desarte The pensiue path that guids my restlesse race Are at suche warre within my wounded brest As doeth bereue my ioye and eke my rest My greedie will that seks the golden gaine My luckles lot doeth alwaie take in worthe My mated mynde that dredes my sutes in vaine My piteous plaint doeth helpe for to set forthe So that betwene twoo waues of ragyng seas I driue my daies in troubles and desease My wofull eyes doe take their chief delight To feede their fill vpon the pleasaunt maze My hidden harmes that growe in me by sight With pinyng paines doe driue me from the gaze And to my hope I reape no other hire But burne my self and I to blowe the fire Finis I.H. ¶ Looke or you leape IF thou in suertie safe wilt sitt If thou delight at rest to dwell Spende no more words then shall seme fitt Let tonge in silence talke expell In all thyngs that thou seest men bent Se all saie nought holde thee content In worldly works degrees are three Makers doers and lookers on The lookers on haue libertie Bothe the others to iudge vpon Wherefore in all as men are bent Se all saie nought holde thee content The makers oft are in fault founde The doers doubt of praise or shame The lookers on finde surest grounde Thei haue the fruite yet free from blame This doeth persuade in all here ment Se all saie nought holde thee content The prouerbe is not South and West Whiche hath be saied long tyme agoe Of little medlyng cometh rest The busie man neuer wanteth woe The best waie is in all world 's sent Se all saie nought holde thee content Finis Iasper Haywood ¶ He bewaileth his mishappe IN wretched state alas I rewe my life Whose sorrowes rage torments with deadly paine In drowned eyes beholde my teares be rife In doubtfull state a wretche I must remaine You wofull wights enured to like distresse Bewaile with me my wofull heauinesse What stonie harte suche hardnes can retaine That sharpe remorse no rest can finde therein What ruthlesse eyes so carelesse can remaine That daiely teares maie pitie winne For right I seeke and yet renewe my sore Vouchsalfe at length my saftie to restore My loue is lost woe worthe in woe I dye Disdainfull harte doeth worke suche hatefull spite In losse of loue a wretche must ioye to dye For life is death now hope is banisht quite O death approche bereue my life from me Why should I liue opprest with woe to be Finis R. H. ¶ The complaint of a Synner O Heauenly God O Father dere cast doune thy tender eye Vpon a wretche that prostrate here before thy trone doeth lye O powre thy precious oyle of grace into my wounded harte O let the dropps of mercie swage the rigour of my smarte My fainting soule suppressed sore with carefull clogge of sinne In humble sort submitts it self thy mercie for to winne Graunt mercie then O sauiour swete to me moste wofull thrall Whose mornfull crie to thee O Lorde doeth still for mercie call Thy blessed will I haue despised vpon a stubborne minde And to the swaie of worldly thyngs my self I haue enclinde Forgettyng heauen heaueÌ„ly powers where God and saincts do dwel My life had likt to tread the path the leads the waie to hell But now my lorde my lode starre bright I will no more doe so To thinke vpon my former life my harte doeth melt for woe Alas I sigh alas I sobbe alas I doe repent That euer my licencious will so wickedly was bent Sith thus therefore with yernfull plain I doe thy mercie craue O Lorde for thy greate mercies sake let me thy mercie haue Restore to life the wretched soule that els is like to dye So shall my voyce vnto thy name syng praise eternally Now blessed be the Father first and blessed be the Sonne And blessed be the holie Ghoste by whom all thyngs are doen Blesse me O blessed Trinitie with thy eternall grace That after death my soule maie haue in heauen a dwellyng place Finis F.K. ¶ The fruite that sprynges from wilfull wites is ruthe and ruins rage And sure what heedelesse youth committes repentaunce rues in age I Rage in restlesse ruthe and ruins rule my daies I rue to late my rechlesse youthe by rules of reasons waies I ran so long a race in searche of surest waie That leasure learnde me tread the trace that led to leud decaie I gaue so large a raine to vnrestrained bitt That now with proofe of after paine I waile my want of witt I trifeled forthe the tyme with trust to self conceiptes Whilst pleÌ„ties vse prickt forth my prime to search for sugred baites Wherein once learnde to finde I founde so sweete a taste That dewe foresight of after speede self will estemed waste Whiche will through wilfulnesse hath wrought my witlesse fall And heedelesse youthes vnskilfulnesse hath lapt my life in thrall Whereby by proofe I knowe that pleasure breedeth paine And he that euill seede doeth sowe euill frute must reape againe Let suche therefore whose youth and pursses are in Prime Foresee shun the helplesse ruthe whiche fews misspence of time For want is nexte to waste and shame doeth synne ensue Euil speding proofe hath hedeles hast my self hath proued it true When neighbours next house burnes t is tyme thereof take hede For fortunes whele hath choise of turnes which change of chaÌ„ses breds My saile hath been aloft though now I beare but lowe Who clims to high selde falleth soft dedst ebbe hath highest flowe Finis ê™ Yloop. ¶ Imprinted at London by Henry Disle dwellyng at the Southwest doore of S. Paules Churche 1576.