freely now all sortes of Men forgiue Their wrongs to me and wish them to amend And as good men in charitie should liue I craue my faults may no mans minde offend Lo heer is all I haue for to bequest And this is all I of the world request Now farwell Wife my Sonne Freends farwel Farwell O world the baight of all abuse Death where is thy stiÌ„g O Deuil where is thy hel I little forse the forâ—…es you can vse Yea to your teeth I doo you both defye Vt essem Christo cupio dissolui In this good mood an end woorthy the showe Bereft of speech his hands to God he heau'd And sweetly thus good Gaskaigne went a Dio Yea with such ease as no man there preceiu'd By strugling signe or striuing for his breth That he abode the paines and pangs of Death Exhortatio His Sean is playd you folowe on the act Life is but death til flesh and blood be stain God graunt his woords within your harts be pact As good men doo holde earthly pleasures bain The good for ther needs Vtuntur mundo And vse good deeds Vt fruantur Deâ—… Contemne the chaunge vse nay abuse not God Through holy showes this worldly muck to scratch To deale with men Saints is very od Hypocrisie a man may ouer catch But Hypocrite thy hart the Lord dooth see Who by thy thoughts not thy words wil iudge thee Thou iesting foole which mak'st at sin a face Beware that God in earnest plague thee not For where as he is coldest in his grace â—…uen there he is in vengeance very hot Tempt not to far the lathest man to fight When he is forste the lustiest blowes dooth smight You Courtiers check not MerchaÌ„ts for their gain 〈◊〉 by your losse doo match with them in blame The Lawyers life you Merchants doo not staine The blinde for slouth may hardly check the lame I meane that you in Ballance of deceit Wil Lawyers payze I feare with ouer waight You Lawyers now who earthly Iudges are you shal be iudg'd and therfore iudge aright you count Ignorantia Iuris no bar Then ignorance your sinnes wil not acquite Read read Gods law with which yours should agre That you may iudge as you would iudged bee You Prelats now whose woords are perfect good Make showe in woorks â–ª that you your woords insue A Diamond holdes his vertue set in wood but yet in Golde it hath a fresher â—…ue Euen so Gods woord tolde by the Deuil is pure Preacht yet by Saints it doth more heed procure And Reader now what office to thou haue to whose behoofe this breef discourse is tolde Prepare thy self eche houre for the graue the market eats aswel yong sheep as olde Euen so the Childe who feares the smarting rod The Father oft dooth lead the way to God. And bothe in time this worldly life shall leaue thus sure thou art but know'st not when to dye Then good thou liue least death doo the deceiue as through good life thou maist his force defye For trust me man no better match can make Then leaue vnsure for certain things to take Viuit post funera Virtus An Epitaph written by G. W. of the death of M. G. Gaskoygne For Gaskoygnes death leaue of to mone or morne You are deceiued aliue the man is stil A liue O yea and laugheth death to scorne In that that he his fleshly lyfe did kil For by such death tvvo liues he gaines for one His Soule in heauen dooth liue in endles ioye His vvorthy vvoorks such fame in earth haue sovvne As sack nor vvrack his name can there destroy But you vvill say by death he only gaines And hovv his life vvould many stand in stead O dain not Freend to counterchaunge his paynes If novv in heauen he haue his earned meade For once in earth his toyle vvas passing great And vve deuourd the svveet of all his svveat FINIS Nemo ante obitum beatus He was Sir Iohn G. sonne Heire Disinherited He serued in HollaÌ„d Prisoneâ—… in Hol. He had the Latin Italian French Dutch laÌ„guages His bookes publ Poyseâ—… Glasse of gouer meâ—… 〈◊〉 â—…asse Diet for drunkers Drum of dooÌ„sday Hunting He hath books to publish Enuy. Spight Suspect Care. No PhisicioÌ„ could find out his greefe The effect of his wil. Good meÌ„ â—…ocrites Careles â—…uers Courtiers Merchaâ—… Lawyeâ—… Prelats Readers ingenerall
lack for who can brook to see a painted crowe Singing a loft wheÌ„ Turtles mourn belowe What man can yeld to â—…arue among his books and see pied Doultes vppon a booty feed What honest minde can liue by fau'ring looks and see the lewd to rech a freendly deed What hart can bide in bloody warres to toile when carpet swads deuour that Soldiers spoile I am the wretch whom Fortune â—…irted soe These men were brib'd ere I had breth to speak Muse then no whit with this huge ouerthrowe though crusshig care my giltles hart doth break But you wil say that in delight doo dwell my outward showe no inward greef did tel I graunt it true but hark vnto the rest The SwaÌ„ in songs dooth knolle her passing beâ—… The Nightingale with thornes against her brest wheÌ„ she might mourn her sweetest layes doth yel The valiant man so playes a pleasant parte When mothes of mone doo gnaw vppoÌ„ his hart For proofe my self with care not so a feard But as hurt Deere waile though their wouÌ„ds alone When stoutly they doo stand amoÌ„g that heard So I that saw but few hark to my mone made choise to tel deaf walles my wretched plaint in sight of men who nothing seemd to faint But as oft vse dooth weare an iron cote as missing drops hard flints in time doth pearse By peece meales care so wrought me vnder foot but more then straunge is that I now rehearse Three months I liued and did digest no food when none by arte my sicknes vnderstood What helpeth then to dâ—…ath I needs must pine yet as the horse the vse of â—…arre which knowes If he be hurt will neither winch nor whine but til he dye poste with his Rider goes EueÌ„ so my hart whilst luÌ„gs may lend me breth Bares vp my limmes who liuingâ—… go like death But what auailes Achilles hart to haue King Cressus welth the sway of all the world The Prince the Peere so to the wretched slaue wheÌ„ death assaults froÌ„ earthly holdes are whorld Yea oft he strikes ere one can stir his eye Then good you liue as you would dayly dye You see the plight I wretched now am in I looke much like a threshed eare of torne I holde a forme within a wrimpled skin but from my bones the fat and flesh is worne See see the man late plesures Miniou â—…inde to the bones with care wretched mone See gallants see a picture worth the sight as you are now my self was heertofore My body late stute ful of manly might As bare as Iob is brought to Death his doore My hand of late which tought to win me fame Stif clung with colde wants forse to write my naÌ„e My legges which bare my body ful of flesh Vnable are â–ª to stay my bones vpright My tuÌ„g God wot which talkt as one would wish In broken woords can scarce my minde recite My head late stuft with wit and learned skill may now conceiue but not conuay my wil. What say you freends this sudain chaunge to see You rue my greef you doo like flesh and blood But mone your sinnes and neuer morne for me And to be plain I would you vnderstood My hatt dooth swim in seas of more delight Then your who seems to rue my wretched plight What is this world a net to snare the soule A mas of sinne a desart of decert A moments ioy an age of wretched dole A lure from grace for flesh a toothsome baight Vnto the minde a cankerworm of care Vnsure vniust in rendring man his share A place where pride oreruns the honest minde Wheer richmen ioynes to rob the shiftles wretch where bribing mists the iudges eyes doo blinde Where Parasites the fattest crummes doo catch where good deserts which chalenge like reward Are ouer blowen with blasts of light regard And what is man Dust Slime a puf of winde Conceiuâ—…d in sin plaste in the woorld with greef Brought vp with care til care hath caught his minde And then til death vouchsafe him some releef Day yea nor night his care dooth take an end To gather goods for other men to spend O foolish man that art in office plaste Think whence thou cam'st whether thou shalt goe The huge hie Okes small windes haue ouer cast when slender reeds in roughest wethers growe Euen so pale death oft spares the wretched wight And woundeth you who wallow in delight You lusty youths that nurish high desire Abase your plumes which makes you look so big The Colliers cut the Courtiars Steed wil tire Euen so the Clark the Parsones graue dooth dig Whose hap is yet heer longer life to win Dooth heap God wot but sorowe vnto sinne And to be short all sortes of men take heede the thunder boltes the loftye Towers teare The lightning flash consumes the house of reed yâ—…a more in time all earthly things will weare Saue only man who as his earthly liuing is Shall liue in wo orels in endles blis More would I say if life could lend me space but all in vain death waites of no mans will The tired Iade dooth trip at euery pace when paÌ„pered horse will praunce against the hil So helthfull men at long discourses sporte When few woords the sick would fain reporte The best is this my will is quickly made my welth is small the more my conscience ease This short accompt which makes me ill apaid my louing wife and sonne will hardly please But in this case to please them as I may These folowiÌ„g woords my testameÌ„t do wray My soule I first bequeath Almighty God and though my sinnes are greuous in his sight I firmly trust to scape his firy rod when as my faith his deer Sonne shall recite Whose precious blood to queÌ„ch his Fathers ire Is sole the cause that saues me from hel fire My Body now which once I decked braue from whence it cam vnto the earth I giue I wish no pomp the same for to ingraue once buried corn dooth rot before it liue And flesh and blood in this self sorte is tryed Thus buriall cost is with out proffit pride I humbly giue my gratious soueraign Queene by seruice bound my true and loyall hart And trueth to say 〈◊〉 â—…ight but rarely scene as Iron greues from th' adamant to parte Her highnes so hath â—…eachâ—… the Grace alone To gain all harts yet giues her hart to none My louing wife whose face I fain would see my loue I giue with all the welth I haue But sence my goods God knoweth but sleÌ„der bee most gratious Queene for Christ his sake I craue not for any seruice that I haue doon you will vouchsafe to aid her and my Sonne Come come deer Sonne my blessing take in parte and therwithall I giue thee this in charge First serue thou God then vse bothe wit and arte thy Fathers det of seruice to discharge which forste by death her Maiestie he owes beyond desarts who still rewardes bestowes I
A REMEMBRAVNCE of the wel imployed life godly end of George Gaskoigne Esquire who deceassed at Stalmford in Lincolne Shire the 7. of October 1577. The reporte of Geor. Whetstons Gent. an eye witnes of his Godly and charitable end in this world Forma nulla Fides IMPRINTED AT LONdon for Edward Aggas dwelling in Paules Churchyard and are there to be solde The wel imployed life and godly end of G. Gascoigne Esquire ANd is there none wil help to tel my tales who ah in helth a thousād plaints haue shōe feeles all mē ioy cā no mā skil of bale o yes I see a comfort in my mone Help me good George my life and death to touch some man for thee may one day doo asmuch Thou seest my death and long my life didst knowe my life nay death to liue I now begin But some wil say Durus est hic sermo T is hard indeed for such as feed on sin Yet trust me frēds though flesh doth hardly bow I am resolu'd I neuer liu'd til now And on what cause in order shalt ensue My worldly life is first must play his parte Whose tale attend for once the same is true Yea VVhetston thou hast knowen my hidden hart And therfore I coniure thee to defend when I am dead my life and godly end First of my life which some amis did knowe I leue mine armes my acts shall blase the same Yet on a thorne a Grape wil neuen growe no more a Churle dooth breed a childe of fame but for my birth my birth right was not great my father did his forward sonne defeat This froward deed could scarce my hart dismay Vertue quod I wil see I shall not lacke And wel I wot Domini est terra Besides my wit can guide me from a wrack Thus finding cause to foster hye desire I clapt on cost a help for to aspire But foolish man dect in my Pecocks plumes my wanton wil commaunded strait my wit Yea brainsick I was drunk with fancies fumes But Nemo sine crimine viuit For he that findes himself from vices free I giue him leue to throwe a stone at me It helps my praise that I my fault recite The lost sheep found the feast was made for ioy Euil sets out good as far as black dooth white The pure delight is drayned from anoy But that in cheef ▪ which writers should respect trueth is the garde that keepeth men vnchect And for a trueth begilde with self conceit I thought that men would throwe rewards on me But as a fish seld bites with out a baight So none vnforst mens needs wil hear or see and begging sutes frō dūghil thoughts proceed the mounting minde had rather sterue in need Wel leaue I hear of thriftles wil to write wit found my rents agreed not with my charge ◅he sweet of war sung by the carpet knight I◅ poste haste then shipt me in Ventures Barge These lusty lims Saunce vse quod I wil rust That pitie were for I to them must trust Wel plaste at length among the drunken Dutch though rumours lewd impayred my desert I boldely vaunt the blast of Fame is such As prooues I had a froward sowrs hart My slender gaine a further witnes is For woorthiest men the spoiles of war do mis. Euen there the man that went to fight for pence Cacht by sly hap in prison vile was popt Yea had not woordes fought for my liues defence For all my hands my breth had the◅e been stopt But I in fine did so perswade my foe as scot free I was homewards set to goe Thus wore I time the welthier not a whit Yet awckward chāce lackt force to beard my hope In peace quod I I le trust vnto my wit the windowes of my muse then str◅ight I ope And first I showe the trauail of such time as I in youth imployd in loouing rime Some straight way said th◅ir tungs with enuy fret those wanton layes inductions ◅ers to vice Such did me wrong for quod nocet docet our neyghbours harms are Items to the wise And sure these toyes d◅ showe for your behoof The woes of looue and not the wayes to loue And that the worlde might read them as I ment I left this vaine to path the vertuous waies The lewd I checkt in Glas of gouerment And laboring stil by paines to purchace praise I wrought a Glasse wherin eche man may see Within his minde what canckred vices be The druncken soule transformed to a beast my diet helps a man again to make ▪ But that which should be praisd abooue the rest My Doomes day Drum frō sin dooth you awake For honest sport which dooth refresh the wit I haue for you a book of hunting writ These few books are dayly in your eyes Parhaps of woorth my fame aliue to keep Yet other woorks I think of more em◅e Coucht close as yet within my cofers sleep yea til I ◅y none shall the ◅ame reuele So men wil say that Gas◅ign wrote of Zeale O En◅y ◅ile foule fall thee wretched sot Thou mortall foe vnto the forward minde I curse thee wretch the onely cause godwot That my good wil no more account did finde And not content thy self to doo me scar Thou ni◅st my hart with Spight Suspect Care. And fiest of Spight foule Enuies poysoned pye To Midas eares this As hath Lyntius eyes With painted she wes he heaues him self on hie Ful oft this Dolte in learned authors pries But as the Drone the hony hiue dooth rob with woorthy books so deales this idle lob He filcheth tearms to paint a pratling tung whē God he knowes he knows not what he saies And lest the wise should ◅nde his wit but yung He woorks all means their woorks for to dispraise To smooth his speech that beast this patch doth crop He showes the bad the writers mouthes to stop Ye woorse then this he dealeth in offence Ten good turnes he with silence striketh dead A slender fault ten times beyond pretence This wretched Spight in euery place dooth spread And with his breth the Viper dooth infect The hearers heads and harts with false suspect Now of Suspect the propertie to showe He hides his dought yet stil mistrusteth more The man suspect is so debard to knowe The cause and cure of this his ranckling sore And so in vain hee good account dooth seek Who by this Feende is brought into mislike Now hear my tale or cause which kild my hart These priuy foes to tread me vnder foot My true int◅nt with forged faults did thwart so that I found for me it was no boot to woork as Bees from weeds with hony dranes when Spiders turnd my flowers vnto banes Whē my plain woords by fooles misconst◅ed were by whose fond tales-reward hild his hands back To quite my woorth a cause to settle care within my brest who wel deseru◅d did