all a flant like Ship full vnder saile As swift to gather as the Ante and slowe to giue as Snaile The Ante in Sommer tyme prouides for Winters foode The Snaile as slowly doeth he clime so doeth he little good The one learnes man to saue the other slowly glides To bid men worke as tyme thei haue to walke watch their tides That lesson of the Snaill is slowlie lookte vnto So that this sillie creepyng soule full little good can doe And hourders vp of wealthe are in the selfsame plite Yet doeth the Ante for deepe foresight mans iudgement more delite But flantyng late came vp the gise is somewhat newe The Rainboes collours doeth it beare and yet it hath no hewe The glorie of the same tenne thousande stains will take And scarce the wisest men doe knowe of flantyng what to make He â—lants with others flowres she brau's in boroude weedes But neuer none could reape good fruite of sutche vain rotten séedes This flantyng squares it out and keeps a cruell coile But in the ende this newe founde toye doth bryng them all to spoile On braury it begonne with beggrie shall it ende This bowe is shapte of sutche a wood shall either breake or bende A flant a flant my boyes but flante to farre farewell Make mutche of worlde ye neither come in heauen nor in hell The saincts disdaine your pompe the Deuills feare your pride Then purchace Purgatorie nowe and there let flantyng bide So flounce and flant your fill good worlde should wearie waxe Of strange deuise that sturrs the state to strife through newe founde knacks Finis Of a fantasticall dreame taken out of Petrarke THe thyng I likte in slepe I founde a dreame vntrue What me mislikt was true I sawe with open eyes A slepe I dreamt and thought my chere had changed hue A wake I felt and founde my former greef aryes You wakened senses now why heare you not and see Those things I heard and sawe when dreames apperde to mee What foolishe custome keeps my wretched eyes accurste In slepe to see the beste awake beholde the worste When pleasantly I slepe a peace was promisde me When wofully I wakt my warres renued againe When pleasantly I slept in blisse I thought to bee When wofully I wakte of hell I felt the paine If truthe annoye me then and falshood please me beste With all my harte I wishe no truthe in me maie reste Since wakyng workes me woe and slepe contents my will God graunt I neuer wake but liue by slepyng still Thrise happie are the beastes by slombryng sleepe that liue Sixe months in quiet rest with eyes iclosed faste I doe not saie sutche slepe a shape of death doeth giue Nor wakyng represent the life that aye doeth laste Contrary humours loe posses my mased minde In wakyng death I feele in slepyng life I finde If slepe the figure be of death as moste men saie Come quickly death O death and close myne eyes in claie Finis A fancie as an answere to that dreame SOme feele by dreams more ioye then any other waie And those doe steale suche sport by nights thei care not for the daie The sicke as well as sounde hath sutche consaits in breste By slombryng slepes and sweuons sweete thei dreame thei haue some reste The thirstie thinks by dreame he drinks and cool's his heate But that I call a cow deuise to quenche a feuer greate So loue that liu's with dreams on fancies foode maie feede Yet want as mutche a slepe or wake as thei that starue for neede If pleasure we conceiue through sight the same doeth growe Then wakyng is the cheefest freend and slepe a mortall foe The eye must first be fixt ere senses feelyng finde And so in slepe some watchyng sprite awakes the drousie minde Though body seems to slepe and takes his ease in bedde The vitall vaines are woorkyng still and soule is neuer dedde Thus proue I that we wake when slepe beclipps the ghoste And wakyng witts and stirryng blood doeth comfort nature moste A dreame more life doeth showe then death or lompishe slepe And by the motion of suche dreams our soule and life we kepe So graunt I that our sleepes a wakyng Nature haue For slepe it self is noughe but death as bedde presents the graue Though beast is praisde for slepe yet man hath better moode To wake and seeke through breathyng brest to liue by angels foode Then let leude fancie slepe with beast and if you please It is the quicke and wakyng muse that moste my sence doeth ease Finis ¶ A fantasie on fifteene woordes endyng all in one letter IF freendship faint or Fortune faile and flood forsakes to flowe Yet call for hope to hoise vp saile a gale of winde maie blowe When sorrowe comes and sighes encrease with wicked worldly woe Beleue the beste of badde mischaunce and ease thy burthen soe The child that neuer felt the rodde maie out of order goe The horse that can no bridell bide no pace nor traine will showe Tis better freend reforme thy fauts then take rebuke of foe The wood y t breaks wheÌ„ it should bend will neuer make good bowe That hart is weake which for small greef coÌ„sums melts like snow The rose nor flowre is nere the worse that doeth nere nettell growe A man maie suffer mutche in harte though shooe doe nipp his toe A quiet man maie liue full long that dwells in house with shroe The Faucon flies a stately gate in spite of carraine Crowe Some maks a merry gladsome chere yet feles great care ye knowe Some haue a sadde and heauie minde and walks as light as Doe Thus sutche as beare a pacient brest doe conquere that thei craue And those that striu's against the stream shall seldome pleasure haue Finis ¶ Of the strong and the weake THe weakest goes to wall who wanteth freends must faste Thei saie the strongest will haue all would God that worlde were paste For féeble force I haue with worlde to tugge and toile And lackyng tooles to poule and shaue I yéeld me to the spoile Of those that spares no sleight nor witte to winne their will Who seems to make the crooked streight yet liu's by fleecyng still The weake hath feble knees to clime the clouds ye knowe The strong takes home from the Bees and seru's his fancie soe The strong and mightie flood swéeps all before hym cleane And tourns vp drosse bothe sande and mudde and kéepes no kinde of meane A sillie shallowe streame can doe but little boote It neither breaks doune massie banks nor tears vp trees by roote The weake is vanquisht still the strong will victor bee The strong with weake nor weake w t strong will neuer well agree When sound and sicke doe like and colde and heate are one Or mosse mucke for might maine maie matche w t marble stone Then strong and weake shall ioyne till then saie naie who shall The strong will triumphe on the weake weake
for pleasure and delite and dedicated where I desire my duetifull good will maie be embraced The matters I treate of are written of sutche sondrie humours and subiectes that thei are more to be redd for the varietie of woordes then for the goodnesse of the verses and the cause why and wherefore I dedicate sutche a matter to your Lordship is for that I would be sorie that my daies and yeres should bee spent with the losse of tyme and that my labour and studie well ment should be forgotten and caste in a corner for waÌ„t of the printing The strange motions and maner of the writyng showes nothyng but the nature of mans fansies that neuer continueth in one kinds of consait The occasions of so many seuerall discourses rose but on the innumerable deuises of the hed that euer in one pointe or other by imagination is occupied And the whole somme and substance of that whiche is written is but to publish to the worlde that ill is better to be meanely exercised in honest pastymes then basely bent and giuen to barraine slothe and Idelnesse Thus trustyng your good Lordship will take in good part a part of the portion that from the heauens is giuen me I presente vnto your handes this newe yere some of mine old labors studies Printed al bound in one newe volume for sutche as pleases to buye them And so as beste becommeth me and duetie commaundes I remaine a well willer to your honour duryng my life moste willyngly at commaundemente Thomas Churchyard Churchyardes Chance My Ladie of Lennoyes graces Epitaphe YOU noble dames of greatest birth whose fame to clouds would flye On this cold cors with warme good will bowe doune your iudgyng eye To see how fleshe and blood must fall to dust when race is ronne And worldly brute and honours blaste shall ende where it begonne If stately name or high renowne might make her bodie liue Or Princes blood to life and breath might here a patente giue This Ladie had not tasted death nor felte in sondrie thyngs Suche crossyng chance and froward fate as to her graue she brings Was neuer wight with troubles toste so sore and past them soe For in her breast from tender yeres a gulffe of greef did floe Scan that whiche best can skill of woe her sorrowes were so greate That when I waie a dram thereof my face and browes doe sweate But though she founde her fortune harde a staied mynde she bore A worthie hedde where sober witte by heapes laie hid in store Her gesture shewd from whence she came her words moste graue wyes And honours beame like burnyng Lampe did blase amid her eyes A presence that could freends coÌ„maunde and hold her foes full mute A noble harte where bounties budds did blome and beare good frute What needs more words to proue a trothe so rare her vertues were That who presumes to hit them right maie misse the marke I fere As you that mourne are cladde with blacke in white her soule doeth shine Transformd froÌ„ fleshe to angels kinde or sacred shape deuine Where fortunes threate caÌ„ doe no harme nor worldly foile she fears And eche good ghost in glorie greate doeth make an ende of tears Her life my gaine her death my losse her fauour helpt my state Her laste farewell leaues freends behinde to waile the losse too late FINIS ¶ An Epitaphe of sir Nicholas Bacon Knight late Lorde Keeper THE lodestarre that good Pilotts likt crept vnder cloude of late A suddaine storme hath knapt in twoo a staffe of publicke sâ—ate Out of our goodlie golden Ryng is falne a precious stone The lande that sutche a Iewell lacks hath cause to morne and mone The babes that seeth their parents dye of duetie sheds some teares But when a Pillar falleth doune that countries burthen beares The common wealth doeth bide a shocke and ioynts in sonder shake If not in steade of auncient propp a newe defence we make A father to all forward witts who fostred lawe and right A Sunne that shone through highest clouds yet gaue belowe greate light Who will not waile that knowes the want well Englande sutche a glas Shall seldome shine in thee againe as worthie Bacon was A flood of sence and sugred sappe came flowyng from his braine Ne Tulles toung nor Petracks penne nor stoute wise Catoes vaine Maie not surmount the philed phrase and reche of Bacons hedd His voice was smothe as Organe pipe and looke what Bacon sedd Was held for Lawe iudgement greate the sentence was so swete The words were of so deepe a fetche and sprong from suche a sprete He spent no speeche nor words in waste and where his promes past Performance hasted out of hande and followd on as faste To God to Prince and Iustice rules a greate regard he tooke Not on the man but on the cause and matter would he looke Disposde and bente to doe muche good but namely vnto those To whom dame vertues learned lore did gifts of grace disclose His countries care cutts of his daies and brings theÌ„ dim dark night That wisely cannot waye the weight and worth of sutche a wight He liues in laude and lanterne like he lastes with blasyng fame We die world weares out our praise where shines his noble name Moste noble are those burnyng lampes moste clerest light thei shoe That leaues a torche which giues vs light wheÌ„ heÌ„ce froÌ„ vs thei goe FINIS ¶ Sir Hugh Pauletts Epitaphe NO verse a vailes ne teares maie serue to waile the want at full My witts are weake my words but bare my penne but base and dull To frame in forme and stately stile the lines I ought to write I finde my muse orecome with cares my reason banishe quite My hedde so fraught with cold conceits of newes I knowe full well That I had rather crie and rore and shrillie houle and yell Then treate of dreadfull deaths despite who daiely doeth deuoure The noblest fruits of Natures mould and pluckes the purest flowre Death neither looks on mens renowne nor who maie best be spard But like a Theef stealls life awaie and striks without regard Not takyng those that vertue wants and fills the worlde with vice But snapps vp suche that people praise worlde holds moste in price As loe of late to well was seen when Paulet left his life Forsooke his freends desired the graue and went from worthy wife To liue and lodge in loftie Skies where blessed angells are And good mens souls doe suretie finde and rest from worldly care No maruell though our troubled sprits doe make a swete exchange And leaues this sowre and bitter soile and will some couÌ„trie straÌ„ge To goe where Gods in glorie sitts and where our home must bee Yet in my mynde suche partyng is a wonder greate to see When men by toile and labour long haue purchast suche a praise Attainde to wealth and honour bothe through seruice sondrie waies And on the suddaine leaue these pomps and
well the same ye mourners all that stands about this bere And doe but liue as Hampden did and get that garlande gaie And liuell but on that posey sweete that Hampden boare awaie What liuyng man can make reporte he harmde hym any where So vpright was the harte in breast that Hampdon still did beare His harte was iuste his hands were franke his words were meeke milde A presence that declarde his minde was harmlesse as a child A gladsome countenance would he shewe when sorowe searcht hym throwe Though Fortune frounde she could not chaunge his cherefull merie browe A pleasant freende cleane voide of fraude bothe honest true and wise In court so loude that now the teares ronnes gushing froÌ„ their eyes When thei but speake of Hampdens name an offcer liked so well Shall neuer sure from countrey come in Court againe to dwell O happie is that Prince that hath sutche seruantes at the neede And blessed is that lande and soile that doeth sutche subiects breede Thrise happie is the wife I trowe that sutche a housbande findes And perfect honest is that man that Hampdens vertue mindes Good birthe and auncient blood doeth breede in noble nature still Good maners good life withall whiche wins the worlds good will So Hampdens waies did well declare from whence began his race And told what marke he thought to hit when death bid life giue place Well freend the Goddes hath graunted thee that thou hast sought so long A croune of glorie for thy life or els thei doe thee wrong Here we be lefte in wicked worlde and finde but fewe like thee Wherefore my sprite through clouldie skies would after Hampdon flee Though thou hast ronne thy race before I followe on full faste And hope aboue in Abrahams breast our soules shall meete at laste FINIS ¶ My Ladie Baggnalles Epitaphe who died at the Nuerie LOe here a ladie lies whose life greate glory won A mornyng Starre a Lampe of daie that shone as bright as Sonne A goodly glasse of Steele that scornde to take a staine A Mirrour that did liuely showe a perfecte picture plaine An aide to straungers still that staide within her gates As noble a Nourse to neighbours all as freendly to estates A spryng of larges streams a well of wifely waies A vertuous dame that vice subdued a pearle of peerlesse praies A fountaine full of faithe her plaiefeere founde the same In eurie pointe that did adorne a comely sober dame From natiue soile she brought faire lands and freends greate store And matcht w t Niclas Baggnall knight to whoÌ„ faire babes she bore O Nuerie thou wast once of this sweete sainct the shrine And now the soile of sighes and sobbs and wofull weepyng eyne For thou hast lately loste by lothsome Deaths disgrace The Lanterne gaie and louyng Lampe that beautified that place Harke worlde how Fame reports and Ecco doeth resounde The hidden heaps of heauenly gifts that did in her abounde A happie houswife knowne the ioye of housbands breast A wise and worthie warrant bothe to chere eche honest geast And as she did present dame Beautie throughly still So nothyng might compare to reache beyond her franke good will To poore a present helpe to ritche her house was free A foe to none her nature sutche she honoured eche degree Belou'd of greate and small as one were blest from bitthe No hurder vp of heauie baggs the drousie drosse of yearth But made her treasure house in clouds and heauens hye Where soulls doe hugg and sprits of men in Abrams brest doeth lye Yea all on yearth she did was doen to that intent And sure no soner lefte she life but thether straight she went So now I leaue her there escapt from worldly blaste Whiles of her fame all Irelande ryngs and shall whites world doth laste Finis ¶ An Epitaphe of one maistres Blunt The Ladie Pauletts sister YOU worthie wiues that vertue seeks and blotlesse liues doe lead With bitter tears be dewe your cheeks when you these verses read And looke you mourne as matrons doe whose modest maners maie By outward woe and heauie lookes their hidden harms be wraie Blacke gounes blasyng torches bigg doeth bryng her to the graue To whom the Gods when she had life greate gifts of glorie gaue Her housbande houlls and wryngs his hands as after corse he goes And neibours loue bursts out in sighes worlde suche sorowe shoes As cropp and roote of woman kinde were loste and laied full loe A gracious life is geste and known when hence the ghost doeth goe Then Blount bedeckt with blessed brute passe on to heauens hie And leaue thy freends and children all behinde to waile and crie The losse of sutche a Iewell rare more ritche then pearle or gold More meete to dwell in breast of man then lodge in ashes cold Unfitt for worme O wifely dame the worlde hath seldome bredd A wife of sutche a worthie fame and suche a noble hedde As meeke as Lambe of looks or woords of councell ripe and sounde Of harte moste milde where humble thoughts bountie did abound A Nourse of Nurture eurie waie to child and houshold bothe A Mirrour to the simple sort and fountaine full of trothe The housbandes ioye the freends delite the neighbours comfort too A willyng minde and readie hande when she good turne might doo That feels she now where angells syng and good mens souls do rest And where we cease from worldly toile I meane in Abrams brest Where loe I leaue her till we meete full faste our date drawes on And we the self same stepps must tread that she before hath gon Finis ¶ Maister VValter Archer his Epitaphe an auncient Borgis of Kilkenie IN beaten Brasse or grauen Gold a good mans Fame should shine Or written faire with lukewarme blood I wishe were eurie line Of mans renowne for sure to base is ynke and paper here Or all our arte and skill of penne to paint their praises clere That well deseru'd whose worthie liues did showe there was small odds Betwene the doyngs of the iuste and maner of the godds Greate is the grace of them that gaze on high with staied looke And â—ars not so their honest names be written in the booke Of life good Lorde yea threfolde blest are those that liues vpright And holds their heads to heauen gates with deepe and secret sight Then preace in place good Archer now thy blotlesse life is sutche No verse hath grace nor stile maie reche to giue thee laude to mutche Thy couÌ„trie rings of thy great praise thy waies were found so wise That from the graue vnto the clouds thy ripe renowne doeth rise Moste cleane and vpright thoughts did dwell amid thy manly minde Of tried trothe thy soile throughout did all thy doyngs finde Bothe Solon and Lycurgus lawes thy Ciuill maner shoes Eche worde of thine a sentence was like stood that freashly floes A welle of witte sprong from thy hedde a tong of temprance right
and talke together still When distance of the tyme and place denies them of their will When furthest of thei seeme thei ioyne in ioye and blis And eurie smart that absence breeds a present pleasure is The fraude and finesse now and tickle trothe in man Maks faithe and freendship thrise as sweete as when it first began In these dessemblyng daies who findes a freende I trowe Hath founde a seconde Phenix sure and needes no further goe Shrine vp that sainct in golde locke vp that Iewell riche Ye cannot in no measures meane of freendship make too mitche FINIS A warnyng from Courte LOoke not for deedes when wordes driu's of the tyme Thei reape but weedes that sowes on barraine grounde Trust not to age when youth is paste his prime Showe not plaine face where finenesse doeth abounde Hope not for grace where Flattrie faunes like whelpe But haunt the place where hope hath readie helpe Spende little wealthe where witte and tyme is loste Creepe from colde Court where freendshipps fire goes out Matche not with Pride nor leane to painted poste Seeke rather Death then liue in daiely doubt Where Enuie liu's and Loue is tournde to luste Good minds doe dye and worlde is not to truste The Sirens song deceiu's the simple eare The hissyng Snake giu's warnyng eare he styng Greate pitts are hid in water smothe and feare The hollowe bell doeth make the sweetest ryng Thus daunger dwells where least the doubt appeers And pleasant feelds doe yeeld moste scratchyng Breers The plainest folke are in the roughest soile The subtlest hedds to golden hâ—ules repaire Who shuns gaie showes shall scape from Fortunes foile Foule weather hangs in Cloudie smilyng aire I can no more but bidde the wise beware Of gallant Court that weares vaine glorie bare FINIS Of a Courtiers life and how the worst sorte findes beste Furtune THis parshall worlde prefarres the fained face And beates hym backe that beares the blotlesse browe As one might saie thei stande in Fortunes grace That worst deseru's and best can flatter now He reaps no Corne that helps to holde the Plowe His gaine is small that labours till he grones He bears the loade that hath the weakest bones The wiely hedde hath witte to watche his howres Like Foxe and Wolfe that seru's them selu's you see The idell hands that neuer planted flowres Takes Honie sweete from sillie labryng Bee Though Fauken faire for Ducke or Partrige flee He feedes on Beefe or other baser meate Thus are thei seru'd that oft doe toile and sweate Some rouns full swift yet still the wager loes Men haue sutche sleight to tripp their fellowes doune We knowe not how the wheele of Fortune goes Nor wherein rests our wealth or right renowne The tromp of Fame giu's sutche vncertaine sowne That badd are good and good haue but badd lucke In happie thyngs or gaine of worldly mucke Next walkyng Iaads and whipyng horses heeles Is Soldiours craft and waityng Courtiers trade The one in feeld bothe cold and honger feeles The other here at home a drudge is made Well all is one to sitt in Sonne or shade If happ giue all no matter who doeth sowe He reaps moste Corne whose Sieth shall furthest goe FINIS Of woordes spoken by a greate personage I Liue that dieth eurie howre my glasse is nere hande roime I fall awaie as doeth a flowre that withers in the Sonne O death dispatche my dolefull daies defar no tyme here in Good Lachis make thou no delaies my fatal threde to spin Thou Clarke I saie that for thy fee doeth ryng the carefull knell Now let me haue some helpe of thee to tolle my passyng bell If by the waie I maie prouoke to shorten now my life This hande of myne shall strike the stroke y t sone shall stint my strife I muse why God did me create and breathd life in my breste And brought me vp to this estate that nere enioyed no reste Why was I fed with milke so oft and pampred vp so long Why was I rockt and laied so softe and lullde with many a song Why was not I vntymely borne when Nature had me wrought That liueth thus as man forlorne and still consumes with thought The Midwife might haue cas'd all this if strangled had I bin Then had my soule been saffe in blis that now lyes dround in sin But looke what God assignde is doen what should I reason more O Lorde my God what hast thou won in plagyng me so sore What honour canst thou haue by me what glorie canst thou haue What seruice can I doe to thee that wisheth thus my graue And in this plite to dye thou knowest so farre from quiet frame Before I should yeeld vp the ghost I might blaspheme thy name The worlde disdains to see my wealth the heauens on me froune The yearth and aire denies me health and Fortune keeps me doune The daie I driue awaie with care the might I waile and weepe The sighes sobs that comes vnware doeth wake me in my slepe The foode that should my life sustaine I finde therein small taste My blood dries vp in eurie vaine loe how I weare and waste Thus eurie thing doeth change his kinde to worke my woe you see And nothyng seru's me to my minde I fall in sutche degree Would God my graue were ready found my shroudyng shete al And dreadfull Death were surely bounde to come when I doe call Finis ¶ A description of Desire LEd by Desire a thrall where fréedome lyes Helde backe by witte when fancie forward hales My greedie will begiles my gasyng eyes Calde home from craft yet caught in cunnyng stales Drawne from my self and made to others call If daunger come Desire is cause of all Prepard for flight my wings are faste in Lyme I swimme in hope and sincke with deepe consaite Deceiu'd by happ yet learnd by losse of tyme To knowe the hooke and yet must misse the baite But bound and ledde a long by swéete Desire I scorche or burne before I féele the fire Desire lackes sight yet leades the sences blinde And wilfull Will waites hard at Daungers héeles Good spéede full leane comes laggyng farre behinde Close harte saies nought that all the sorrowe féeles So thus the man to Death like captiue goes Ledde by Desire that knowes not freends from foes Our life declares Desire can take no reste In soundest sléepes it keepes the minde awake It is a sprite that closely créepes in breste A priuie thought that Warres and Peace doeth make And whom it leads it either throwes hym doune Or liftes hym vp by happ to greate renowne The Soldiour builds his hope on greate Desire The Marchant getts his gaine and wealth thereby The trauelyng wight it paies with noble 〈◊〉 It heales the harte that in Dispaire doeth lye And though some sparks of vice flee from that flame A good Desire maintaines a vertuous name Then blushe I not to yeelde where force doeth faile Desire doeth daunt the strong
shall goe to wall FINIS ¶ Of Youth and Age. FUll dearely haue I bought the yeres that youth hath spent The longer life the more vnrest and still the lesse content To see that I haue seen and bee a child againe I would not wishe this worlde to winne to liue and passe sutche paine To skipp from age to youth who had sutche scope and choice Perchaunce he would be yong to chuse and in the same reioyce For children carelesse liue and fears not Fortunes fall When men doe dread eche posse of winde yea though the storme bee small But sure a wearie race these children haue to ronne And many sorrowes shall thei taste before their course be done As in my self the proofe who can not count his care Nor learne the rest that after comes how thei shall shon the snare The wilfull will not learne thei saie that knowes the arte Till his own rod hath made hym smart youth hath plaied his part The tales of trauled men are helde for fained lyes Untill the straungnesse of their toile bee seen before our eyes Then tâ—â—e that liste to tread the trace of youths desire And thei that feeles the flames to hott I knowe will feare the fire I wishe them well to speede that will sutche fancies cheape And God theÌ„ grant when age doeth come some better corne to reape Then I whose youth consumes with wearie wanton waies That hath but labour for my fruite and dumpishe dolefull daies Loe these are all the ioyes that from our birthe we haue The worlde to tosse the tyme to spende the yearth to be our graue FINIS ¶ Of the short estate of man MY restlesse life hath reapt that woe hath sowne The daies tormoile brings home but bitter smarte I liue with wolues in sauage woodds vnknowne Where Tigers whelpes do feede on harmles hart O cage of care wherein no birde can syng But dolefuâ—l tunes that maie no Musicke showe And though eche man knowes well where greef doeth wryng Yet can no life discharge it self of woe Then Hell is here finde Heauen where you can In banisht blisse our bodies wander still And out of breathe ronnes wretched sprite of man Beguilde by hope and gaddyng greedy will Thus life is death and death is moste desir'd Where labryng mynde with wearie life is tir'd FINIS The praise of mistres Mabell Browne wherein vertue is honoured IF I were Iudge or had the choyce Of collours faire to chuse the beste Unto the Browne I giue my voyce As pearle of price aboue the reste If men doe aske the cause and why I praise the Browne before the White I saie what thyng contents the eye The harte therein hath his delite The Browne or Blacke doe seldome chaunge Thei still present a sober grace The White and Redde are light and straunge Whose collours fade and fall a pace The Browne is kept from blott and staine When White will soile by diuers waies The Skarlet beares no better graine Then doeth the Browne that I doe praise The whitest marke is ofte desierd The fairest flowre rests nere vnsmeld The Browne is of fewe requierd The darkest dye is worne but seld By whiche I proue the thyng moste vsde Through many hands maie be infecte Wherefore I maie be well escuesde To praise the Browne without suspecte Although the Lillie be full faire The sent and taste is not so pure The pleasant clouds within the aire Doe often hide a stormie showre What Apple hath so sweete a taste As hath the Pippin Blacke and Browne Wherefore this collour I haue plaste Of worthie same to weare the croune FINIS Of wandryng and gaddyng abroad DRawe home betyme ere Youth take leaue and Age vpon thee growes And doe not thou thy self deceiue with hope of worldly showes Whose poÌ„pe doeth nought but please thine eyes with that thou canst not haue And carries the like cloude in Skyes to that should be thy slaue What seest thou foole in princely hauls that maie a poore man eas Whose state is toste with tennis balls and turns with winde seas He courts some while that cart doeth driue ere many yeres run out And thei that moste for Fortune striue doe liue in furthest dout A thriftlesse sonne enioyes their store and therewith serues his lust When those are gone that sweate therefore and troden in the dust What profite bryngs thy wearie bones of vncouth sights abrode It wears but feete vpon the stones and doeth the conscience lode Ten thousande yeres heape vp in hedde and all therein hath paste And marke eche thing is doen and sedd and waie the same at last And thou shalt see it breaks but braine and breeds but greef in brest Thus trauaill néeds must lose his paine when home must be thy rest The harte desires the eye doeth craue a sight of all thyngs don When proofe thereof a man shall haue what hath our trauaill won A triumphe but a pagent seems when paste is all the sho All other thyngs that man estemes man lothes at length also Wherefore thou pilgrime too and fro take vp thy trusse in haste For tyme al things here I knowe with thee will weare and waste FINIS ¶ Of faire thynges and soule where in a vertuous Ladie is sette out AS God bestowde his grace on thee through heauenly skill By comely shape and forme of face and worldly wealthe at â—â—ll So people doe suppose that beares an vpright minde Amid thy noble inward breast dame Uertues giftes are shrinde For God makes nothyng lame his woorks so perfite bee That hidden graces aunswers oft the outward shape we see The ritche and precious pearle that shines to sight ye knowe Haue many vertues in the same besides the outward showe The goodly glittryng gold hath Nature to restore Some peece of health y t sicknesse brought by greef consumde before The flowre whose beautie faire delites the eye full well Is freend by kinde to medsons swéete and sharps our sence by smell The ground that smothly lookes bears fruits and herbs enowe And yeelds the Idle Landlorde rent and feeds the houshold throwe Thus from faire things I proue some goodnesse men maie reape And where that beautie budds bloums doeth bountie hord heape Els all this goodly worlde is but like painted poste Or as a picture dombe and dedde that hath ne sprite nor ghost If Phebus wanted heate and did no grace retaine For all his beames and glorie greate he should but shine in vaine I doubt not but the Gods hath furnisht you so well That life and good renowme can showe where vertue ought to dwel My penne but mou's your minde of that ye like to here A iewell that the Gods embrace and worlde doeth holde full dere 〈…〉 that long shall laste whose light shall nere goe out But burne blase as bright as torche whiles breath ye beare about If people did but note what doeth by vertue ryes The meanest wight w t wings of fame would seke to mount y e skies Or followe them whose stepps doeth eche good gift aduaunce Thei know full well what measure means that leads dame vertues daunce I leaue you to the rounde holde on the trace a while And as the bell beginns to sound at Churchyards verses smile Finis Of an enemie NO simple mynde maie thriue a daie The suttell Snakes séeks out suche sleight Then looke thou arme thy self I saie With face of Brasse the féelde to feight And neuer yeeld the race to ronne Till courage hath the conquest wonne Suspecte the worste and woorke the beste And sharpe thy witts to shéeld the harme And seeke the Serpents in their neste Although in hols the Adders swarme When craft is curbde with cunnyng skill A simple minde shall haue his will Finis ¶ VVritten in the beginnyng of Kyng Edwardes raigne whiche verses are called Dauie Dicars Dreame WHen faithe in freendes beare fruite and foolishe fancies fade And craftie catchers come to nought and hate greate loue hath made When fraude flieth farre from toune and loitrers leaue the feelde And rude shall runne a rightfull race and all men be well wilde When gropers after gaine shall carpe for common wealthe And wilie woorkers shall disdaine to figge and liue by stealthe When wisedome walkes a loft and follie sitts full lowe And vertue vanquishe pampred vice and grace beginns to growe When Iustice ioynes to truthe and Lawe lookes not to meede And bribes helpe not to builde faire bowrs nor giftes greate glottoÌ„s feede When honger hides his hedde and plentie please the poore And niggards to the needie men shall neuer shut their doore When double darke deceipt is out of credite worne And faunyng speeche is falshed founde and craft is laught to scorne When Pride whiche pickes the purse gapes not for garments gaie Nor Iauels weare no veluet wedes nor waÌ„dring witts beare swaie When ritches wrongs no right nor power poore put backe Nor couetous creepes not into Court nor learned liuyng lacke When slipper sleights are seen and farre fetches be founde And priuate profite and self loue shall bothe be put in pounde When debt no Sergeant dreeds and Courtiers credite keepe And might mells not w t Merchandise nor lordes shall sell no sheepe When lucre lasts not long and hourd greate heaps doeth hate And euery wight is well content to walke in his estate When truthe doeth tread the streats and liers lurke in den And Rex doeth raigne and rule the rost and weeds out wicked men Then balefull barnes be blithe that here in Englande wone Your strife shall stint I vndertake your dreadfull daies are done FINIS Here endeth the booke called Churchyardes Chance and beginneth an other booke named his Charge and so in one volume shall followe his Choice his Chippes and all the rest of his bookes that here tofore hath bin sette out and written by Churchyarde sauyng a booke of Meta incognita and some other small volumes whiche can not be bound in quarto yet hereafter by Gods grace shalbe sette out in a large volume Where twoo thousande wonders shalbe treated of with a rehearsall of warres and seruices dooen in this our present age whiche booke shalbe called Churchyardes Chalenge dedicated to the noble Earle of Oxforde All whiche woorkes God willyng shall come forthe with as mutche speede as possible can be made requiryng the readers thereof in consideration of the Aucthours greate studie and paines to yeeld hym sutche good reporte as his good will deserueth Finis