séemed so straunge and so greatly amazed him that he stoode in doubt a great while whether he saw her in deede or else dreamed that he saw her but when he came to himselfe againe and knew for certaine that it was she he said vnto her Alas my deare art thou yet aliue it is long since that I hard report that thou was lost neither could it be knowen whether thou weÌ„test or what was become of thée This said weping bitterly he imbraced and kissed her a thousand times together Then did Constance tell him of all her aduentures and how courteously the good Lady had delt with her from time to time after which and diuers other talke that they had together he departed from thence and going to the King his Maister aduertised him of all that had happened to him and his frend Constance crauing leaue of him to marry her according to his countrie maner The King greatly marueling at the matter sent for Constance who confirming all that Martuccio had reported he said vnto her Now truly faire vigin thou art worthy to haue him to thy husbande for whom thou hast taken such paines and passed so many perils wherefore bestowing many large gifts vpon them he gaue them leaue to do whatsoeuer they thought good Then Martuccio very liberally rewarding the Lady for the great beneuolence that she had vsed towardes Constance in her aduersity with the Kings licence tooke leaue of all his frends in that country with Constance and Chereprise tooke shippe and returned very rich to Lippare where they were so chearefully receaued of all their frendes who neuer thought to haue seene them againe that it is not possible to declare the excéeding ioy that this seconde méeting did bring to euery one of them To conclude Martuccio and Constance to their great comfort and contentment beinge solemnelye married euer after duringe the tearme of their life enioyed their loue together as they ought without any impediment or let to their deserued pleasure The complaint of one in misery THe day séemes long to them that dwel in dole and short the time to such as liue in ioy The sickmans griefe ful litle knowes the hole so much delight doth differ from annoy That th one doth cause in man desire to die thother stil to liue continually What man would wish to liue that liues in woe and in delight who would desire to die Since that by death an end of grief doth grow and death of ioyes depriues vs vtterly Of worldly ioyes for only so I meane of which we see death doth depriue vs cleane Wherby not all olde prouerbes true I finde for old said sawes do say that life is swéete But death is more desierd of noble minde then life to leade for liuing farre vnmeete Which loathed life doth make me thus to crie I liue too long come death and let me die A Louer fancied but not fauoured of Fortune MY mourning minde doth craue some sweet delite and fancie fame would lend me some I see But fortune frownes and sendes me foule despite and care doth kepe all comfort quite from me Such passions strange doe stil perplex my mind as I despaire of any ease to find But let me sée I must not yet despaire Dame fortunes wheele may happen â—ourne againe When stormes are past the weather may be faire and pleasure comes vnlookt for after paine Things at the worst the prouerbe saith will mend why should not then my sorrowes haue an end But old said Sawes are not yet scripture all for thinges at worst are past all mendinge quite To pininge hartes all pleasure semeth small what mirthe can doo the pyâ—ing harte delight When fates do frowne and fortune is our foe â—ought can be thought to rid the mynd of woe The nature of the Larke described THe little Larke that in the ground is hatcht and there bredde vp till fethers make her flye No sooner she a flight or two hath catcht but vp she mountes vnto the lofty skye Where if she sée Sonne shine and weather fayre how then for ioy she twittles in the ayre But if she sée the winde beginne to blow it poure downe raine and tempestes do arise Within a bush she kéepes her selfe full lowe where prety wretch close to the ground she lyes Vntill such time as all the stormes be past and then againe she geuâ—th her vp in hast Which plainely shewes the nature in the Larke is still to séeke to mount to loftie skie And though perhaps you now and then may marke a kistrell kite to make a flight so hye Yet all things waide if eache thinge haue his right a larke will far be likde aboue a kite The hawty mynde how it disposeth it selfe WHat hill so hye but litle emmets clyme what pretious perle but pore by trauel gaine What thinge so hard but is atchiud in tyme what pleasure such but may be got with payne What doubte so great but hope may men assure see more what heauen but prayer may procure The heauie Asse both kepe the valley still the clownishe coultes do loue the Country best When hawtie hartes do clime the highest hill and gallant mindes do séeke in courte to rest The cowarde dreades and in dispairs doth dye when boldest bloodes by hope do clime full hye Then let my harte goe clime the hyest hill and leaue the valley for the countrie Asse My mynd in courte shall séeke by trauell still to finde a pearle which farre all pearles doth passe My hope shall rest vpon a princely minde by helpe of God some heauenly grace to finde Loathing his life he wisheth for death WHat greater gréefe then tormentes of the hart which dayly grow by troubles of the minde And what such ioy as sodaine ease of smart which long time sought full hard hath bene to finde What heauen on earth with lucky loue to dwell then luckâ—les loue againe what greater hell But how fares he that féeleth no delight what world is that where nothing is but woe What woe to that which worketh such despight as makes a man no kinde of comfort knowe What life leades he that dayly cries to die far worse then death loe such a life lead I Then let me thus conclude my tale in briefe I am the man that only may lament A lothsome life that finde no ease of griefe nor hopes for help vntil my dayes be spent And sadly so I end my solemne song Come come good death I dying liue too long Hanging betweene hope and despaire he calleth for helpe TWixt chearefull hope and comfortles despaire straungely perplext ful sore amasde I stand Hope seemes to shew the weather wil be faire and darke despaire sayes tempestes are at hand Venture says hope despaire doth bid me slack hope prickes me on despaire doth pull me back Haue wel says hope despaire doth bid me doubt trust me says hope despaire says hope is vaine Shrinke not says hope despaire cries not to stout labour says hope
Therefore I déeme as I at first begon I would be mery but my myrth is done The louer by froward happe inforced to forsake loue enforceth him selfe by trauell to seeke out the forte of fame THe world is chaungd my wits are woond about fancie is forced to leaue her fond desire From vaine delites dame Vertue driues me out and wisedom will what reason doth require My wanton wits are warnd by sacred I kill to flie the follies of 〈◊〉 will I now must leaue to write of louers toyes in Cupids Court I must no longer keepe Nor sporte my selfe in wanton pleasures layes nor longer lye in fancies lappe a sléepe I now must wake and set my selfe to schoole to sée how longe that I haue lyude a foole And I must nowe some tyme in trauell spend to seeke in tyme the gallant forte of fame That when alas my lothed lyfe doth end my workes may leaue remembraunce of my name And I may showe though longe I went astraye I founde at last dame vertues heauenly waye The louer forsaken craueth speedie death A Wretched case it is to sitte and cry where none are neare to helpe the harmed harte A greater gréefe where present aide is nye and yet by spyghte is onely kept a parte But yet most gréefe when helpe is hard at call and yet alas can do no good at all In such a case loe cursed wretche I stand my heauie harte full sore for comforte cryes Yet none can get yet some is hard at hande which in despighte accursed hap denyes And some I haue which woulde somwhat content but doth in deede my sorrowes more augment The secreat cause alas for shame I hide since folly first was worker of my woe By want of witte which wisdome hath discride and I do now by secreate sorrowe showe Therefore consumde come kill me death I crye in deede resolud and well content to dye A Comparison betwene thraldome and libertie THe little birde that close in kage is pente which ladies loue to sitte and whistle by Some say doth singe but layes of deepe lament and cheareles chirpes for losse of libertie Esteeming more her mates abrode in fielde then courtly toyes that chiefest pleasure yelde But contrarie oh happy birde thinke I so luckely to light in fowlers snare As to be brought to stand in pallas hye and eke in courte to féede on princely fare And shortly there in fauor so to stande as to be fed at fairest ladies hand Would God I were a birde in prison pent so I might still beholde my heauenly Quene If that I sing one note of deepe lament that day when I my Princes grace haue séene Wring of my necke or fling me out of dore as worthie then to kepe in court no more A warning to all estates The gallant mind when store of coyne is spent by rare exploytes must seeke to purchase praise Though honor fall to some by due descent good happe doth hit a thousand sundrie wayes Yet oftentimes in seeking high renowne the hautie hart hard Fortune flingeth downe The souldiour thinkes by sword to winne his wish when oft is séene the sword doth cut him short The sea man seekes in déepest floods to fish when drowning proues a cold vnpleasant sport The marchaunt meanes to winne the world by wares when oft his cost doth yéeld him nought but cares Now some againe build castels in the ayre which many times fall tumbling on their neckes And some will seeme to sit in stately chaire which are sometime set downe with deadly checkes In sâ—â—e I find the brauest mind oâ— all is highest set but haâ—d before a fall The miserie of loue BEwrapt in woe 〈…〉 with wretched will orecome with â—ares deepe drenched in distresse Pining in paine aliue but dying still crying for helpe but finding no redresse A life I lead the Lord of heauen doth know much worse then death to mourne in sorrow so But what auailes when fates and fortune froune when moone and starres are now become my foes When from delite despite doth keepe me downe and cares my corpes do round about inclose Abide I must as destinies ordaine thus like a wretch to 〈◊〉 away in paine Or loathed life that wretched thus I lead tenne times 〈◊〉 such cursed happe to know Or cruell 〈◊〉 coâ—e cut a two the thread that draweth forth my dayes in sorrow so Oh sorrow 〈◊〉 thy soking sighes dospill me all dole adew come you good death and kill me Or else good God who from aboue dost see the secret cause of all my cutting care And knowes and hast what thing will comfort me vouchsafe some drop of mercie me to spare That so my hart that long hath bid in griefe may praise thy name for tending my releefe In wanton youth my fancy thought a while there was no state nor life so sweete as loue But now I find how well did wit beguile and I the paine of such a pleasure proue I needes must say by true experience taught I find in deede the state of loue starke naught For first the wise loue makes become a foole the souldiour stout the rich not worth a grote The learned clarke it sets againe to schoole to learne an art wherewith to cut his throate It makes the man most free become a slaue and many times an honest man a knaue The Lord of loue Cupid him selfe is blind yet shootes by ame and oft vnhappely hits He hurts the hart and quite doth dimme the mind and with vile wayes doth ouerwhealme the wits What shall I say who knew so much as I would deeme of loue a wofull misery A meane is best WHen I sometime with griefe enough beheld the gallant troupe of brauenes in their kind Some swime in silke some siluer pearle and gold and I poore soule come meanely clad behind Good Lord I thinke what kind of world is this when some so thriue some fare so farre amisse But when againe I see some lusty lad whom I my selfe haue knowne in meane estate And in respect but silly simple swads and none to kepe so high and stately gate Well yet thinke I this wil not euer last the tides doe flow but ebbe againe as fast The prouerbe says that pride wil haue a fall who hath no lands nor yet no rents I sée When money melts and fethers gin to fall wil be ful glad to come and folow me Loe this is all the sodaine ioy I haue when richly clad I sée a rascall knaue An other FRom leathed bed my lustles limmes I lifte with heauy hart with sorow not with sléepe But sigh and sobbe I sée no other shift such careful thoughts my mind in thraldome kéepes No Musickes mirth nor any sweete delight may once reuiue my ouer dulled spright Yet can I sing and how but as the swan a doleful dumpe when death is hard at hand And so perhaps poore wretch I thinke I can sing such a note as none shal vnderstand Which song perhaps shall please but
haunt the field with more delight then euer he was wont Dame Procris she that markt it well beginneth now to muse and thinkes it but vnlawfull game her husband went to hūt See see the fruites of ielosie see on what ground they grow on no soyle els I warrante you but such as hat◠a staine Silde seekes the Sire his sonne in ouen but that he first did know himselfe ful ofte to haue beene there this case is too too plaine Vpon a sweete smile SWéete are the smiles in secreat I receaue and secreat sweete is swéetest swéete of all Would God swéete wench thou plainly didst perceaue how by thy smiles I liue deuoyd of thrall Then my sweete soule I know to my delight thou stil wouldst vse swéete smiling in my sight For if swéete hope yeald me such swéetnes still my fancie swéete for foode wil neuer sterue I can but yeald swéete thankes for swéete good will and sweetely séeke such sweetnes to deserue And could my wish once winne my sweete desire soone should I reape the swéete I would require Which sweete request is to thy sweete content by thy sweete will to worke my sweetest wish Which wish so sweete my sweete so sweetely ment is by sweete baite to catch so sweete a fish Which baite so sweete is loue I lay for thee and thou the fish I seeke to draw to me Which sweetely let thy fancy feede vpon and thou shalt finde so sweete a kinde of baight as by my hooke of hope I thinke anone to draw thee vp by lines of sweete delight And thus my sweete I swéetely angle still till my sweete loue hath caught thy sweete good will An inuectiue against loue WIth ue that see my loyall harte graunt my desire enioy his due desarte That all the world may wel be warnd by me to shun such mischieues as themselues may sée Let Poets fayne and tell what tales they list the troth is this loue growes in deede of lust First looke then prate and so forsooth they kist and then you know what further follow must Which to obtaine yet better be without how wittes must worke to bring this geare about Loue is in déede a naturall instinct which first doth grow but by view of the eye Which moues desire to passe beyond precinct and so doth bréede a secreate malady So loue is then a naturall disease and doth in déede to nature little ease The law of loue instruckes no more but this truely to serue the lady whome we loue To prooue each meane to please a misteris whome euery toy may to displeasure moue It is I finde a flatteringe kinde of arte which with deceit will fraught the truest hart And if it be as learned fathers finde it is a fire that doth consume the harte A welcome wounde vnto the wanton minde a pleasaunte poyson bréeding deadly smarte And if in loue be such a state to proue happie is he that neuer falles in loue And for my selfe I solemnly protest See see the fruites of ielosie see on what groun◠〈…〉 on no soyle els I warrante you but such as hath 〈…〉 Silde seekes the Sire his sonne in ouen but that he first did know himselfe ful ofte to haue beene there this case is too too plaine Which since I doe by true experience proue I hate the nature state and lawe of loue He craueth speedie loue or speedie death OH care leaue of to tire my restles minde come comforte come reuiue my dulled spright Flie fancie flie or els some fauoure finde cease sorrow cease loue lende me some delight Auaunte despaire oh helpe me hope in haste happe helpe my hope least life no longer last Drawe neare delight cheare vp my heauie harte packe from me paine away vile wretched woe Swéete heauenly ioye come helpe my secreate smarte oh ruthe relieue the wretch that sorrowes so Griefe get thee gone let pleasure take thy place hence vgly death for I must liue a space Mistres deare dame sweete soueraigne my ioy the Saint I serue the comforte of my care My hope my healpe my mirth in all annoy my loue my life my ioy of ioyes that are Oh saue my life that thus on thée doe cry lende me thy loue or let me quickly die My faith hath vowde to foyle all false suspecte and will wil worke in spite of enuies face Trothe is the othe which I cannot neglecte that loue should finde to gaine his ladies grace Oh Gods of loue that see my loyall harte graunt my desire enioy his due desarte He being tormented with manie passions craueth speedie remedie WHether wil wit or what is reason fled what wretched will hath now bewitchd my brain What rechlesse rage kéepes reags within my head what frantike fitte hath vexd me in ech vaine What mad conceite doth thus my minde molest that tumbling thoughts wil neuer let me rest Worke no more wit till reason rule thy will by sage aduise to stay thy busie braine Suppresse thy rage by sacred wisdomes skill and frantike fits wil flie away againe Let madnes marche into some other minde and séeke thy selfe some quyet rest to finde For liuing thus thy wit doth worke thée woe and braine bewitchd doth breede thee wilfull bale And rueful rage in time wil rancor soe that wil cannot geue eare to wisoomes tale Therfore good will let wit in time take héede least reason lost thou runne starke madde indéede Yet sit not stil for idlenes is ill but call to God to graunt thee heauenly grace That willing wit may worke his heauenly will and troubled minde may finde a heauenly place About this worke goe beate thy busie braine both rest on earth and heauenly ioyes to gaine That wight is bewitched that is subiect to beautie THe griefe is great that neuer findes redresse harde is his hap that findes no happy houre Doleful his doome that dyeth in distresse bewitchd the will that waites on beauties bower Wretched his woes that is bewrapt in loue such griefe happe doome and wretched state I proue For fancie now hath reason put to flight and witles will doth wisdomes wordes disdaine Desire acquaints him selfe with fonde delight and running wit hath got a wanton vaine Selfe will hath sought sage wisdome to beguile and hath in deede deceaud himselfe the while For fancies gaine is losse vnto my griefe and reason fled what rechles race I run My déepe distresse dispayring in reliefe doth tell me plaine my pleasant dayes are done My foule despight doth shew my mourning minde the bitter fruites of fonde delight I finde Repentance rues sage wisdomes small regard and wretched woes doe wanton toyes bewaile And heauie harte lamenteth hap so hard and sorrow shewes that selfe willes sleights doe faile Which makes me sing vnto my dying hower bewitchd is he that waytes on beauties bower Seeke and finde THe prouerbe sayes who seekes shal surely finde shall finde but what not that he séekes I gesse For why my selfe haue sought in sundrie kinde vnto my griefe
despaire doth shew no gaine Good hap says hope despaire cries contrarie hope bids me liue despaire would haue me die Thus twixt those two at point of death I liue in hope of good yet fearing froward chaunce In you it lyes a happy hap to geue to bring me out of this despairing traunce Oh help me then that thus on knees doe crie Assure my hope or in despaire I die The Louer craueth rewarde for his long and faythfull seruice OH Loue to whome I long haue bene a slaue consider wel how truely I haue serud And blame not him who is compeld to craue the due reward that he hath wel deserud Let trustie troth be euer yet regarded that faithful seruants may be wel rewarded Thou knowest how long that I haue liued a thrall thou knowest againe my true and faithful minde And thou canst tel how landes limme life and all by faith full fast I once did firmely finde To serue a Saint all this thou loue doest know and how my faith I neuer did forgoe And since thou knowest I neuer reapt reward nor euer sought til now reward to craue Sweete loue let now my humble suite be heard and pittie take vpon thy silly slaue And cause the Saint whom I so long haue serud to lend me liking as I haue deserud Oh amour WHat thing is loue a God as Poets wright why Poets faine then how can that be true What is it then some worldly sweete delight oh then their loue why should so many rue It is a griefe then why are men so vaine to ioy in that which doth procure their paine But such a pain as pleasure bringes withal and such a griefe as yealds a heauenly ioy Doth make the heart to think the hurt but smal when fancie rids the minde of selfe annoy And such is sure the panges that louers proue that wretched wights can ioy so much in loue But peace I sée loue is a God in deede who diuers wayes doth worke in minde of man Whose mighty power mans reason doth exceede by working woe or comfort now and than But is it so is loue a power diuine then God of Gods spéede well this loue of mine Nought dare I do therfore oh God of loue I thée beséeche to worke for thy behooue Of a hauty minde THe conquest rare doth greatest glory gaine the strongest fortes by stoutest wightes are won The hardest thinges atchiude with greatest payne do bréede most ease when so the worke is done Well labors he how so his time be spent that for his paines doth reape his hartes content God knowes my hart and what I do desire but what I seeke doth few or no man know The nobler harte the higher doth aspier and for my selfe I cannot stoupe to lowe But if I séeke to clyme a steppe to hye God saue the childe for if I fall I dye In high attemptes the boldest bloudes of all do best preuaile when perill once is past Then lyue or dye or stand or slyde or fall clyme sure I will God set my footing fast And helpe me so to height of my desire that I may wishe saue heauen to clyme no hyer After many misfortunes he craueth death as the ender of all calamities I Longe in iest haue wishd and calde for death when foolishe toyes haue gone agaynst my mynde But dying now at latest gaspe of breath I call to God that I may fauoure find That sinne bréede not my soules eternall paine that dyinge here I may not dye agayne For now I sée the woes of wretched will and now I finde the filthie shame of sinne And now by grace I knowe the good from ill I lothe the state that I haue liued in I see the lyfe of man is but a floure which springes growes fades and dyeth in an houre What are we all but euen a clod of claye first made of earth whence back agayne we must A life vnsure which lasteth not a daye A death most sure to which each one may trust And yet that death yeldes lyfe by heauenly grace which grace God graunt ech one in wretched case And for my selfe God me my sinnes forgiue and God forgeue each one that is amisse Oure sinnes forgeue God graunt oure soules may lyue From wretched worlde with him in heauenly blisse And thus I end my solemne dyinge songe Lord saue my soule I dyinge lyue too longe He proueth vertue to be better then worldly riches THe golde that first within the ground doth growe doth come to stand on top of pillers hye The pretious Pearle that likewise lyes full low the Prince accountes a iewell for his eye What iemme so rare that euer yet was founde but that at first did growe out of the grounde Then when you see your pallace trimly deckt straight cal to minde from whence that decking came And to the ground haue presently respect who by Gods help did first bring forth the same And thinke the iemme that makes the brauest show ful rough at first within the ground did grow The man whose minde is ful and wholy bent to vertues throne to treade the redy way And meetes mishap ere halfe his iorney spent to lothsome vice to leade him out astray Where is the fault but in a froward wil who goes without the guide of wisdomes skill But what if wit be rulde by sage aduise and then doe chaunce to meete with naked neede It bootes alas but litle to be wise if wealth do want to help to doe the déede Yet wealthy wise who walkes to vertues schoole when he comes there shal see himselfe a foole How should the minde then séeke out vertues throne or els what minde is best to seeke the same The seate is straunge and standeth all alone and vertue she is thought a heauenly dame Which makes me thinke it is some heauenly place which heauenly minde must game by heauenly grace Which heauenly guide God graunt my willing minde with wisdomes skil to seeke out vertues schoole That though wealth want yet wit may wisely finde how long too long that I haue liued a foole And I may see from vertues heauenly way what wanton toyes haue led my minde astray The louer being ouercome is compelled of necessitie â—o sing of sorrow FAine would I write some pretie pleasaunt toy to put away fond fancies out of mind But secret spite so chokes me with annoy as wearied wits can litle pleasure find So that I sée if ought at all I write my song must be of sorrow and despite And sorrowes song who would desire to sing that dolefull dumpe doth lend but small delite And yet the mind which wretched woes do wring can sing no song but smackes of some despite For if of myrth it doth the more disease and solemne songs do litle paine appease Then sadde and swéete since that no song I see which may delite of cheare the heauy hart I can but â—igh let others sing for me no musicke mirth can ease my secret smart
few that heare and my poore hart God knowes as litle cheare Then since you sée my hart so ill at ease leaue of to craue a Christmas song of me My dolefull dumpe were liker to displease each one I feare then please but one of ye But if some one would sit him downe and crie with sorrowes sobs so but for shame would I. The louer wearied craueth ease THough wearyed long yet home I come at last and down I sit in sorrowes sory seat Darke dole drawes on delightful day is past and fancy faire must be my chiefest meate I broake my faste with dishes of despight and now must suppe with sorrowes soppes at night In coldest frostes my fire is furies flame in whoatest heate my cooling carde is care My pleasure paine which fates and fortune frame my musicke moane to thinke how hard I fare My compame a trayne of treacherie my loathed lodge a den of miserie In such a house what wretch would lay his head from faithles friendes who would not seeke to flie Who pines in paine were tenne times better dead such life leade I which makes me thus to crie Ah woful wretch whose hart so sore accurst with swelling sobbes is hourely like to burst The arraignement of a Louer THe wretched wight that weares away in woe who drawes his dayes in dumps of dire despight Whom care consumes but doth no comfort know who dying liues deuoyde of all delight Let him with me come sing this sorrowes song the loathed life alas doth last too long In prime of yeares first grew my deadly greefe and as my yeares my corzies doe increase Rigor retaines the meanes of my releefe and spight stil sweares my sorrowes shal not cease Enuie so workes with sleights of false suspect that witles rage doth reason quite reiect Pride lookes alofte and pittie shrinkes aside and dare not speake hate is so hard at hand Disdaine desart hath due reward denide and will wil let no case be rightly scand Loe thus I liue in daunger of distresse and right it selfe can get me no redresse The cause at first of al this care was loue who clapt me close in fancies fetters fast And so inforcd a captiues life to proue in prison pent my prime of yeares are past And yet can make no meanes to set me frée till death him selfe doe make an end of me At beauties barre I twise haue beene arrained and crafte hath there beene my accursed still Foule hate was harde and reason was restraind and wicked wrong had leaue to say his will A forged tale of false suspect was troth and troth it selfe was thought a trifling othe In iudgement seate by beautie sate disdaine before her lappe sate Cupid God of loue Selfe will sate next and treason with his traine was witnes cald my foule offence to proue My cause the Quest was panneld there to trie who me coÌ„demnd God knowes without cause why But beautie yet her iudgement would not geue for why quoth she the man may yet amend His yeares are young and he in time may liue to doe them good that him doe fauour lend Yea quoth disdaine dame beautie wil ye so tush let him trudge quoth Courtesie not so Quoth Pride alas it is a â—illy slaue what should he doe t were good for him to die Quoth Pittie then let poore soules fauour haue at least extremitie prooues open iniurie Quoth Crueltie t were ill that he should liue quoth Reason then I wil the man repriue Being ouerwearyed with misfortunes he craueth death MY wearie wit quite ouerworâ—e with woe my dulled braine bewitcht with wretched wil By certaine signes doe dayly seeme to show that care in fine my sillie corps wil kill Though hope a while my loathed life prolong sorrow at last will singe the Signets song For though sometime I doe dissemble dole and Swanlike singe a song of swéete delight Yet God he knowes my heart is farre from hole which pining pants with pangs of bitter spight The cause I singe is hope that death is me the song I sing is death come let me die This deadly songe in dole is my delight and mournful mirth to cheare a carefull minde Yet such sad sporte sometimes in déepest spight is all the ioy that fortune lets me finde Yet thus content with patience perforce I singe I die come beare away my corse The Louers tongue tyed for being ouer 〈◊〉 I May not speake yet speake I must perforce what booâ—es to speake you wil not vnderstand I must confesse in deede my voice is hoarce yet if my wordes were wel and wisely skand Then would you say the man whose tongue is tied must haue his minde by misteries discried So for my selfe since I haue silence sworne til I haue leaue at large to say my minde Plaine speach alas must be of force forborne vntil to speake I doe 〈◊〉 â—auour finde But had I leaue to speake without offence then would I say she lyes not long way hence This is one meane wherby to know my minde the second is I rue her carefull case The third swéete soule she is of nature kinde the fourth she is of fauoure like your face The fifte she is a faire and courteous dame the sixte and last she beares our Ladies name She is besides the onely Saint I serue she is the sweete whome I doe most esteeme She is the dame whom I doe most deserue yea it is she whome I most deare doe deeme And thus I end I say no more but this I cannot speake iudge what my meaning is Another I May not speake yet silence workes my woe my speach I haue and yet I cannot speake My tyed tongue doth tumble too and fro my wil would faine but wits are all too weake My hart doth heaue my tongue to tell my minde yet to my speache a sodaine stop I finde Yet had I leaue to say but what I would then would I 〈…〉 wits vnto my will My tyed tongue should tel you as it could the thing that yet I must keepe silent still My hart would breake but it by signes should show that which by speach I may not let you know Then speake 〈◊〉 first and so my speach release craue what I may my words shal graunt your will Speake you heare me but if you holde your peace my tyed tongue must needes be silent still And thus I ende my harte is like to breake with griefe remitte your will to let me speake Say you but this my wordes shal like your will and you shal heare the 〈◊〉 of my hart And if my wittes doe wante such cunning skill as wel may painte my panges in euery parte Yet by my wordes gesse thou my inwarde grieâ—e and by thy will graunt me some sweete relieâ—e He craueth by vertue and not by subtiltie to come to good fortune WHat meanes this world is nothing left but woe are wordes but winde is faith the courtâ—â—y fled Can flatterie séeke to créepe in credite so is
come at call And I as faithfull as the rest or any one amongst them all The day as yet hath lothsome beene in which my seruice hath beene tride The loyaltie that I liue in and constant harte wherein I bide The surging seas the flashing flouds are here at barre my trothe to proue The craggie hilles the desarte wooddes if they coulde speake would shew my loue My tongue my penne my hande my harte were euer bente to doe your will And I not minded for to starte but so for to continue still Yet all this trothe which I doe owe you seeme but little to regarde The faithfull loue which I did sow doth yealde disdaine for my rewarde But since my chaunce doth so befall I must of force this loue refraine As good to leaue as to lose all if griefe be all that I shal gaine Sith then for that I longe and sue some others haue for little coste T is time to leaue and say adue shake handes with me and farewel frost Another I May and I may not I would but I cannot For makinge of strife If I might as I may not I woulde doe as I doe not But if that I shall not Then farewell my life But yet I doubt not Neither dispaire I not If you denye not My lawfull request While you dissemble not Smile on and spare not More pleasure I aske not Then you to loue best A Louer forsaken despayreth MY sences are not yet so dull as you perhaps suppose they be For I can spie and marke at full the craftie sleightes you vse with me And time wil come ere it be longe I may requight you of this wronge For though I winke I am not blinde through little holes the day I spie Your subtile secreate I can finde wherewith you thinke to bleare mine eye And yet I seeme to slumber still when that I see against my will I taste alas the more my payne the brackish teares as salte as brine That trickling on my chéekes remayne distilling from my blubbered eyne So much you féede me with this taste that life and all therewith you waste I heare and so doe many moe your nipping frumppes and taunting toyes And where you blaze them well I know among your youthfull Courtly boyes Which when I heare I would that death woulde come and stoppe my gasping breath I smell my loathsome carryon coarce with carping cares tournd now to dust In thee remaynes yet no remorce but beastly stil liue as you lust Like smelling hounde I vent thy trace and can foote out thy vaulting place I feele the priuie grieping nippes wherewith you purpose me to kill Who lookes for ought at sower slippes but choakiug fruite that soone will spill I feele you teare and rent my harte though vndeserued for my parte I see that death his browes doth bende I taste all paynes that one may haue I heare the bell biddes make an ende I smell the dampnes of my graue I feele and so I will conclude that all my loue you doe delude The praise of his Ladie WHat man can keepe in silence long the beautie of so faire a dame Or who can holde or stay his tongue from blasing out her worthy fame Though lande and life thereon did lie I tell you trothe it is not I. Whose beautie when I seeke to blase I see the dulnes of my witte Yet doth it nothing me amase good will enforceth so to it And I am vrgde against my will to shew the bluntnes of my skill Her comely face who list to vew with all the features of the same Must needes her tearme if he say true a Goddes and no earthly dame For Helen she doth passe as farre as doah the sunne the shining starre Beholde her body straight as line her armes so tirmme so longe so smll Her handes so neate so white so fine her fingers longe and straight withall That you woulde easly iudge with me the like of her vnborne to be I needed not if she were here with poynted wordes to praise her grace Nor to display her fauour cleare with all the beautie of her face I wish this rowme she did â—â—pplie then shoulde you sée if that I lie If princockes Paris were aliue and choyse of damsels had at will Disposed once againe to wiue his wittes I know were not so ill To leaue vnchoase this Princely peece for all the passing gyrles of Greece Not This be braue that was sometime a Louer vnto Piramus Lucretias fauour for to finde wherewith she coyde Tarquimius But she doth farther both excell then I am able for to tell In fine if equally you woulde each parte in her with iudgement way By true constrainte confesse you should and thereof here my lyfe I lay It were not now in natures might to frame so faire and trimme a wight To all these graces she hath store of mercy and of perfecte loue No earthly wight I know hath more as tryall telles when truth shal proue I harde when nature sayd and sware she was the Iewel of her ware For madde you might me then condemne if I would thinke my selfe so wise That I were able with my penne to set her out before your eyes Sith wel I know the like by birth as yet did neuer liue on earth Another WAy Lady mine I thee beseech with loyal louing hart In equal ballance my good wil yeeld me my desart Ladie Lay forth in true vnforged tale the summe of all thy suite Euen as my eare shal like or leaue so looke to reape thy fruite Louer Let fauour thine then furnish vp that fancy mine doth craue Lende Louer true for lew of loue the guerdone he should haue Ladie Truth lies not alwayes in the shew that glisters in the eine Trust asketh further triall still and triall asketh time Louer I caste my gloue to him that dares my loyaltie disproue A better proofe in alder yeares was neuer gin for loue Ladie Young hote lusty bloods seekes thus their vowed trothes defence â—old ladies craue for milder profes of plighted freÌ„ds pretence Louer My deere if boistrous words offende thy virgins melting brest Know here what proofe my Lady loues that likes her louer best Ladie Experience though it neuer learnd my greenish yeares to loue Long since hath taught that tract of time this trustines doth proue Louer Except I sue serue thee then while lungs shal lend me breth Let all the ill that harte can thinke procure 〈…〉 deth Ladie Aske then and haue as thou deseruest so looke for thy desire Nâ— shall my bitter nay denie if iustly you require Louer I care not Ladie for thy coyne I craue no Iunos golde Nor Pallas prudence doe I seeke my Venus loue I wolde Ladie Endeuoure thy behests to keepe thou needes no longer sue While Lettice liues Wil shal not wante if he continue true Great thaÌ„ks for this great grace I yeald god in heauen thee giue Expence of Nestors yeres on earth then
sore yet heales againe That is the cause of great despight And yet doth purchase sweete delight That healeth some of deadly smarte And strikes some other dead at harte It should be straunge what so it is But sure if I iudge not amisse T is all one with the same that I Propounded you T is loue perdie Mors mihi vita COnsumde with cares and ouerwhelmde with woes I bidde adue to such as liue in ioy Contented well my loathed life to lose as fortune stil did follow with annoy For as I féele my death drawe neareâ— on I see the smarte of all my sorrowes gone Whereby I see sweete death the ende of dole while life prolonges the wretched soule in payne The salue of death makes sickest hartes soone hole when care is found a comforte all in vaine Yet dying thus ere I be throughly dead accepte this counsaile of a carefull head Loue not to liue nor yet desire to die but liue to die so dying looke to liue Such dying life such liuing death haue I which makes me thus the world this comfort giue To dread no death but count him for our frend who bringes vs ioyes and makes our sorrowes ende The Nightingales note THe Nightingale that singes the sweetest note of any birde that flyeth in the ayre Whose choise of sounde with warblings in the throate reuiues the harte that dyeth in despayre In Aprill first recordes then sings in Maye and that mâ—onth past she singing goes awaye Which heauenly note might hold but halfe the yeare the ioy thereof woulde cloy our eares with sweete Nothing so good so rare nor yet so deare but chaunge for worse the foolish man thinkes meete So sweete and shorte is Philomelas songe and nought esteemed that lasteth once too longe But yet this songe that Philomela singes of sorrow groanes although the sounde delight Or harde mishappe wherof such mischiefe springes she but recordes the sounde of her despight So with that birde may I singe fie fie fie while others ioy in song to heare me crie Nil nisi probatum AMonge mishappes which kill a careful hart to finde a foe of an assured frend Is such a griefe as breedes that deadly smart which vntill death can neuer take his ende Oh wretched world where faith is so vniust that surest frendes are sometime harde to trust But all too late I finde the prouerbe true that frends are founde as fortune skoules or smiles But twise accurst that hollow harted crue whose flattering face the simple minde begiles And for my selfe since frendshippe such I finde I will accounte of each one in his kinde Faire wordes shal stande for open flatterie till faithfull deedes may merite no mistrust And secreat traynes shal stande for treacherie till tryall finde her dealinges not vniust But where I finde the trothe at neede I crie with such a friend I vow to liue and die The clogge of care THe clogge of care that hangs on heauie harte pulles downe the head from loftie mindes delight The sighes that grow of sorrowes secreat smarte in time consumes the wretched carcase quight But comforte yet may cut that clogge away the cause of dole whereby delights decay And then the harte will holde vp head on hie and ioy as much as it did mourne before Oh comforte come and cut of by and by that cruell clogge that cuttes my harte so sore I haue too long to carefull thoughtes bene tide my minde cannot the burthen long abide But all in vaine for comforte stil I crie my clogge of care is such I cannot goe I sée too plaine my dolefull destenie to waste my dayes in worlds of carefull woe Which makes me thus to ende my solemne songe the carefull harte can neuer holde out longe Another THe Plowman sure are ye and I the sandie field Your haruest then must needes be grosse that such a earth doth shielde The golde I meane my selfe the hutch my husbandes harte The Marte is done put vp your pipes goe whistle for your parte And let me liue at rest deuoyde of slaunders blotte Contented with my faithfull feere whome fortune did alofte For sure the Letchers loue comes euer out of time I meane not to deface my fame with such a couerte crime I am no Younckers pray I skilles am in scapes I doe detest the doting loue of Roysters and their rapes I meane to runne the race of these my poasting dayes In such a sorte that none shall check my youthfull wanton wayes Leaue then to ransacke her that careth for no chaunge Ne seeke to false her faulcones faith with haggarde hauke to raunge Vpon two Gentlewomens names MY fancie led me sodainlie as I did sitte and sow Amongst some other secrete thinges a secrete cause to know Remembring how the Poets vse Good Gentlewomen to abuse All in their ditties when they chuse Resounding fame to blow Extolling in their Sonets then The onely prayse of faithfull men They list not see how we women Passe them as I will show Harke not what Poets prattle then from reason they declinde In Platoes Schoole thou mayst it learne how frendship is definde Loue lyketh where is loyaltie Lyke loyaltie in lyke degree In wemen this is chiefe to see Peruse and you shal finde So saith he that this frendlines Only doth springe from humblenes None barreth women gentlenes Except they barre their kinde Perhappes I coulde adioyne to this where most affection dwels How there the flower of frendlines most pleasantly it smels Enritching womens goodly grace But here I neede not in this place Experience proueth well this case Aske her I say naught els Then sith it comes to vs by kinde Keepe not the secret cause to finde In Poetrie that is so blinde No true tale once it tels Sith loyaltie affection and likenes of degree On perfecte proofe from cradle vp hath linked thee to me No treasure riche nor golden mine Exchaunge shall make at any time For as I was so am I thine Reposing trust in thee Enduring so I doe pretende No chaunge to make till life doe ende Damon was neuer dearer frende So thou my Pithias be A merry conceate OVr Wilkin now will wedde the goodlyest girle I gesse That ere this countrey bredde it is that bounsinge Besse That euery iacke for ale and cakes At euery game his Lady makes He thinkes his Ladie beares the bel Pore horechit Hob And she belowtes the mome as well And there a bobbe How ere the worlde it wagges his Besse must needes be braue Gogs vish these rotten ragges are vitter vor a zlaue Then vor my Ladie zweares our Wil And therewithall he smackes his Gil. And she requites his busse againe He likes wel that He payes his Ladie for her paine That hittes her patte To beare his flaunting porte our Wilkin wanteth welth He shames to yeald the sporte and therefore seekes by stelth To maintaine this his iollie ruffe He stryketh handes with Saunder Snuffe So forth together they two trigge To make a
that she would be mine But yet content ye with your choise subscribe ye to my saint Whose worthy praise no siluer voice nor penne can fully painte Lenuoy Let it suffice I liue to proue it here In all respectes she neuer had her peere The despairing Louer TO painte the passions of a payned harte or shew the panges that foolish loue constraines When honest meaning lackes his due desarte the onely meane to purchase greater paines Alas I rue because my reason failes whilest fonde desire settes vp her swiftest sailes Too swifte in deede to passe the daungerous seas such daungerous seas as can be hardly paste Yet past all helpe and hope to purchase ease amidst the waues my â—rased barke I caste And cast the best although I count it vaine till fates accorde to sende reliefe againe A sorrowfull Sonette IF to the life that euer lastes this life a moment be If time consume our youthfull yeares which we no more shall sée If euery thinge that beareth breath doe waste and weare to nought Why dreamest thou in prisoned spright why doest thou take such thought VVhy doest thou so detest the day and wishe the darcksome night If to a safer place thou seeke to take thy speedie flight There is the good that euery soule ought chieflie to desire There is the rest whereto eachone woulde willingly aspire There loue doth lie there pleasure dwels there there my soule I say Amidst the highest heauens thou maist the image well suruay Of her whose beautie here on earth I haue adornde from time of birth The hurte that groweth by golde SOme say the golden worlde is gone but I suppose not so Now raignes the glistering golden age that greatly workes our woe For golde is now the God on earth now golde doth gouerne all Golde makes and marres if golde we wante in vaine for grace we call Golde geues and takes from kinges their crownes golde maintaines blooddie warre Golde bringes the greatest to theire graues and breedeth many a iarre Golde geues the iacke a gentils name and gaines him great account No faulte so foule but golde afoordes golde makes the meanest mounte Golde is the cause of all our care since first this golde was founde No faith nor frendshippe hath beene seene but fraude did most abounde Oh wretched golde would God thy name had neuer here beene knowen Then shoulde we not haue knowen the harme that by thy name hath growen He should I now haue cause to say so greatly to my griefe That wante of thee to winne good will doth make me wante reliefe The passions of a Louer MY Mistres eyes augment my kindled flame her golden lockes haue caught my captiue hart Her hurtfull hand my haples fall doth frame her wordes bewitch my minde and breede my smarte Her glistering eyes disgrace the brightest starre her crisped heare surmounts the glorious sunne Her handes in whitenes passe the Iuorie farre her wittie wordes immortall fame hath woon Her louely eyes doe much amase my minde her golden lockes alas doe linke me fast Beholde my state beholde what happe I finde no other ioy my pyning ghoast could tast Since cruel Loue within my breast did shrine her eyes her heare her handes her speach diuine The follie of Loue. ALas I see no hope is lefte at all by seruing thee to set my harte at rest Yet from this follie can I neuer fall nor leaue thy loue that likes my fancie best I am my selfe mine owne and onlie foe I see the pitte and plunge my selfe therein And though the meanes be founde to ease my woe foole that I am I seeke no ease to winne Though nothing happe that may my hope aduaunce from seruing thée yet can I not refraine No not though death or worse if worse might chaunce this is the good that I by lot doe gaine I see the best and know the worst aswell yet seeke the worst and bidde the best farewell To his vnconstant frend ROsetta retchlesse Dame since thou hast chaungde thy minde And in my absence to thy shame hast shewde thy selfe vnkinde I haue as well I might withdrawne my fonde desire From fancying one that is so light to make such quicke retire Henceforth for beauties blaze where no deserte is founde I will not set my selfe to gaze so great good will to ground This warning may suffice to make me wise at last Els greater daungers will arise then those alreadie past But tell when thou hast tride what good thou gaynste thereby Thou wast the first that gan to slide thy falshode made me flie Whilest I with store of teares did waile the wante of thee Thou toauest abroad with ruffeled heare and hadst no minde of me Forgetting my good will thou gauest thy selfe in charge To such as sought to spoyle thee still and leftst thy Loue at large As wauering as the winde that alters euery hower So wauering is thy wandring minde whereof thou hast no power But tell c. Where are thy solemne vowes at parting made to me Where are the teares with bended browes that then these eyes did see Would any man suppose such plaints should passe in vaine From one that onely loues to glose and glorie in her gaine O false periured wight accursed shall he be That in thy doinges takes delight or puttes his trust in thee But tell c. The man that holdes my place and pleades to please the best For all his faire dissembling face may loue thée with the least But she whom now I serue and honor with my harte Aboue all dames doth best deserue so prisde by due desarte Kéepe thou thy new come frende for I will stick to mine We loue and when our likes shal ende one toumbe our bones shall shrine But tell when thou hast tried what good thou gainst thereby Thou wast the first that gan to slide thy falsehoode made me flie The Louer ouercome with sorrow desireth death THe more my knowledge growes the more my power decayes To all mishappes my haples life is prone at all assayes My secrete flame augmentes amidst my floode of teares Before one griefe be fully gone another straight appeares Both night and day my thoughtes are chieflie on my graue In darcknes is my most delight no mirth my minde can haue The day dislykes me much the ceaseles griefes I taste At night when all things els take rest my woefull harte doth waste I neuer cease to weepe and yet I know not why In this vnconstant wauering worlde no trueth at all I trie A monstrous sea it is of sorrow griefe and payne Yet no where els can I finde meanes how I may comforte gayne Come therefore gentle death cutte of my line of life That by such death a thousande deathes may cease this secrete strife A Lady lamenteth the death of her louer WHy is my crased corps so strong against my wil that all the griefes I feele caÌ„not coÌ„sume me quite Who holdes my wretched soule whereas it likes so ill And will not let
driue me in disgrace By due desarte whereon ay me to thinke From swéete delight my head begins to shrinke And coolde of care so nips my hart at roote as that except you fauoure seeme to shew No sunne can shine that wel may doe it boote with frost of feare it wil be withered so Wherfore deare dame let fauour saue the flower Whose life or death lyes only in your power Oh che dolore IF in the world there be but onely one gainst whose good hap both heauen earth are bent Whom lot hath lefte in sorrowes seate alone her thriftles time with fruitles trauell spent To waile in vaine and mourning so to dye by heauens I thinke that onely wenche am I. For natures griefes are cur'd by Phisickes arte and counsaile much doth comforte careful minde But such a pange doth pinche me at the harte as Phisick frende and all I frustrate finde So that I see the heauens for me prepare to liue in thought and pine away in care Then sith such life to some one is assignde and I that one on whome that lotte doth fall With crooked care I wil content my minde til death desirde doe make an end of all Whose long delayes I doe too long endure and know not how his comforte to procure Oh straunge disease that nature neuer knew then not to blame in leauing no redresse Oh cause accurst wherof such sorrow grew as soakes the harte that dyeth in distresse Oh harte what helpe but stil in woes to waste til death oft wishd doe end my dole at last The Louer casteth all mourning away LAment that liste I can no longer mourne the heauie thoughts that lay vpon my hart To happy ioyes the heauenly fates doe tourne and swéete conceites haue cut of sorrowes smart The feare is fled of heauenly fauour lost and hope attainde of that I wished most My most desire was seruice due rewarde my greatest feare was force of fortunes spight My prayer yet the heauenly powers haue harde that due desarte might once enioy delight Which I protest since that I now possesse my griefe no more nor ioy was euer lesse Your fauour was the thing my seruice sought and your dislike did make me doubt despight But yet my harte had stil this happy thought when rage was past remorse would lende delight Which true I finde and sing in hart therefore lamente that list for I wil mourne no more The Louer compareth his ill lucke to Philomelas ill fortune NOthing on earth remaines to shew aright the patterne true of my increasing care But Philomela with her song by night whose rueful state to mine I may compare With careful watch she preacheth in the tree when creatures all into their nestes doe creepe So from mine eyes all sweete repos doth flee when men are wonte of course to take their sleepe She with a thorne against her tender brest I with the darte of cruel loues vnrest This gentle birde her yealding voyce doth straine to wayle the wronges that Progne did endure I haples man vpon the wight complaine that causeles doth to me these woes procure And when she doth a tune so dolefull frame as wel might moue the heauens to moane her plight Oh griefe of griefes yet such as heare the same rue not her songe but therein take delight Likewise my plaints which bring from me salte teares seeme pleasaunte suites vnto my mistres eares An other THe tender budde that brauely ginnes to blow while sunnie showers yealdes comfort to the roote If that vnwares there fall a sodaine snow no sunne can serue that wel may doe it boote Except it holde but for a day and so it may haue leaue to make a liuely show My selfe the flower that flourish all too fast while fauoure flonge fayre weather in my face But now must die my pleasures ouerpast to see disdaine so driue me in disgrace By due desarte whereon ay me to thinke From swéete delight my head begins to shrinke And coolde of care so nips my hart at roote as that except you fauoure seeme to show No sunne can shine that wel may doe it boote with frost of feare it wil be withered so Wherfore deare dame let fauour saue the flower Whose life or death lyes only in your power Another THe day of my delight is ouercast And cloudes of care beginne apace to rise The sunne doth goe his course midday is past Night will insue my mistres shuttes her eyes The glistering beames whereof gaue me that light Which others haue whil'st I bewayle the night But should the sunne stande alwayes in one place Sure that contrary were vnto her kinde The warme desires that grow by her good grace Woulde burne and so conâ—ume both harte and minde The course we keepe in middle spheare is best Where rowling stil she seekes a place to rest Disdaine doth driue these clowdes of my despaire And shades the sunne from shining in the aire Another THe shafte that Cupids bowe hath shotte hath Vulcane forged in my brest The fire which made the iron whotte desire did blow and neuer rest The cooles of care which burnte was loue the steele was trust whereon he strikes The hammers hope which alwayes proue to frame the shape which best he likes Teares serue the tourne to quench the fire and fancie files the arrow head Payne payes the workemen for their hire the wounde is deepe which neuer bled Lenuoy To heale this hurte is readyest meane To shoote his arrow back againe A Gentleman dallyeth with his Lute THou knowest my Lute if thou knowest ought that Musicke stil doth couet chaunge Stale beaten stuffe is counted nought new from the stampe is counted straunge And straunge deuises stil delight such daintie wittes as diuers be Deere bought is good in euery plight farre fette for Ladyes and for me If Tigell bring vs nothing els but stil doe pleade vpon a song And play vs nought but Osnay bels then Tigell doth the Cuckow wrong Lie downe therefore my little Lute and geue me leaue a litte while From case to plucke my little Flute the time a little to beguile Thou knewst when I was wel content til midnight thee for to embrace Another now wil thée preuent and séeke to keepe thy wonted place And I who thought it did suffise with thée an houre or two to play Must now assay in other wise some sporte to finde till it be day Contente thée then and holde thee stil my Lute I pray thée doe not fume Although I séeke against thy wil another instrumente to tune And when I haue assaide my wits that I can play both true and playne Then will I visite thee by fittes and wil retourne to thee againe The Louer shewing his loyaltie and findinge no fauoure is contented to geue ouer I Maruaile why you be so straunge when once you did professe such loue Or why seeke you so sodayne chaunge sith faulte in me you cannot proue My seruice hath béene readie preast at euery becke to