by like or very neare of kin Then followed them Detraction and Deceite Sym Swash did beare a buckler for the first False witnesse was the seconde seemely page And thus wel armd and in good equipage This Galant came vnto my fathers courte And wood my sister for she elder was And fayrer eke but out of doubt at least Hir pleasant speech surpassed mine somuch That vayne Delight to hir adrest his sute Short tale to make she gaue a free consent And forth she goeth to be his wedded make Entyst percase with glosse of gorgeous shewe Or else perhappes persuaded by his peeres That constant loue had herbord in his brest Such errors growe where suche false Prophets preach How so it were my Syster likte him wel And forth she goeth in Court with him to dwel Where when she had some yeeres ysoiorned And saw the world and marked eche mans minde A deepe Desire hir louing hart enflamde To see me sit by hir in seemely wise That companye might comfort hir sometimes And sound advice might ease hir wearie thoughtes And forth with speede euen at hir first request Doth vaine Delight his hasty course direct To seeke me out his sayles are fully bent And winde was good to bring me to the bowre Whereas she lay that mourned dayes and nights To see hir selfe so matchte and so deceivde And when the wretch I cannot terme him bet Had me on seas ful farre from friendly help A sparke of lust did kindle in his brest And bad him harke to songs of Satyra I selly soule which thought no body harme Gan cleere my throte and straue to sing my best Which pleasde him so and so enflamde his hart That he forgot my sister Poesys And rauisht me to please his wanton minde Not so content when this foule fact was done Yfraught with feare least that I should disclose His incest and his doting darke desire He causde straight wayes the formost of his crew VVith his compeare to trie me with their tongues And when their guiles could not preuaile to winne My simple mynde from tracke of trustie truth Nor yet deceyt could bleare mine eyes frō fraud Came Slander then accusing me and sayde That I entist Delyght to loue luste Thus was I caught poore wretch that thought none il And furthermore to cloke their own offence They clapt me fast in cage of Myserie And there I dwelt full many a doleful day Vntil this theefe this traytor vaine Delight Cut out my tong with Raysor of Restraynte Least I should wraye this bloudy deede of his And thus my Lord I liue a weary life Not as I seemd a man sometimes of might But womālike whose teares must venge hir harms And yet euen as the mighty gods did daine For Philomele that thoughe hir tong were cutte Yet should she sing a pleasant note sometimes So haue they deignd by their deuine decrees That with the stumps of my reproued tong I may sometimes Reprouers deedes reproue And sing a verse to make them see themselues Then thus I sing this selly song by night Like Phylomene since that the shining Sunne Is now eclypst which wont to lend me light And thus I sing in corner closely cowcht Like Philomene since that the stately cowrts Are now no place for such poore byrds as I. And thus I sing with pricke against my brest Like Philomene since that the priuy worme Which makes me see my reckles youth mispent May well suffise to keepe me waking still And thus I sing when pleasant spring begins Like Philomene since euery ianglyng byrd Which squeaketh loude shall neuer triumph so As though my muze were mute and durst not sing And thus I sing with harmelesse true intent Like Philomene when as percase meane while The Cuckowe suckes mine eggs by foule deceit And lickes the sweet which might haue fed me first And thus I meane in mournfull wise to sing A rare conceit God graunt it like my Lorde A trustie tune from auncient clyffes conueyed A playne song note which cannot warble well For whyles I mark this weak and wretched world Wherin I see howe euery kind of man Can flatter still and yet deceiues himselfe I seeme to muse from whence such errour springs Such grosse cōceits such mistes of darke mistake Such Surcuydry such weening ouer well And yet in dede such dealings too too badde And as I stretch my weary wittes to weighe The cause therof and whence it should proceede My battred braynes which now be shrewdly brusde With cānon shot of much misgouernmēt Can spye no cause but onely one conceite Which makes me thinke the world goeth stil awry I see and sigh bycause it makes me sadde That peuishe pryde doth al the world possesse And euery wight will haue a looking glasse To see himselfe yet so he seeth him not Yea shal I say a glasse of common glasse Which glistreth bright and shewes a seemely shew Is not enough the days are past and gon That Berral glasse with foyles of louely brown Might serue to shew a seemely fauord face That age is deade and vanisht long ago Which thought that steele both trusty was true And needed not a foyle of contraries But shewde al things euen as they were in deede In steade whereof our curious yeares can finde The christal glas which glimseth braue bright And shewes the thing much better than it is Beguylde with foyles of sundry subtil sights So that they seeme and couet not to be This is the cause beleue me now my Lorde That Realmes do rewe from high prosperity That kings decline from princely gouernment That Lords do lacke their auncestors good wil That knights consume their patrimonie still That gentlemen do make the merchant rise That plowmen begge and craftesmen cānot thriue That clergie quayles and hath smal reuerence That laymen liue by mouing mischiefe stil That courtiers thriue at latter Lammas day That officers can scarce enrich their heyres That Souldiours sterue or prech at Tiborne crosse That lawyers buye and purchase deadly hate That merchants clyme and fal againe as fast That roysters brag aboue their betters rome That sicophants are counted iolly guests That Lais leades a Ladies life alofte And Lucrece lurkes with sobre bashful grace This is the cause or else my Muze mistakes That things are thought which neuer yet were wrought And castels buylt aboue in lofty skies Which neuer yet had good foundation And that the same may seme no feined dreame But words of worth and worthy to be wayed I haue presumde my Lord for to present With this poore glasse which is of trustie Steele And came to me by wil and testament Of one that was a Glassemaker in deede Lucylius this worthy man was namde Who at his death bequeathd the christal glasse To such as loue to seme but not to be And vnto those that loue to see themselues How foule or fayre soeuer that they are He gan bequeath a glasse of trustie
and soūd not dub a dub Then be thou eke as mewet as a mayde I preach this sermon but to souldiours And learne to liue within thy bravries bounds Let not the Mercer pul thee by the sleeue For sutes of silke when cloth may serue thy turne Let not thy scores come robbe thy needy purse Make not the catchpol rich by thine arrest Art thou a Gentle liue with gentle friendes VVhich wil be glad thy companie to haue If manhoode may with manners well agree You haue forgot my greatest glorie got For yet by me nor mine occasion VVas neuer sene a mourning garmēt worne O noble words wel worthy golden writ Beleue me Lord a souldiour cannot haue Too great regarde wheron his knife should cut Ne yet the men which wonder at their wounds And shewe their scarres to euery commer by Dare once be seene within my glasse of Steele For so the faults of Thraso and his trayne Whom Terence told to be but bragging brutes Might sone appeare to euery skilful eye Bolde Manlius could close and wel conuey Ful thirtie wounds and three vpō his head Yet neuer made nor bones nor bragges therof What should I speake of drunken Soldiours Or lechers lewde which fight for filthy lust Of whom that one can sit and bybbe his fil Consume his coyne which might good corage yeld To such as march and moue at his commaunde And makes himselfe a worthy mocking stocke Which might deserue by sobre life great laude That other dotes and driueth forth his dayes In vaine delight and foule concupiscence When works of weight might occupie his hedde Yea therwithal he puts his owne fonde heade Vnder the belt of such as should him serue And so becoms example of much euil Which should haue servde as lanterne of good life And is controlde wheras he should commaund Augustus Caesar he which might haue made Both feasts and banquets brauely as the best Was yet content in campe with homely cates And seldome dranke his wine vnwatered Aristomenes dayned to defende His dames of prize whom he in warres had won And rather chose to die in their defence Then filthy men should foyle their chastitie This was a wight wel worthy fame and prayse O Captayns come and Souldiours come apace Be hold my glasse and you shall see therin As though the god of warres euen Mars himself Might wel by him be liuely counterfayte Though much more like the coward Constātine I see none such my Lorde I see none such Since Phocion which was in deede a Mars And one which did much more than he wold vaunt Contented was to be but homely clad And Marius whose constant hart could bide The very vaines of his forwearied legges To be both cut and carued from his corps Could neuer yet contented be to spend One idle groate in clothing nor in cates I see not one my Lord I see not one Which stands somuch vpon his paynted sheath Bycause he hath perchaunce at Bolleyn bene And loytered since then in idlenesse That he accompts no Soldiour but himselfe Nor one that can despise the learned brayne VVhich ioyneth reading with experience Since Palamedes and Vlisses both VVere much esteemed for their pollicies Although they were not thought long trained men Epamynondas eke was much esteemde VVhose Eloquence was such in all respects As gaue no place vnto his manly hart And Fabius surnamed Maximus Could ioyne such learning with experience As made his name more famous than the rest These bloudy beasts apeare not in my glasse VVhich cannot rule their sword in furious rage Nor haue respecte to age nor yet to kinde But downe goeth al where they get vpper hand VVhose greedy harts so hungrie are to spoyle That few regard the very wrath of God VVhich greeued is at cries of giltlesse bloud Pericles was a famous man of warre And victor eke in nine great foughten fields VVherof he was the general in charge Yet at his death he rather did reioyce In clemencie than bloudy victorie Be still quoth he you graue Athenians VVho whispered and tolde his valiant facts Art thou a seruing man then serue againe And stint to steale as common souldiours do Art thou a craftsman take thee to thine arte And cast off slouth which loytreth in the Campes Art thou a plowman pressed for a shift Then learne to clout thine old cast cobled shoes And rather bide at home with barly bread Than learne to spoyle as thou hast seene some do Of truth my friendes and my companions eke Who lust by warres to gather lawful welth And so to get a right renoumed name Must cast aside al common trades of warre And learne to liue as though he knew it not Well thus my Knight hath held me al to long Bycause he bare such compasse in my glasse High time were then to turne my wery pen Vnto the Peasant comming next in place And here to write the summe of my conceit I do not meane alonely husbandmen Which till the ground which dig delve mow and sowe Which swinke and sweate whiles we do sleepe and snort And serch the guts of earth for greedy gain But he that labors any kind of way To gather gaines and to enrich himselfe By King by Knight by holy helping Priests And al the rest that liue in common welth So that his gaines by greedinesse be got Him can I compt a Peasant in his place Al officers all aduocates at lawe Al men of arte which get goodes greedily Must be content to take a Peasants rome A strange deuise and sure my Lord wil laugh To see it so desgested in degrees But he which can in office drudge and droy And craue of al although euen now a dayes Most officers commaund that shuld be cravde He that can share from euery pention payde A Peeter peny weying halfe a pounde He that can plucke sir Bennet by the sleeue And finde a fee in his pluralitie He that can winke at any foule abuse As long as gaines come trouling in therwith Shal such come see themselues in this my glasse Or shal they gaze as godly good men do Yea let them come but shal I tell you one thing How ere their gownes be gathred in the backe With organe pipes of old king Henries clampe How ere their cappes be folded with a flappe How ere their beards be clipped by the chinne How ere they ride or mounted are on mules I compt them worse thā harmeles homely hindes Which toyle in dede to serue our common vse Strange tale to tel all officers be blynde And yet their one eye sharpe as Linceus sight That one eye winks as though it were but blynd That other pries and peekes in euery place Come naked neede and chance to do amisse He shal be sure to drinke vpon the whippe But priuie gaine that bribing busie wretch Can finde the meanes to creepe and cowch so low As officers 〈◊〉 neuer see him slyde Nor heare the trampling
eche in his degree That God vouchsafe to graunt them al his grace Where should I now beginne to bidde my beades Or who shal first be put in common place My wittes be wearie and my eyes are dymme I cannot see who best deserues the roome Stād forth good Peerce thou plowmā by thyname Yet so the Sayler saith I do him wrong That one contends his paines are without peare That other saith that none be like to his In dede they labour both exceedingly But since I see no shipman that can liue Without the plough and yet I many see Which liue by lande that neuer sawe the seas Therfore I say stand forth Peerce plowman first Thou winst the roome by verie worthinesse Behold him priests though he stink of sweat Disdaine him not for shal I tel you what Such clime to heauen before the shauen crownes But how forsooth with true humilytie Not that they hoord their grain when it is cheape Nor that they kill the calfe to haue the milke Nor that they set debate betwene their lords By earing vp the balks that part their bounds Nor for because they can both crowche creep The guilefulst men that euer God yet made VVhen as they meane most mischiefe and deceite Nor that they can crie out on landelordes lowde And say they racke their rents an ace to high VVhen they themselues do sel their landlords lābe For greater price then ewe was wont be worth I see you Peerce my glasse was lately scowrde But for they feed with frutes of their gret paines Both King and Knight and priests in cloyster pent Therefore I say that sooner some of them Shal scale the walles which leade vs vp to heauen Than cornfed beasts whose bellie is their God Although they preach of more perfection And yet my priests pray you to God for Peerce As Peerce can pinch it out for him and you And if you haue a Paternoster spare Then shal you pray for Saylers God them send More mind of him when as they come to lande For towarde shipwracke many men can pray That they once learne to speake without a lye And meane good faith without blaspheming othes That they forget to steale from euery fraight And for to forge false cockets free to passe That māners make them giue their betters place And vse good words though deeds be nothing gay But here me thinks my priests begin to frowne And say that thus they shal be ouerchargde To pray for al which seme to do amisse And one I heare more saucie than the rest VVhich asketh me when shal our prayers end I tel thee priest when shoomakers make shoes That are wel sowed with neuer a stitch amisse And vse no crafte in vttring of the same VVhen Taylours steale no stuffe from gentlemen VVhen Tanners are with Corriers wel agreede And both so dresse their hydes that we go dry when Cutlers leaue to sel olde rustie blades And hide no crackes with soder nor deceit when tinkers make no more holes thā they founde when thatchers thinke their wages worth their worke when colliers put no dust into their sacks when maltemen make vs drinke no firmentie when Dauie Diker diggs and dallies not when smithes shoo horses as they would he shod when millers toll not with a golden thumbe whē bakers make not barme beare price of wheat when brewers put no bagage in their beere when butchers blowe not ouer al their fleshe when horsecorsers beguile no friends with Iades when weauers weight is found in huswiues web But why dwel I so long among these lowts When mercers make more bones to swere and lye VVhen vintners mix no water with their wine VVhen printers passe none errours in their bookes VVhen hatters vse to bye none olde cast robes VVhē goldsmithes get no gains by sodred crownes When vpholsters sel fethers without dust When pewterers infect no Tin with leade When drapers draw no gaines by giuing day When perchmentiers put in no ferret Silke When Surgeons heale al wounds without delay Tush these are toys but yet my glas sheweth al. When purveyours prouide not for themselues VVhen Takers take no brybes nor vse no brags When customers conceale no covine vsde VVhen Seachers see al corners in a shippe And spie no pens by any sight they see VVhen shriues do serue al processe as they ought VVhen baylifes strain none other thing but strays VVhen auditours their counters cannot change VVhen proude surueyours take no parting pens VVhen Siluer sticks not on the Tellers fingers And when receiuers pay as they receiue VVhen al these folke haue quite forgotten fraude Againe my priests a little by your leaue VVhen Sicophants can finde no place in courte But are espied for Ecchoes as they are When roysters ruffle not aboue their rule Nor colour crafte by swearing precious coles When Fencers fees are like to apes rewards A peece of breade and therwithal a bobbe VVhen Lays liues not like a ladies peare Nor vseth art in dying of hir heare When al these things are ordred as they ought And see themselues within my glasse of steele Euen then my priests may you make holyday And pray no more but ordinarie prayers And yet therin I pray you my good priests Pray stil for me and for my Glasse of steele That it nor I do any minde offend Bycause we shew all colours in their kinde And pray for me that since my hap is such To see men so I may perceiue myselfe O worthy words to ende my worthlesse verse Pray for me Priests I pray you pray for me FINIS Tam Marti quà m Mercurio EPILOGVS ALas my lord my hast was al to hote I shut my glasse before you gasde your fill And at a glimse my seely selfe haue spied A stranger trowpe than any yet were sene Beholde my lorde what monsters muster here With Angels face and harmefull helish harts With smyling lookes and depe deceitful thoughts With tender skinnes and stony cruel mindes With stealing steppes yet forward feete to fraude Behold behold they neuer stande content With God with kinde with any helpe of Arte But curle their locks with bodkins with braids But dye their heare with sundry subtill sleights But paint and slicke til fayrest face be foule But bumbast bolster frisle and perfume They marre with muske the balme which nature made And dig for death in dellicatest dishes The yonger sorte come pyping on apace In whistles made offine enticing wood Til they haue caught the birds for whom they birded The elder sorte go stately stalking on And on their backs they beare both land and fee Castles and Towres revenewes and receits Lordships and manours fines yea fermes and al. What should these be speake you my louely lord They be not men for why they haue no beards They be no boyes which weare such side lōg gowns They be no Gods for al their gallant glosse They be no diuels I trow which seme so saintish What be they women masking
make I list not vaunte his workes for me shal say In praising him Timantes trade I take VVho when hee should the woful cheare displaie Duke Agamemnon had when he did waile His daughters death with teares of smal auaile Notskild to countershape his morneful grace That men might deeme what art coulde not supplie Deuisde with painted vaile to shrowde his face Like sorte my pen shal Gascoignes praise discrie VVhich wanting grace his graces to rehearse Doth shrowde and cloude them thus in silent verse Walter Rawely of the middle Temple in commendation of the Steele Glasse SVVetē were the sauce would please ech kind of tast The life likewise were pure that neuer swerued For spyteful tongs in cankred stomackes plaste Deeme worst of things which best percase deserued But what for that this medcine may suffyse To scorne the rest and seke to please the wise Though sundry mindes in sundry sorte do deeme Yet worthiest wights yelde prayse for euery payne But enuious braynes do nought or light esteme Such stately steppes as they cannot attaine For who so reapes renowne aboue the rest VVith heapes of hate shal surely be opprest VVherefore to write my censure of this booke This Glasse of Steele vnpartially doth shewe Abuses all to such as in it looke From prince to poore from high estate to lowe As for the verse who list like trade to trye I feare me much shal hardly reache so high Nicholas Bowyer in commēdation of this worke FRom layes of Loue to Satyres sadde and sage Our Poet turnes the trauaile of his time And as he pleasde the vaine of youthful age VVith pleasant penne employde in louing ryme So now he seekes the grauest to delight VVith workes of worth much better than they showe This Glasse of Steele if it be markt aright Discries the faults as wel of high as lowe And Philomelaes fourefolde iust complaynte In sugred sounde doth shrowde a solempne sence Gainst those whome lust or murder doth attaynte Lo this we see is Gascoignes good pretence To please al sorts with his praiseworthy skill Then yelde him thanks in signe of like good wil. The Author to the Reader TO vaunt were vaine and flattrie were a faulte But truth to tell there is a fort of fame The which I seeke by science to assault And so to leaue remembrance of my name The walles wherof are wondrous harde to clyme And much to high for ladders made of ryme Then since I see that rimes can seldome reache Vnto the toppe of such a stately Towre By reasons force I meane to make some breache VVhich yet may helpe my feeble fainting powre That so at last my Muse might enter in And reason rule that rime could neuer win Such battring tyre this pamphlet here bewraies In rymelesse verse which thundreth mighty threates And where it findes that vice the wall decayes Euen there amaine with sharpe rebukes it beates The worke thinke I deserues an honest name If not I fayle to win this forte of fame Tam Marti quà m Mercurio Gentle Reader I pray you before you reade to correct these faults ensuing Leafe Line Faulte Correction A. 2. First page 18. receiue reviued  Eadem 32. fainted fainting A. 2 Second page 25. euen now newe B. 2 First page 6. this deceite their deceipt  Eodem 2 page 18. seconde seemly seconde stemly  Eadem 21. woode woed B. 3. Second page 17 from fraude through fraude B. 4 Seconde Margin of them of the theame C. 4 First page 5. king knight F. 1 First page 9. greedinesse greedy guyles I. 1 Seconde page 2. byrded bryded K. 3 First page 19. astonyed astoynde  Eadem 20 aduance aduante P. 3 First page 6. phy false and Fye fierce and Q. 3 Seconde page 10 then vae vobis vae vobis then THE STEELE GLAS THe Nightingale whose happy noble hart No dole can daunt nor feareful force affright Whose chereful voice doth comfort saddest wights When she hir self hath little cause to sing Whom louers loue bicause she plaines their greues She wraies their woes and yet relieues their payne Whom worthy mindes alwayes esteemed much And grauest yeares haue not disdainde hir notes Only that king proud Tereus by his name With murdring knife did carue hir pleasant tong To couer so his owne foule filthy fault This worthy bird hath taught my weary Muze To sing a song in spight of their despight Which worke my woe withouten cause or crime And make my backe a ladder for their feete By slaundrous steppes and stayres of tickle talke To clyme the throne wherin my selfe should sitte O Phylomene then helpe me now to chaunt And if dead beastes or liuing byrdes haue ghosts Which can conceiue the cause of carefull mone When wrong triumphes and right is ouertrodde Then helpe me now O byrd of gentle bloud In barrayne verse to tell a frutefull tale A tale I meane which may content the mindes Of learned men and graue Philosophers And you my Lord whose happe hath heretofore Bene louingly to reade my reckles rimes And yet haue deignde with fauor to forget The faults of youth which past my hasty pen And therwithall haue graciously vouchsafte To yeld the rest much more than they deservde Vouchsafe lo now to reade and to peruse This rimles verse which flowes fro troubled mind Synce that the line of that false caytife king Which rauished fayre Phylomene for lust And then cut out hir trustie long for hate They liue they liue alas the worse my lucke Whose greedy lust vnbridled from their brest Hath raunged long about the world so wyde To finde a pray for their wide open mouthes And me they found O wofull tale to tell Whose harmelesse hart perceivde not this deceit But that my Lord may playnely vnderstand The mysteries of all that I do meane I am not he whom slaunderous tongues haue tolde False tongues in dede craftie subtile braines To be the man which ment a common spoyle Of louing dames whose eares wold heare my words Or trust the tales deuised by my pen. I n'am a man as some do thinke I am Laugh not good Lord I am in dede a dame Or at the least a right Hermaphrodite And who desires at large to knowe my name My birth my line and euery circumstance Lo reade it here Playne dealyng was my Syre And he begat me by Simplycitie My sistr and I into this world were sent My Systers name was pleasant Poesys And I my selfe had Satyra to name Whose happe was such that in the prime of youth A lusty ladde a stately man to see Brought vp in place where pleasures did abound I dare not say in court for both myne eares Beganne to woo my sister not for wealth But for hir face was louely to beholde And therewithall hir speeche was pleasant stil. This Nobles name was called vayne Delight And in his trayne he had a comely crewe Of guylefull wights False semblant was the first The second man was Flearing flattery Brethren
in mens weedes With dutchkin dublets and with Ierkins iaggde With Spanish spangs and ruffes fet out of France With high copt hattes and fethers flaunt a flaunt They be so sure euen VVo to Men in dede Nay then my lorde let shut the glasse apace High time it were for my pore Muse to winke Since al the hands al paper pen and inke Which euer yet this wretched world possest Cannot describe this Sex in colours dewe No no my Lorde we gased haue inough And I too much God pardon me therfore Better loke of than loke an ace to farre And better mumme than meddle ouermuch But if my Glasse do like my louely lorde VVe wil espie some sunny Sommers day To loke againe and see some semely sights Meane while my Muse right hūbly doth besech That my good lorde accept this ventrous verse Vntil my braines may better stuffe deuise FINIS Tam Marti quà m Mercurio The complaynt of Phylomene An Elegye compyled by George Gascoigne Esquire Tam Marti quà m Mercurio IMPRINTED AT London by Henrie Binneman for Richarde Smith Anno Domini 1576. To the right honorable my singuler good Lord the L. Gray of Wilton Knight of the most noble order of the Garter RYght noble when I had determined with myself to write the Satire before recited called the Steele Glasse and had in myne Exordium by allegorie compared my case to that of fayre Phylomene abused by the bloudy king hir brother by lawe I called to minde that twelue or thirtene yeares past I had begonne an Elegye or sorrowefull song called the Complainte of Phylomene the which I began too deuise riding by the high way betwene Chelmisford and London and being ouertaken with a sodaine dash of Raine I changed my copy and stroke ouer into the Deprofundis which is placed amongst my other Poesies leuing the cōplaint of Phylomene vnfinished and so it hath continued euer since vntil this present moneth of April 1575. whē I begonne my Steele Glasse And bycause I haue in mine Exordium to the Steele Glasse begonne with the Nightingales notes therfore I haue not thought amisse now to finish pece vp the saide Cōplaint of Philomene obseruing neuerthelesse the same determinate inuention which I had propounded and begonne as is saide twelue yeeres nowe past The which I presume with the rest to present vnto your honor nothing doubting but the same wil accept my good entente therin And I furder beseche that your lordship wil voutsafe in reading ther of to gesse by change of style where the renewing of the verse may bee most apparantly thought to begin I wil no furder trouble your honor with these rude lines but besech of the almightie long to preserue you to his pleasure From my pore house in VValkamstowe the sixtenth of April 1575. Your L. bounden and most assured George Gascoigne PHILOMENE IN sweet April the messēger to May When hoonie drops do melt in golden showres When euery byrde records hir louers lay And westerne windes do foster forth our floures Late in an euen I walked out alone To heare the descant of the Nightingale And as I stoode I heard hir make great moane Waymenting much and thus she tolde hir tale These thriftles birds quoth she which spend the day In nedlesse notes and chaunt withouten skil Are costly kept and finely fedde alway With daintie foode wherof they feede theirfil But I which spend the darke and dreadful night In watch ward whē those birds take their rest Forpine my selfe that Louers might delight To heare the notes which breake out of my breste I leade a life to please the Louers minde And though god wot my foode be light of charge Yet seely soule that can no fauour finde I begge my breade and seke for seedes at large The Throstle she which makes the wood to ring With shryching lowde that loth some is to heare Is costly kept in cage O wondrous thing The Mauis eke whose notes are nothing cleare Now in good sooth quoth she sometimes I wepe To see Tom Tyttimouse so much set by The Finche which singeth neuer a note but peepe Is fedde aswel nay better farre than I. The Lennet and the Larke they sing alofte And coumpted are as Lordes in high degree The Brandlet saith for singing sweete and softe In hir conceit there is none such as she Canara byrds come in to beare the bell And Goldfinches do hope to get the gole The tatling Awbe doth please some fancie wel And some like best the byrde as Blacke as cole And yet could I if so it were my minde For harmony set al these babes to schole And sing such notes as might in euery kinde Disgrace them quight make their corage coole But should I so no no so wil I not Let brutish beasts heare such brute birds as those For like to like the prouer be saith I wot And should I then my cunning skil disclose For such vnkinde as let the cukowe flye To sucke mine eggs whiles I sit in the thicke And rather praise the chattring of a pye Than hir that sings with brest against a pricke Nay let them go to marke the cuckowes talke The iangling Iay for that becomes them wel And in the silent night then let them walke To heare the Owle how she doth shryche and yel And from henceforth I wil no more constraine My pleasant voice to sounde at their request But shrowd my selfe in darke some night raine And learne to cowche ful close vpon my neast Yet if I chaunce at any time percase To sing a note or twaine for my disporte It shal be done in some such secret place That fewe or none may ther vnto resorte These flatterers in loue which falshood meane Not once aproch to heare my pleasant song But such as true and sted fast louers bene Let them come neare for else they do me wrong And as I gesse not many miles from hence There stands a squire with pangs of sorrow prest For whom I dare auowe in his defence He is as true in Loue as is the best Him wil I cheare with chaunting al this night And with that word she gan to cleare hir throate But such a liuely song now by this light Yet neuer hearde I such another note It was thought me so pleasant and so plaine Orphaeus harpe was neuer halfe so sweete Tereu Tereu and thus she gan to plaine Most piteously which made my hart to greeue Hir second note was fy fy fy fy fy And that she did in pleasant wise repeate With sweete reports of heauenly harmonie But yet it seemd hir gripes of griefe were greate For when she had so soong and taken breath Then should you heare hir heauy hart so throbbe As though it had bene ouercome with death And yet alwayes in euery sigh and sobbe She shewed great skil for tunes of vnisone Hir Iug Iug Iug in griefe had such a grace Then stinted she as if hir song were done And ere