heauenly comforts neuer will decay We must not thinke in this ill age to thriue VVhere faith and loue are scarcely found aliue Wee must not build our houses on the sands Where euery flood will wash them quite away Nor set our seales vnto those wicked bands Where damned soules their debts in hel must pay Our states must stand vpon a better stay Vpon the rock we must our houses builde That wil our frames from winde water shield Goe bid the world with all his trash farewell And tell the earth it shall be all but dust These wicked wares that worldlings buy and sell The Moath will eate or else the canker ruft All flesh is grasse and to the graue it must This sinke of sinne is but the way to hell Leaue it I say and bid the world farewell Account of pompe but as a shadowed power And thinke of friends but as the sommer flies Esteeme of beauty as a fading flower And louers fancies but as fabled lies Knowe that on earth there is no Paradise VVho sees not heauen is surely spirit-blinde And like a body that doth lacke a minde Then let vs lie as dead till there wee liue Where only loue doth liue for euer blest And only loue the onely life doth giue That bringes the soule vnto eternall rest Let vs this wicked wretched world detest Where gracelesse hearts in hellish sins perseuer And fly to heauen to liue in grace for euer ¶ A solemne conceipt 1 DOTH loue liue in beauties eyes Why then are they so vnlouing Patience in her passion prouing There his sorrowe chiefely lies 2 Liues beliefe in louers hearts Why then are they vnbelieuing Hourely so the spirit grieuing With a thousand iealous smarts 3 Is there pleasure in loues passion Why then is it so vnpleasing Heart and spirit both diseasing Where the wits are out of fashion 1 No loue sees in beauties eyes He hath only lost his seeing Where in sorrowes only being All his comfort wholly dies 2 Faith within the heart of loue Fearefull of the thing it hath Treading of a trembling path Doth but iealousie approue 3 In loues passion then what pleasure Which is but a lunacy Where griefe feare and iealousie Plague the senses out of measure Farewell then vnkindly fancy In thy courses all too cruell Woe the price of such a iewell As turnes reason to a franzy ¶ A straunge A B C. TO learne the babies A B C Is fit for children not for mee I knowe the letters all so well I neede not learne the way to spell And for the crosse before the rowe I learn'd it all too long agoe Then let them goe to schoole that list To hang the lippe at Had I wist I neuer lou'd a booke of horne Nor leaues that haue their letters worne Nor with a fescue to direct mee Where euery puny shall correct mee I will the treuant play a while And with mine eare mine eye beguile And only heare what other see What mocketh them as well as mee And laugh at him that goes to schoole To learne with mee to play the foole But soft a while I haue mistooke This is but some imagin'd booke That wilfull hearts in wantons eyes Doe onely by conceits deuise Where spell and put together proue The reading of the rules of loue But if it be so let it be It shall no lesson be for mee Let them goe spell that can not reede And know the crosse vnto their speede VVhile I am taught but to discerne How to forget the thing I learne ¶ Fie on pride THE hidden pride that lurkes in beauties eyes And ouerlookes the humble hearts of loue Doth nothing else but vaine effectes deuise That may discretion from the minde remoue Oh how it workes in wit for idle wordes To buy repentance but with labour lost While sorrowes fortune nothing else affordes But showres of raine vpon a bitter frost A wicked shadowe that deceiues the sight And breedes an itch that ouerrunnes the hart Which leauing reason in a pitious plight Consumes the spirit with a curelesse smart While wounded patience in her passion cries Fie vpon pride that lurkes in beauties eyes ¶ A farewell to loue FAREVVELL loue and louing folly All thy thoughts are too vnholly Beauty strikes thee full of blindenesse And then kils thee with vnkindnesse Farewell wit and witty reason All betrai'd by fancies treason Loue hath of all ioy bereft thee And to sorrow only left thee Farewell will and wilfull fancy All in daunger of a franzy Loue to beauties bowe hath wonne thee And togither all vndone thee Farewell beauty sorrowes Agent Farewell sorrow patience pagent Farewell patience passions stayer Farewell passion loues betrayer Sorrowes agent patience pagent Passions stayer loues betrayer Beauty sorrow patience passion Farewell life of such a fashion Fashion so good fashions spilling Passion so with passions killing Patience so with sorrow wounding Farewell beauty loues confounding ¶ A ieasting curse FIE vpon that too much beauty That so blindeth reasons seeing As in swearing all loues duety Giues him no where else a beeing Cursed be thou all in kindnesse That with beauty loue hast wounded Blessing loue yet in such blindenesse As in beautie is confounded Euer maist thou liue tormented With the faith of loue vnfained Till thy heart may be contented To relieue whom thou hast pained Thus in wroth of so well pleased As concealeth ioyes confessing Till my paine be wholly eased Cursed be thou all in blessing So farewell and fairely note it He who as his soule doth hate thee From his very heart hath wrote it Neuer euill thought come at thee ¶ A solemne toie IF that loue had beene a king He would haue commanded beauty But hee is a silly thing That hath sworne to doe her duety If that loue had beene a God He had then bene full of grace But how grace and loue are odde T is too plaine a pitious case No loue is an idle ieast That hath only made a woord Like vnto a Cuckoes neast That hath neuer hatcht a bird Then from nothing to conceiue That may any substance bee Yet so many doth deceiue Lord of heauen deliuer mee A displeasure against loue LOVE is witty but not wise When he stares on beauties eyes Finding wonders in conceit That doe fall out but deceit Wit is stable but not staied When his senses are betraied Where too late sorrow doth proue Beauty makes a foole of loue Youth is forward but too fond When he falles in Cupids bond Where repentance lets him see Fancy fast is neuer free Age is cunning but vnkinde When he once growes Cupid-blinde For when beauty is vntoward Age can neuer be but froward So that I doe finde in briefe In the grounds of natures griefe Age and youth and wit doe proue Beauty makes a foole of loue ¶ A farewell to conceipt FAREVVELL conceit Cōceit no more wel fare Hope feeds the heart with humours to no end Fortune is false in dealing of her share
Melancholike humours IN VERSES OF DIuerse natures set downe by Nich Breton Gent. LONDON ¶ Printed by RICHARD BRADOCKE 1600. TO THE LOVER OF good studies and fauourer of good actions Master Thomas Blount heauens blessing and earths happinesse SIR my knowledge of your good iudgement in the diuersity of humours and your disposition to that best melancholie that can not run madde with trifles hath made me vpon the gathering together of certain odde pieces of Poetry to offer my labours te your patience and my loue to your seruice They are all waters of one spring but they runne through many kinds of earth whereof they giue a kinde of tang in their taste Such as they be I leaue them to the kindnesse of your acceptation and my selfe to your like commaundement And so loath to vse ceremonious cōplements in the affection of a poore friend in humble thankefulnesse for your manie vndeserued fauours I rest Yours very much to commaund N. B. ¶ To the Reader PASQVILL hauing been long in his dumps in somewhat better then a browne studie hath brought forth the fruites of a fewe melancholike humours which chiefely he commendeth to spirits of his own nature full of melancholy and as neere Bedlem as Mooregate a figure in the fields to be easily disciphered To be short and to growe towards an ende ere I haue wel begun I wil tel you the gētlemās brains were much troubled as you may see by his perplexities but with studying how to make one line leuell with another in more rime then perhaps some will thinke reason with much adoe about nothing hee hath made a piece of worke as little worth He that can giue him less◠commendation let him vse his arte For mine owne part I haue taken paine to write his Will which he hath sent to the worlde to like as it list According to whose will I leaue it entreating no man to wreste his will to any thing further then may stand with his pleasure but to speake indifferently of all things as hee findes cause and so I rest Your friende N. B. In Authorem THOV that wouldst finde the habit of true passion And see a minde attir'd in perfect straines Not wearing moodes as gallants doe a fashion In these pide times only to shewe their braines Looke here on Bretons worke the master print Where such perfections to the life doe rise If they seeme wry to such as looke asquint The fault 's not in the obiect but their eyes For as one comming with a laterall viewe Vnto a cunning piece wrought perspectiue Wants facultie to make a censure true So with this Authors Readers will it thriue Which being eyed directly I diuine His proofe their praise will meete as in this line BEN IOHNSON See and say nothing OH my thoughts keepe in your words Least their passage do repent yee Knowing Fortune still affordes Nothing but may discontent yee If your Saint be like the Sunne Sit not yee in Phoebus chaire Least when once the horses runne Yee be Dedalus his heire If your labours well deserue Let your silence onely grace them And in patience hope preserue That no fortune can deface them If your friend doe growe vnkinde Grieue but doe not seeme to showe it For a patient heart shall finde Comfort when the soule shall know it If your trust be all betrai'd Trie but trust no more at all But in soule be not dismai'd Whatsoeuer doe befall In your selues your selues enclose Keepe your secrecies vnseene Least when ye your selues disclose Yee had better neuer beene And what euer be your state Doe not languish ouerlong Least you finde it all too late Sorrow be a deadly song And be comforted in this If your passions be concealed Crosse or comfort bale or blisse T is the best is not reuealed So my deerest thoughts adieu Harke whereto my soule doth call yee Be but secret wise and true Feare no euill can befall yee ¶ What is hell WHAT is the place that some do paint for hell A lake of horrour for the life of man Is it not then the death wherein I dwell That knowes no ioy since first my life began What are the diuels Spirits of tormenting What else are they that vexe me in each vaine With wretched thoughts my wofull spirit tempting Or else perplex mee in an after-paine What is the fire but an effect of sinne That keepes my heart in an vnkindly heat How long shall I this life continue in Till true repentance mercy doe entreate And 〈◊〉 euen at the latest breath Saue mee sweet Lord yet frō the secōd death ¶ Mal content IF I desir'd vnto the world to liue Or sought in soule to serue the golden God If I did homage to an idole giue Or with the wicked wisht to haue abode Then well might Iustice lay her sword vpon mee In due correction of my crooked hart But shall I liue in soule thus woe begon mee That seeke in faith to serue the better part Ah wretched soule why dost thou murmur so It is thy crosse and thou art borne to beare it Through hellish griefs thy hart to heauē must go For patience crowne if thou wilt liue to wear it Then rest with this since faith is vertues friend Death ends distresse heauen makes a happy end ¶ A dole full passion OH tyred heart too full of sorrowes In night-like daies despairing morrowes How canst thou thinke so deepely greeued To hope to liue to be relieued Good fortune hath all grace 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 And cruell care hath too much torne thee Vnfaithfull friends do all deceiue thee Acquaintance all vnkindly leaue thee Beauty out of her booke doth blot thee And loue hath vtterly forgot thee Patience doth but to passion moue thee While only honour liues to loue thee Thine enemies all ill deuise thee Thy friends but little good aduise thee And they who most doe duety owe thee Doe seeme as though they doe not knowe thee Thus pittie weepes to looke vpon thee To see how thou art woe begon thee And while these passions seeke to spill thee Death but attends the houre to kill thee And since no thoughte is comming to thee That any way may comfort doe thee Dispose thy thoughtes as best may please thee That Heauen of all thy Hell may ease thee ¶ A Testament vpon the passion TO care that crucifies my heart My sighes and sobbes I doe bequeath And to my sorrowes deepest smart The latest gaspe that I doe breath To Fortune I bequeath my folly To giue to such as seeke her grace To faithlesse friends that fortune wholly That brought mee in this heauie case To beauty I bequeath mine age To loue the hate of wit and sense To patience but the cure of rage To honour vertues patience Mine enemies I do forgiue And to my friends I giue my loue And wish vngratefull hearts may liue But like ingratitude to proue To pitty I bequeath my teares To fill her eyes when they be dry To faith
Vertue in heauen must only seeke a friend Adieu desire desire no more adieu Will hath no leasure to regard desart Loue findes too late the prouerbe all too true That beauties eyes stoode neuer in her heart Away poore loue loue seeke no more a way Vnto thy woe where wishing is no wealth In nightes deepe darkenesse neuer looke for day Nor in hearts sicknesse euer seeke for health Desire conceipt away adieu farewell Loue is deceiu'd that seeks for heauen in hell An vnhappy solemne ieasting curse OH venome cursed wicked wretched eyes The killing lookers on the heart of loue Where witching beauty liues but to deuise The plague of wit and passions hell to proue That snowy necke that chillest more then snowe Both eyes harts that liue but to behold thee That graceles lip frō whēce loues grief dothgrow Who doth in all his sweetest sense infold thee Those chaining hairs more hard then iron chains In tying fast the fairest thoughts of loue Yee shameful cheeks that in your blushing vains The rauisht passions of the minde doe proue Yee spider fingers of those spitefull hands That worke but webbes to tangle fancies eyes That Idole breast that like an Image stands To worke the hell of reasons heresies Those Fairy feete whose chary steppes doe steale Those hearts whose eies do but their shadowes see That ruthlesse spirit that may well reueale Where loues confusions all included be To thee that canst or wilt not bend thy will To vse thy gifts all gratious in their nature To patience good and not to passions ill And maist and wilt not be a blessed creature I wish and pray thine eyes may weepe for woe They cannot get one looke of thy beloued Thy snowy necke may be as colde as snowe With colde of feare it hath no fancy moued Thy lippe in anger by thy teeth be bitten It can not giue one kissing sweete of loue And by thy hands thy shriu'led haires be smitten For want of holding of thy hopes behoue Thy blushing cheekes loose all their liuely blood With pining passions of impatient thought That Idole bodie like a piece of wood Consume to see it is esteemd for nought Those spider fingers and those Fairy feete The crampe so crooke that they may creepe for griefe And in that spirit sorrowes poisons meete To bring on death where loue hath no reliefe All these and more iust measures of amisse Vpon thy frownes on faithfull loue befall But sweetly smile then heauēs pour their blisse On thy hairs neck cheeks lip hands feet all ¶ A quarrell with loue OH that I could write a story Of loues dealing with affection How hee makes the spirit sory That is toucht with his infection But he doth so closely winde him In the plaits of will ill pleased That the heart can neuer finde him Till it be too much diseased T is a subtill kinde of spirit Of a venome kinde of nature That can like a conny ferret Creepe vnwares vpon a creature Neuer eye that can beholde it Though it worketh first by seeing Nor conceipt that can vnfolde it Though in thoughts be all his being Oh it maketh olde men witty Young men wanton women idle While that patience weepes for pitty Reason bitts not natures bridle In it selfe it hath no substance Yet is working worlds of wonder While in phrensies fearefull instance Wit and sense are put asunder What it is is in coniecture Seeking much but nothing finding Like to fancies architecture With illusions reason blinding Day and night it neuer resteth Mocking fancy with ill fortune While the spirit it molesteth That doth patience still importune Yet for all this how to finde it T is vnpossible to showe it When the Muse that most doth minde it Will be furthest off to know it Yet can beauty so reteine it In the profit of her seruice That she closely can mainteine it For her seruant chiefe in office In her eye she chiefely breedes it In her cheekes she chiefely hides it In her seruants faith shee feedes it While his only heart abides it All his humour is in changing All his worke is in inuention All his pleasure is in ranging All his truthe but in intention Straunge in all effectes conceiued But in substance nothing sounded While the senses are deceiued That on idle thoughts are grounded Not to dwell vpon a trifle That doth follies hope befall T is but a newe nothing nifle Made for fooles to play withall ¶ A wish in vaine OH that wit were not amazed At the wonder of his senses Or his eyes not ouergazed In Mineruas excellences Oh that reason were not foiled In the rules of all his learning Or his learning were not spoiled In the sweete of loues discerning Oh that beauty were not froward In regard of reasons duety Or that will were not vntoward In the waiward wit of beauty But since all in vaine are wishes Patience tels them that haue past it Poys'ned broth in siluer dishes Kils their stomackes that doe taste it Wit and reason loue and learning All in beauties eyes are blinded Where in sense of sweete discerning She will be vnkindly minded Let those hartes whose eyes perceiue her Triumphe but in thoughts tormented Labour all they can to leaue her Or else die and be contented ¶ A conceipt vpon an Eagle and a Phoenix THERE sate sometime an Eagle on a hill Hanging his wings as if he could not flie Blacke was his coate and tauny was his bill Grey were his legges and gloomy was his eye Blunted his talents and his traine so bruised As if his brauery had beene much abused This foule olde birde of some vnhappy brood That could abide no hauke of higher wing But fed his gorge vpon such bloody foode As might in feare maintaine a cruell king Faire on a rocke of pearle and pretious stone Espied a Phoenix sitting all alone No sooner had this heauenly birde in sight But vp he flickers as he would haue flowne But all in feare to make so farre a flight Vntill his pennes were somewhat harder growne He gaue a rowse as who should say in rage He shew'd the fury of his froward age And for this Phoenix still did front his eyes Hee cald a counsell of his kites together With whom in haste he wold the mean deuise By secret arte to leade an armie thither And so pull downe from place of highe estate This heauenly bird that he had so in hate Much talke there was wondrous heede was held How to atchieue this high attempt in hand Some out were sēt to soare about the field Where flue this grace and glory of the land To mark her course how she made her wing And how her strēgth might stād with such a king And forthwith should such cages be deuised As should enclose full many thousand fowles By whom her seat should quickly be surprized And all her birds should handled be like owles No time detract this deede must needs be don And ere they went