Selected quad for the lemma: lord_n
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A16759
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Melancholike humours, in verses of diuerse natures, set downe by Nich: Breton, Gent
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Breton, Nicholas, 1545?-1626?
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1600
(1600)
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STC 3666; ESTC S104806
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14,741
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46
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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