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
but only say I knowe not what to say So many torments teare my heart and tugge it euery way My Sunne is turnd into a shade or else mine eyes are blinde That sorrowes cloude makes all seeme darke that comes into my minde My youth to age or else because my comforts are so colde My sorrowe makes me in conceit to be decrepit olde My hopes to feares or else because my fortunes are forlorne My fancie makes me make my selfe vnto my selfe a scorne My life to death or else because my heart is so perxplexed I finde my selfe but liuing dead to feele my soule so vexed For what is here that earth can yeeld in pleasures sweetest vaine But in the midst of all my cares doth still increase my paine While Epicures are ouerglut I ly and starue for foode Because my conscience can not thriue vpon ill gotten good While other swimme in choyce of silkes I sit alone in ragges Because I can not fitte the time to fill the golden bagges While other are bedeckt in golde in pearle and pretious stone I sigh to see they haue so much and I can light of none Not that I enuie their estate but wish that God would giue Some comfort to my carefull hope wherby my heart might liue Some please themselues in choyce of sports in trifles and in toies While my poore feeble spirit feedes of nothing but annoyes Some haue their houses stately built and gorgeous to beholde While in a cottage bare and poore I bide the bitter colde Some haue their chariots and their horse to beare them to and fro While I am glad to walke on foote and glad I can doe so Some haue their musickes hermony to please their idle eares While of the song of sorrow still my soule the burthen beares Some haue their choyce of all perfumes that natures arte can giue While sinne doth stinke so in my soule as makes me loath to liue They like the wielders of the world command and haue their will While I a weakling in the world am slaue to sorrow still The Owle that makes the night her day delights yet in the darke But I am forc't to play the Owle that haue beene bred a Larke The Eagle from the lowest vale can mount the lofty skie But I am falne downe from the hill and in the vale must die The Sparrow in a Princes house can finde a place to builde I scarce can finde out any place that will my comfort yeelde The little Wrenne doth finde a worme the little Finch a seede While my poore heart doth hunger still and finds but little feede The Bee doth finde her hony flower the Butterflie her leafe But I can finde a world of corne that yeeldes not me a sheafe The horse the Oxe the silly Asse that tugge out all the day At night come home and take their rest and lay their worke away While my poore heart both day and night in passions ouertoild By ouerlabour of my braine doth finde my spirit spoiled The winds doe blowe away the clowds that would obscure the Sun And how all glorious is the sky when once the stormes are done But in the heauē of my harts hope where my loues light doth shine I nothing see but clouds of cares or else my sunne decline The earth is watred smoth'd and drest to keepe her gardens gay While my poore heart in woefull thoughtes must wither still away The Sea is sometime at a calme where shippes at anchor ride And fishes on the sunny shore doe play on euery side But my poore heart in sorrowes seas is sicke of such a qualme As while these stormy tempests holde can neuer looke for calme So that I see each bird and beast the sea the earth the sky All sometime in their pleasures liue while I alone must die Now thinke if all this be too true as would it were not so If any creature liue on earth that doe like sorrow knowe Nay aske of sorrow euen her selfe to thinke how I am wounded If she be not to see my woes within her selfe confounded Or say no figure can suffice my sorrowes frame to fashion Where patiēce thus hath shew'd her selfe beyōd her selfe in passion Par nulla figura dolori nec dolor meo A solemne farewell to the world OH forlorne fancy whereto dost thou liue To weary out the senses with vnrest Hopes are but cares that but discomforts giue While only fooles doe clime the Phoenix nest To heart sicke soules all ioyes are but a iest Thou dost in vain but striue against the streame With blinded eyes to see the sunny beame Die with desire abandond from delight Thy weary winter lasteth all the yeare Say to thy selfe that darknesse is the light Wherein doth nothing but thy death appeare While wit and sense in sorrowes heauy cheare Findes thee an humour but vnkindly bredde Of hopes illusions in too weake a head Fortune affrightes thee with a thousand feares While folly feedes thee with abuse of wit And while thy force in fainting passion weares Patience is ready to increase the fit Where agonies in their extreames doe sit So that each way thy soule is so perplexed As better die then liue to be so vexed Say patience somewhat doe asswage thy paine Prolonged cures are too vncomfortable And where that care doth neuer comfort gaine The state alasse mustneedes be miserable Where sorrowes labours are so lamentable That silence saies that to the soule complains Concealed sorrowes are the killing paines Then doe not ceasse to sigh and sobbe thy fill Bleede in the teares of true loues liuing blood Shewe how vnkindnesse seekes the heart to kill That hides a Buzzard in a Falcons hoode Feede not thy selfe with misconceipted good Better to starue then in a sugred pill To taste the poison of the spirits ill But if thou canst content thee with thy life And wilt endure a double death to liue If thou canst beare that bitter kinde of strife Where crosse conceipts but discontents do giue If to this ende thou canst thine humour driue And cares true patience can command thee so Giue mee then leaue to tell thee what I knowe I knowe too well that all too JOHg haue tryed That earth containeth not that may content thee Sorrowe will so beset thee on each side That wit nor reason can the thought inuent thee But that will some way serue for to torment thee Hope wil deceiue thee happinesse goe by thee Fortune will faile thee and the world defie thee Beauty will blinde thine eyes bewitch thine heart Confound thy senses and commaund thy will Scorne thy desire not looke on thy desart Disdaine thy seruice quite thy good with ill And make no care thy very soule to kill Time will outgoe thee sorrowe onertake thee And death a shadow of a substance make thee I know this world will neuer be for thee Conscience must carry thee another way Another world must be for thee and mee Where happie thoughts must make their holiday While
the world was wholly won But soft a while no sooner seene the land But ere they came in kenning of the coast So great a force their fortune did withstand That all the brauery of the birds was lost Some leakt some sanke some so ran on groūd The cages burst and all the birds were drownd But when the eagle heard what was become Of all his flight that flick'red here and there Some sicke some hurt some lame all sūme Or farre from hope or all too neere in feare He stoupt his traine and hung his head so sore As if his heart had neuer burst before ¶ A conceited fancy PVRE colours can abide no staine The sunne can neuer lose his light And vertue hath a heauenly vaine That well may claime a queenely right So giue my mistresse but her due Who tolde mee all these tales of you From heauen on earth the Sunne doth shine From vertue comes discretions loue They both are in themselues diuine Yet worke for weaker hearts behoue So would my mistresse had her due To tell mee still these tales of you But oh the Sunne is in a clowde And vertue liues in sweetes vnseene The earth with heauen is not allow'd A begger must not loue a Queene So must my mistresse haue her due To tell mee still these tales of you Then shine faire Sunne when clouds are gon Liue vertue in thy queenely loue Choose some such place to shine vpon As may thy Paradise approue That when my mistresse hath her due I may heare all this heauen in you ¶ A smile misconstrued BY your leaue a little while Loue hath got a beauties smile From on earth the fairest face But he may be much deceiued Kindenesse may be misconceiued Laughing oft is in disgrace Oh but he doth knowe her nature And to be that blessed creature That doth answere loue with kindnesse Tush the Phoenix is a fable Phoebus horses haue no stable Loue is often full of blindnesse Oh but he doth heare her voice Which doth make his heart reioyce With the sweetenesse of her sounde Simple hope may be abused Heares he not he is refused Which may giue his heart a wound No loue can belieue it neuer Beauty fauours once and euer Though proud enuie play the elfe Truthe and patience haue approued Loue shall euer be beloued If my mistresse be her selfe ¶ An odde humour PVRELY faire and fairely wise Blessed wit and blessed eyes Blessed wise and blessed faire Neuer may thy blisse impaire Kindely true and truly kinde Blessed heart and blessed minde Blessed kind and blessed true Euer may thy blisse renue Sweetely deare and dearely sweete Blessed where these blessings meete Blessed meetings neuer cease Euer may thy blisse encrease Blessed beauty wit and sense Blest in natures excellence Where all blessinges perish neuer Blessed maist thou liue for euer ¶ Awaggery CHILDRENS ahs and womens ohs Doe a wondrous griefe disclose Where a dugge the tone will still And the tother but a will Then in gods name let them cry While they cry they will not die For but fewe that are so curst As to cry vntill they burst Say some children are vntoward So some women are as froward Let them cry them 't will not kill them There is time enough to still them But if pitty will be pleased To relieue the small diseased When the helpe is once applying They will quickly leaue their crying Let the childe then sucke his fill Let the woman haue her will All will hush was hearde before Ah and oh will cry no more ¶ An odde conceipt LOVELY kinde and kindly louing Such a minde were worth the mouing Truly faire and fairely true Where are all these but in you Wisely kinde and kindely wise Blessed life where such loue lies Wise and kinde and faire and true Louely liue all these in you Sweetely deare and dearely sweete Blessed where these blessings meete Sweete faire wise kinde blessed true Blessed be all these in you ¶ A dolefull fancy SORROVV rippe vp all thy senses Neerest vnto horrors nature Taste of all thy quintessences That may kill a wretched creature Then beholde my wofull spirit All in passions ouerthrowne And full closely like a ferret Seize vpon it for thine owne But if thou doe growe dismaid When thou dost but looke on mee When my passions well displaid Will but make a blast of thee Then in griefe of thy disgraces Where my fortunes doe deface thee Tell thy Muses to their faces They may learne of mee to grace thee For thy sighes thy sobbes and teares But thy common badges beene While the paine the spirit beares Eates away the heart vnseene Where in silence swallowed vp Are the sighes and teares of loue Which are drawne to fill the cuppe Must be drunke to deaths behoue Then beholding my hearts swoune In my torments more and more Say when thou dost sit thee downe Thou wert neuer grac't before ¶ An Epitaph vpon Poet Spencer MOVRNFVLL Muses sorrowes minions Dwelling in despaires opinions Yee that neuer thought inuented How a heart may be contented But in torments all distressed Hopelesse how to be redressed All with howling and with crying Liue in a contiuuall dying Sing a Dirge on Spencers death Till your soules be out of breath Bidde the Dunces keepe their dennes And the Poets breake their pennes Bidde the Sheepheards shed their teares And the Nymphes go teare their haires Bidde the Schollers leaue their reeding And prepare their hearts to bleeding Bidde the valiant and the wise Full of sorrowes fill their eyes All for griefe that he is gone Who did grace them euery one Fairy Queene shew fairest Queene How her faire in thee is seene Sheepeheards Calender set downe How to figure best a clowne As for Mother Hubberts tale Cracke the nut and take the shale And for other workes of worth All too good to wander forth Grieue that euer you were wrot And your Author be forgot Farewell Arte of Poetry Scorning idle foolery Farewell true conceited reason Where was neuer thought of treason Farewell iudgement with inuention To describe a hearts intention Farewell wit whose sound and sense Shewe a Poets excellence Farewell all in one togither And with Spencers garland wither And if any Graces liue That will vertue honour giue Let them shewe their true affection In the depth of griefes perfection In describing forth her glory When she is most deepely sory That they all may wish to heere Such a song and such a quier As with all the woes they haue Follow Spencer to his graue FINIS
the fearelesse thoughts of feares To giue to life to let me die My care I doe bequeath to death To cut the threades that thoughts do spinne And at my latest gaspe of breath To heauen my soule to hell my sinne ¶ A fantasticke solemne humour SOVND good reason sound my sorrowes Equall them with any liuing Finde the worst of all her giuing When she most her mischiefe borrowes Leaue not patience all perplexed Where no passions are appeased But her torments neuer eased Keepe her spirit too much vexed Tell oh tell the truest story That hath long time bene described Whereto iustly is ascribed Sorrowes pride and death his glory Loue bred in discretions blindnesse Shadowes for the sunne affecting Nothing but nothing effecting Shewes the crosse of Natures kindnesse Wit bewitcht with wanton beauty Lost the raines of reasons bridle And in folly all too idle Brake the bands of reasons duty Time misspent in follies trifles With repentance sorrow feeding In the rules of reasons reeding Findes them nothing else but nifles Care yet seeking to recouer Indiscretions heauie losses Found in casting vp my crosses Sorrow only left the louer ¶ A briefe of sorrowe MVSE of sadnesse neere deaths fashion Too neere madnesse write my passion Paines possesse mee sorrowes spill mee Cares distresse mee all would kill mee Hopes haue faild mee Fortune foild mee Feares haue quaild me all haue spoild mee Woes haue worne mee sighes haue soakt mee Thoughts haue torne mee all haue broke mee Beauty strooke me loue hath catcht mee Death hath tooke mee all dispatcht mee ¶ A solemne saâ—cy SORROVV in my heart breedeth A Cocatrices neast Where euery young bird feedeth Vpon my hearts vnrest Where euery pecke they giue mee VVhich euery houre they doe Vnto such paine they driue mee I knowe not what to doe Oh broode vnhapp'ly hatched Of such a cursed kinde Where death and sorrowe matched Liue but to kill the minde Wordes torments are but trifles That but conceits confounde And Natures griefes but nifles Vnto the spirits wounde They are but cares good morrowes That passions can declare While my hearts inward sorrowes Are all without compare Fortune she seekes to sweare mee To all may discontent me Yet sayes she doth forbeare mee She doth no more torment mee Beauty she doth retaine mee In scarce a fauours tittle And though she doe disdeigne mee She thinkes my griefe too little Loue falles into a laughing At reasons little good While sorrow with her quaffing Is drunke with my heart blood But let her drinke and spare not Vntill my heart be dry And let loue laugh I care not My hope is I shall dy And death shall only tell My froward fortunes fashion That nearest vnto hell Was found the louers passion ¶ A solemne sonnet FORTVNE hath writ characters on my heart As full of crosses as the skinne can holde Which tell of torments tearing euery part While death and sorrowe doe my fate vnfolde Patience sits leaning like a pining soule That had no heart to thinke of hopes reliefe VVhile fruitlesse cares discomfort doe enroule Within the ground of neuer ending griefe Thoughts flie about as all in feare confounded Reason growne mad with too much mal content Loue passion-rent to see his patience wounded VVith dreadfull terrors of despaires intent While care concludes in comforts ouerthrowne WheÌ„ death can speak my passioÌ„s shal be showne ¶ An extreame Passion OVT of the depth of deadly griefe tormenting day and night A wounded heart and wretched soule depriu'd of all delight Where neuer thought of comfort came that passioÌ„ might appease Or by the smallest sparke of hope might giue the smallest ease Let me intreat that solemne Muse that serues but sorrowes turne In ceasselesse sighes and endlesse sobs to helpe my soule to mourne But oh what thought beyoÌ„d al thought hath thought to think vpon Where patience findes her greatest power in passions ouergon That neere the doore of natures death in dolefull notes doth dwell In horrors fits that will describe my too much figur'd hell What want what wrong what care what crosse may crucifie a hart But day and howre I doe endure in all and euery part Want to sustaine the bodies neede wrong to distract the minde Where want makes wit and reason both to goe against their kinde Care to deuise for comforts helpe but so by fortune crost As kils the heart to cast the eye on nought but labour lost Desire to liue in spite of death yet still in liuing dying And so a greater death then death by want of dying trying Oh hell of hels if euer earth such horror can afford Where such a world of helpelesse cares doe lay the heart aboord ' No day no night no thought no dreame but of that doleful nature That may amaze or sore affright a most afflicted creature Friends turnd to foes foes vse their force and fortune in her pride Shaks hands with fate to make my soule the weight of sorrow bide Care brings in sicknes sicknes pain paine with patience passion With biting in most bitter griefes brings feature out of fashion Where brawn falne cheeks heart scalding sighs dimmed eyes with teares Doe shewe in lifes Anatomy what burthen sorrowe beares Where all day long in helplesse cares all hopelesse of reliefe I wish for night I might not see the obiectes of my griefe And when night comes woes keep my wits in such a waking vaine That I could wish though to my griefe that it were day againe Thus daies are nights which nights are daies which daies are like those nights That to my passioÌ„s seÌ„se preseÌ„t but only sorrows sights Which to the eye but of the minde of misery appeare To fill the heart of forlorne hope too full of heauie cheare Oh hart how canst thou hold so long and art not broke ere this When all thy strings are but the straines that coÌ„fort strikes amisse Yet must thou make thy musicke still but of that mournfull straine Where sorrowe in the sound of death doth shew her sweetest vain Or where her Muses all consent in their consort to trie Their sweetest musicke in desire to die and can not die The Pellican that kils her selfe her young ones for to feede Is pleas'd to dy that they may liue that suck when she doth bleede But while I in those cares consume that would my spirit kill Nought liues by me when I must die to feede but sorrowes will The Hart that 's huÌ„ted all day long hath sport yet with the houÌ„ds And happly beats off many a dogge before his deadly wounds But my poore heart is hunted still with such a cruell cry As in their dogged humours liue while I alone must die The Swan that sings before her death doth shew that she is pleas'd To knowe that death will not be long in helping the diseas'd But my poore Swanlike soule alas hath no such power to sing Because she knowes not when my death will make my care a king What shall I say
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