my race of youthfull yéeres had roon Alwayes vntyed and not but once in thrall Euen I which had the fieldes of fréedome woon And liu'd at large and playde with pleasurs ball Lo nowe at last am tane agayne and taught To tast such sorowes as I neuer sought I loue I loue alas I loue indéede Ierie alas but no man pityes me My woundes are wide yet seme they not to bléed And hidden woundes are hardly heald we sée Such is my lucke to catch a sodain clappe Of great mischaunce in séeking my good happe My morning minde which dwelt and dyed in dole Sought company for solace of the same My cares were cold and craued comforts coale To warme my will with flakes of friendly flame I sought and found I crau'd and did obtaine I woon my wish and yet I got no gaine For whiles I sought the cheare of company Fayre fellowship did wonted woes reuiue And crauing medcine for my maladie Dame pleasures plasters prou'd a corosiue So that by myrth I reapt no fruite but mone Much worse I fere than when I was alone The cause is this my lot did light to late The Byrdes were flowen before I found the nest The stéede was stollen before I shut the gate The cates consumd before I smelt the feast And I fond foole with emptie hand must call The gorged Hauke which likes no lure at all Thus still I toyle to till the barraine land And grope for grappes among the bramble briers I striue to saile and yet I sticke on sand I déeme to liue yet drowne in déepe desires These lottes of loue are fitte for wanton will Which findes too much yet must be séeking still Meritum petere graue The louer encouraged by former examples determineth to make vertue of necessitie WHen I record with in my musing mind The noble names of wightes bewicht in loue Such solace for my selfe therin I finde As nothing maye my fixed fansie moue But paciently I will endure my wo Because I sée the heauens ordayne it so For whiles I read and ryfle their estates In euery tale I note mine owne anoye But whiles I marke the meanings of their mates I séeme to swime in such a sugred ioye As did parcase entise them to delight Though turnd at last to drugges of sower despite Peruse who list Dan Dauids perfect déedes There shall he find the blot of Bersabe Wheron to thinke my heauy hart it bléedes When I compare my loue like hir to be Vrias wife before mine eyes that shines And Dauid I from dutie that declines Then Salomon this princely Peophetes sonne Did Pharaos daughter make him fall or no Yes yes perdie his wisdome coulde not shoone Hir subtill snares nor from hir counsell go I nam as hée the wisest wight of all But well I wot a woman holdes me thrall So am I lyke the proude Assirian Knight Which blasphem'd God and all the world defied Yet could a woman ouercome his might And daunt his force in all his Pompe and Pride I Holiferne am dronken brought to bead My loue lyke Iudith cutting of my head If I were strong as some haue made accompt Whose forre is like to that which Sampson had If I be bolde whose courage can surmount The heart of Hercules which nothing drad Yet Dalila and Deyanyraes loue Dyd teach them both such panges as I must proue Well let these passe and thinke on Nasoes name Whose skilfull verse dyd flowe in learned style Dyd hée thinke you not dote vpon his Dame Corinna fayre dyd shée not him beguile Yes God he knowes for verse nor pleasaunt rymes Can constant kéepe the key of Cressides crimes So that to ende my tale as I began I see the good the wise the stoute the bolde The strongest champion and the learnedst man Haue bene and bée by lust of loue controlde Which when to thinke I hold me well content To liue in loue and neuer to repen◠Meritum petere graue The delectable history of sundry aduentures passed by Dan Bartholmew of Bathe The Reporter TO tell a tale without authoritye Or fayne a Fable by inuencion That one procéedes of quicke capacitye That other proues but small discretion Yet haue both one and other oft bene done And if I were a Poet as some be You might perhappes here some such tale of me But far I fynde my féeble skyll to faynt To faine in figurs as the learned can And yet my tongue is tyde by due constraint To tell nothing but trueth of euery man I will assay euen as I first began To tell you nowe a tale and that of truth Which I my selfe sawe proued in my youth I néede not séeke so farre in costes abrode As some men do which write strange historyes For whiles at home I made my cheife abode And sawe our louers plaie their Tragedyes I found enough which séemed to suffice To set on worke farre finer wittes than mine In paynting out the pangs which make them pine Amongst the rest I most remember one Which was to me a déere familyar friend Whose doting dayes since they be paste and gone And his annoye neare come vnto an ende Although he séeme his angry brow to bend I wyll be bold by his leaue for to tell The restlesse state wherein he long dyd dwell Learned he was and that became him best For though by birth he came of worthy race Yet beutie byrth braue personage and the rest In euery choyce must needes giue learning place And as for him he had so hard a grace That by aspect he seemde a simple man And yet by learning much renowne he wan His name I hide and yet for this discourse Let call his name Dan Bartholmew of Bathe Since in the ende he thither had recourse And as he sayd dyd skamble there in skathe In déede the rage which wrong him there was rathe As by this tale I thinke your selfe will gesse And then with me his lothsome lyfe confesse For though he had in all his learned lore Both redde good rules to bridle fantasie And all good authours taugh him euermore To loue the meane and leaue extremitie Yet kind hath lent him such a qualitie That at the last he quite forgat his bookes And fastned fansie with the fairest lookes For proofe when gréene youth lept out of his eye And left him now a man of middle age His happe was yet with wandring lookes to spie A fayre yong impe of proper personage Eke borne as he of honest parentage And truth to tell my skill it cannot serue To praise hir bewtie as it dyd deserue First for hir head the béeres were not of Gold But of some other metall farre more fine Whereof eache crinet seemed to behold Like glistring wiers against the Sunne that shine And therewithall the blazing of hir eyne Was like the beames of Titan truth to tell Which glads vs all that in this world do dwell Vpon hir chéekes the Lillie and the Rose Did entremeete with equall change
men as maye confesse with me How contrary the lots of loue to all true louers bée Let Patience be the Priest the Clarke be Close conceipt The Sertin be Simplicitie which meaneth no disceipt Let almes of Loue be delt euen at the Chaunsell doore And feede them there with freshe delayes as I haue bene of yore Then let the yongest sort be set to ring Loues Bels And pay Repentance for their paines but giue thē nothing else Thus when the Dirge is done let euery man depart And learne by me what harme it is to haue a faithfull hart Those litle landes I haue mine heyre must needes possesse His name is Lust the landes be losse few louers scape with lesse The rest of all my goodes which I not here rehearse Giue learned Poets for their paines to decke my Tombe with verse And let them write these wordes vpon my carefull chest Lo here he lies that was as true in loue as is the best Alas I had forgot the Parsons dewe to paye And so my soule in Purgatorye might remaine alway Then for my priuie Tythes as kysses caught by stealth Sweete collinges such other knackes as multiplied my wealth I giue the Vickar here to please his gréedie wyll A deintie dishe of suger soppes but saust with sorrow stil And twise a wéeke at least let dight them for his dishe On Fridayes and on wednesdaies to saue expence of fishe Nowe haue I much bequeathed and litle left behinde And others mo must yet be serued or else I were vnkinde Wet eyes and wayling wordes Executours I make And for their paines ten pound of teares let either of them take Let sorrow at the last my Suprauisor be And stedfastnesse my surest steade I giue him for his fée Yet in his pattent place this Sentence of prouiso That he which loueth stedfastly shall want no sauce of sorrow Thus now I make an ende of this my wearie wyll And signe it with my simple hand and set my seale there tyll And you which reade my wordes although they be in rime Yet reason may perswade you eke Thus louers dote sometime The Subscription and seale MY mansion house was Mone from Dolours dale I came I Fato Non Fortuna hight lo now you know my name My seale is sorrowes sythe within a fielde of flame Which cuts in twaine a carefull heart that sweltreth in the same Fato non Fortuna ALas lo now I heare the passing Bell Which Care appointeth carefullye to knoule And in my brest I féele my heart now swell To breake the stringes which ioynde it to my soule The Crystall yse which lent mine eyes their light Doth now waxe dym and dazeled all with dread My senses all wyll now forsake me quite And hope of health abandoneth my head My wearie tongue can talke no longer now My trembling hand nowe leaues my penne to hold My ioynts nowe stretch my body cannot bowe My skinne lookes pale my blood now waxeth cold And are not these the very panges of death Yes sure sweete heart I know them so to bée They be the panges which striue to stop my breath They be the panges which part my loue from thée What sayd I Loue Nay life but not my loue My life departes my loue continues styll My lothed lyfe may from my corpse remoue My louing Loue shall alwayes worke thy wyll It was thy wyll euen thus to trye my truth Thou hast thy wyll my truth may now be sene It was thy wyll that I should dye in youth Thou hast thy wyll my yeares are yet but grene Thy penaunce was that I should pine in paine I haue performde thy penaunce all in wo Thy pleasure was that I should here remaine I haue bene glad to please thy fansie so Nowe since I haue performed euery part Of thy commaunde as neare as tongue can tell Content thée yet before my muse depart To take this Sonet for my last farewell Fato non fortuna His Farewell FArewell déere Loue whome I haue loued and shall Both in this world and in the world to come For proofe whereof my sprite is Charons thrall And yet my corpse attendant on thy toome Farewell déere swéete whose wanton wyll to please Eche taste of trouble séemed mell to me Farewell swéete deare whose doubtes for to appease I was contented thus in bale to be Farewell my lyfe farewell for and my death For thee I lyu'd for thee nowe must I dye Farewell from Bathe whereas I feele my breath Forsake my breast in great perplexitie Alas how welcome were this death of mine If I had dyde betweene those armes of thine Fato non Fortuna The Reporters conclusion WHere might I now find flooddes of flowing teares So to suffice the swelling of mine eyes How might my breast vnlode the bale it beares Alas alas how might my tongue deuise To tell this weary tale in wofull wise To tell I saye these tydinges nowe of truth Which may prouoke the craggy rockes to rush In depth of dole would God that I were drownde Where flattering ioyes might neuer find me out Or graued so within the gréedy grounde As false delights might neuer bréede my doubt Nor guilefull loue hir purpose bring about Whose trustlesse traines in collours for to paint I find by proofe my wittes are all to faint I was that man whome destinies ordeine To beare eche griefe that groweth on the mold I was that man which proued to my paine More panges at once than can with tongue be told I was that man hereof you maye be hold Whome heauen and earth did frame to scoffe and scorne I I was he which to that ende was borne Suffized not my selfe to taste the fruite Of sugred sowres which growe in gadding yeares But that I must with paine of lyke pursute Perceiue such panges by paterne of my peares And féele how fansies fume could fond my pheares Alas I find all fates against me bent For nothing else I lyue but to lament The force of friendship bound by holy othe Dyd drawe my wyll into these croked wayes For with my frend I went to Bathe though loth To lend some comfort in his dollie dayes The stedfast friend stickes fast at all assayes Yet was I loth such time to spend in vaine The cause whereof lo here I tell you playne By proofe I found as you may well perceiue That all good counsell was but worne in wast Such painted paines his passions did deceiue That bitter gall was mell to him in tast Within his will such rootes of ruine plast As graffes of griefes were only giuen to growe Where youth did plant and rash conceite did sowe I sawe at first his eares were open aye To euery tale which fed him with some hope As fast againe I sawe him turne away From graue aduise which might his conscience grope From reasons rule his fancie lightly lope He only gaue his mind to get that gaine Which most he wisht and least could yet attaine Not I
my will with flames of feruent loue To further forth the fruite of my desire My fréends deuisde this meane for my behoue They made a match according to my mind And cast a snare my fansie for to blind Short tale to make the déede was almost donne Before I knew which way the worke begonne And with this lot I did my selfe content I lent a liking to my parents choyse With hand and hart I gaue my frée consent And hung in hope for euer to reioyce I liu'd and lou'd long time in greater ioy Than shée which held king Priams sonne of Troy But thrée lewd lots haue chang'd my heauen to hell And those be these giue eare and marke them well First slaunder he which alwayes beareth hate To happy harts in heauenly state that bide Gan play his part to stirre vp some debate Whereby suspect into my choyse might glide And by his meanes the slime of false suspect Did as I feare my dearest friend infect Thus by these twayn long was I plungd in paine Yet in good hope my hart did still remaine But now aye me the greatest grief of all Sound loud my Lute and tell it out my toong The hardest hap that euer might befall The onely cause wherfore this song is soong Is this alas my loue my Lord my Roy My chosen pheare my gemme and all my ioye Is kept perforce out of my dayly sight Whereby I lacke the stay of my delight In loftie walles in strong and stately towers With troubled minde in solitary sorte My louely Lord doth spend his dayes and howers A weary life deuoyde of all disport And I poore soule must lie here all alone To tyre my trueth and wound my will with mone Such is my hap to shake my blooming time With winters blastes before it passe the prime Now haue you heard the summe of all my grief Whereof to tell my hart oh rends in twayne Good Ladies yet lend you me some relief And beare a parte to ease me of my payne My sortes are such that waying well my trueth They might prouoke the craggy rocks to rueth And moue these walles with teares for to lament The lothsome life wherein my youth is spent But thou my Lute be still now take thy rest Repose thy bones vppon this bed of downe Thou hast dischargd some burden from my brest Wherefore take thou my place herelie thée downe And let me walke to tyre my restlesse minde Vntill I may entreate some curteous winde To blow these wordes vnto my noble make That he may sée I sorow for his sake Meritum petere graue A Riddle A Lady once did aske of me This preatie thing in priuitie Good sir quod she faine would I craue One thing which you your selfe not haue Nor neuer had yet in times past Nor neuer shall while life doth last And if you séeke to find it out You loose your labour out of doubt Yet if you loue me as you say Then giue it me for sure you may Meritum petere graue The shield of loue c. L'Escü d'amour the shield of perfect loue The shield of loue the force of stedfast faith The force of faith which neuer will remoue But standeth fast to bide the brunts of death That trustie targe hath long borne off the blowes And broke the thrusts which absence at me throwes In dolefull dayes I lead an absent life And wound my will with many a weary thought I plead for peace yet sterue in stormes of strife I find debate where quiet rest was sought These panges with mo vnto my paine I proue Yet beare I all vppon my shield of loue In colder cares are my conceipts consumd Than Dido felt when false Aeneas fled In farre more heat than trusty Troylus fumde When craftie Cressyde dwelt with Diomed My hope such frost my hot desire such flame That I both fryse and smoulder in the same So that I liue and die in one degrée Healed by hope and hurt againe with dread Fast bound by faith when fansie would be frée Vntied by trust though thoughts enthrall my head Reuiu'd by ioyes when hope doth most abound And yet with grief in depth of dolors drownd In these assaultes I féele my féebled force Begins to faint thus weried still in woes And scarcely can my thus consumed corse Hold vp this Buckler to beare of these blowes So that I craue or presence for relief Or some supplie to ease mine absent grief Lenuoie To you deare Dame this dolefull plaint I make Whose onely sight may soone redresse my smart Then shew your selfe and for your seruaunts sake Make hast post hast to helpe a faithfull harte Mine owne poore shield hath me defended long Now lend me yours for elles you do me wrong Meritum petere graue A gloze vpon this text Dominus ijs opus habet MY recklesse race is runne gréene youth and pride be past My riper mellowed yeares beginne to follow on as fast My glancing lookes are gone which wonted were to prie In euery gorgeous garish glasse that glistred in mine eie My sight is now so dimme it can behold none such No mirrour but the merrie meane can please my fansie muche And in that noble glasse I take delight to view The fashions of the wonted worlde compared by the new For marke who list to looke each man is for him selfe And beates his braine to hord heape this trash worldly pelfe Our hands are closed vp great gifts go not abroade Few men will lend a locke of heye but for to gaine a loade Giue gaue is a good man what néede we lash it out The world is wōdrous fearfull now for danger bids men doubt And aske how chanceth this or what meanes all this méede Forsooth the common answer is because the Lord hath neede A noble iest by gisse I find it in my glasse The same fréehold our Sauiour Christ conueyed to his asse A text to trie the truth and for this time full fitte For where should we our lessons learne but out of holy writte First marke our only God which ruleth all the rost He sets aside all pompe and pride wherein fond wordlings boast His traine is not so great as filthy Sathans band A smaller heard may serue to féede at our great masters hand Next marke the heathens Gods and by them shall we sée They be not now so good fellowes as they were woont to be Ioue Mars and Mercurie Dame Venus and the rest They bāquet not as they were wont they know it were not best So kings and Princes both haue lefte their halles at large Their priuie chambers cost enough they cut off euery charge And when an office falles as chance sometimes may be First kéepe it close a yeare or twaine then geld it by the fée And giue it out at last but yet with this prouiso A bridle for a brainsicke Iade durante bene placito Some thinke these ladders low to climbe alofte with spéede Well let them
written to the right honourable the Lorde Grey of Wilton A Straunge conceyte a vayne of newe delight Twixt weale and woe twixte ioy and bitter griefe Hath pricked foorth my hastie penne to write This woorthlesse verse in hazarde of repréefe And to mine Alderlieuest Lorde I must endite A wofull case a chippe of sorie chaunce A tipe of heauen a liuely hew of hell A feare to fall a hope of high aduance A life a death a drearie tale to tell But since I know the pith of my pastaunce Shall most consist in telling of a truth Vouchsafe my Lord en bon gré for to take This trustie tale the storie of my youth This Chronicle which of my selfe I make To shew my Lord what healplesse happe ensewth When heddy youth will gad without a guide And raunge vntide in leas of libertie Or when bare néede a starting hole hath spide To péepe abroade from mother Miserie And buildeth Castels in the Welkin wide In hope thereby to dwell with wealth and ease But he the Lord whome my good Lord doth know Can bind or lose as best to him shall please Can saue or spill rayse vp or ouerthrowe Can gauld with griefe and yet the payne appease Which thing to proue if so my L. take time When greater cares his head shall not possesse To sitte and reade this raunging ragged rime I doubt not then but that he will confesse What falles I found when last I leapt to clime In March it was that cannot I forget In this last March vpon the nintenth day When from Grauesend in boate I gan to iette To boorde our shippe in Quinborough that lay From whence the very twentith day we set Our sayles abrode to slice the Salt sea fome And ancors weyde gan trust the trustlesse floud That day and night amid the waues we rome To seeke the coast of Holland where it stoode And on the next when we were farre from home And neare the hauen whereto we sought to sayle A fearly chaunce whereon alone to thinke My hande now quakes and all my senses fayle Gan vs befall the Pylot gan to shrinke And all agaste his courage séemde to quayle Whereat amazed the Maister and his mate Gan aske the cause of his so sodeyne chaunge And from alofte the Stewarde of our state The sounding plumbe in haste poste hast must raunge To trye the depth and goodnesse of our gate Mée thinkes euen yet I heare his heauie voyce Fadome thrée foure foote more foote lesse that cride Mée thinkes I heare the fearefull whispring noyse Of such as sayde full softely me beside God graunte this iourney cause vs to reioyce When I poore soule which close in caban laye And there had reacht till gaule was welneare burst With giddie head my stumbling steppes must stay To looke abroade as boldly as I durst And whyles I hearken what the Saylers saye The sownder sings fadame two full no more Aloofe aloofe then cried the Maister out The Stearesmate striues to sende vs from the shore And trustes the streame whereof wée earst had doubt Twéene two extréeme thus were we tossed sore And went to Hull vntill we leyzure had To talke at large and eke to know the cause What moode had made our Pylot looke so sad At last the Dutche with butterbitten iawes For so he was a Dutche a Deuill a swadde A foole a drunkarde or a traytour tone Gan aunswere thus Ghy zijt te vroegh here come Tuniet goet tijt and standing all alone Gan preache to vs which fooles were all and some To trust him foole in whom there skill was none Or what knew wee if Albaes subtill brayne So to preuent our enterpryse by treazon Had him subornde to tice vs to this trayne And so him selfe per Companye and seazon For spite for hate or else for hope of gayne This must we thinke that Alba would not spare To giue out gold for such a sinfull déede And glistring gold can oftentimes ensnare More perfect wits than Holland soyle doth bréede But let that passe and let vs now compare Our owne fond fact with this his foule offence We knew him not nor where he wond that time Nor if he had Pylots experience Or Pylats crafte to cleare him selfe from crime Yea more than that how voyde were we of sense We had small smacke of any tale he tolde He powrde out Dutch to drowne vs all in drinke And we wise men vppon his words were bolde To runne on head but let me now bethinke The masters spéech and let me so vnfold The depth of all this foolish ouersight The master spake euen like a skilfull man And sayde I sayle the Seas both day and night I know the tides as well as other can From pole to pole I can the courses plight I know France Spaine Gréece Denmarke Dasisk all Frize Flaunders Holland euery coast I know But truth to tell it seldome doth befall That English merchants euer bend their bowe To shoote at Breyll where now our flight should fall They send their shafts farder for greater gayne So that this hauen is yet quoth he vnkouth And God graunt now that England may attayne Such gaines by Breyll a gospell on that mouth As is desired thus spake the master playne And since saide he my selfe knew not the sowne How could I well a better Pylot fynde Than this which first did saye he dwelt in towne And knew the way where euer sat the wynde While we thus talke all sayles are taken downe And we to Hull as earst I sayd gan wend Till full two houres and somewhat more were past Our guyde then spake in Dutch and bad vs bend All sayles againe for now quod he at last Die tijt is goet dat heb ick weell bekend Why staye I long to ende a wofull tale We trust his Dutch and vp the foresayle goes We fall on knées amyd the happy gale Which by Gods will full kynd and calmely blowes And vnto him we there vnfolde our bale Whereon to thinke I wryte and wéepe for ioye That pleasant song the hundreth and seuenth Psalme There dyd we reade to comfort our annoye Which to my soule me thought was swéete as balme Yea farre more swéete than any worldly ioye And when he had with prayers praysd the Lord Our Edell Bloetts gan fall to eate and drinke And for their sauce at takyng vp the borde The shippe so strake as all we thought to sinke Against the ground Then all with one accorde We fell againe on knées to pray apace And therewithall euen at the second blowe The number cannot from my minde outpace Our helme strake of and we must fléete and flowe Where winde and waues would guide vs by their grace The winde waxt calme as I haue sayde before O mightie God so didst thou swage our woes The selly shippe was sowst and smitten sore With counter buffetts blowes and double blowes At last the kéele
then quoth he hath turnde to me hir backe Shall I go yéeld to mourning moane and cloath my self in black◠No no for noble mindes can beare no thraldome so But rather shew a merrie cheere when most they wade in wo. And so will I in gréene my careful corpse aray To set a bragge amongst the best as though my heart were gay Not greene bicause I hope nor gréene bicause I ioy Nor gréene bicause I can delight in any youthfull toy But greene bicause my gréenes are alway fresh and gréene Whose roote is such it cannot rot as by the frute is séene Thus sayde he gaue a groane as though his heart had broke And from the furnace of his breast sent scalding sighes like smoke And sighing so he sate in solitarie wise Conueying flouds of brynish teares by conduct of his eyes What ende he had God knoweth Battello writes it not Or if he do my wittes are short for I haue it forgot The continuance of the Author vpon the fruite of Fetters THus haue you heard the gréen Knight make his mone Which wel might moue the hardest heart to melt But what he ment that knewe himselfe alone For such a cause in wéerie woes to swelt And yet by like some péerlesse peece it was That brought him so in raging stormes to passe I haue heard tell and read it therewithall That neare the Alpes a kinde of people bée Which serue with shot wherof the very ball Is bigge of bulke the péece but short to sée But yet it shootes as farre and eke as fast As those which are yframde of longer last The cause say some consisteth in the locke Some other iudge bicause they be so strong Renforced well and bréeched like a brocke Stiffe straight and stout which though they be not long Yet spit they foorth their pellets such a pace And with such force as séemes a woondrous case Some other thinke the mettal maketh all Which tempred is both rounde and smooth to sée And sure me thinkes the bignesse of the ball Ne yet the locke should make it shoote so frée But euen the bréech of mettall good and sounde Which makes the ball with greater force to bounde For this we sée the stiffe and strongest arme Which giues a ierke and hath a cunning loose Shootes furdest still and doth alway most harme For be his flights yfeathred from the goose Or Peacockes quilles or Rauen or Swanne or Crowe His shafts go swifte when others flie but slowe How so it be the men that vse to shoote In these short gunnes are praysed for the best And Princes seeke such shotte for to promoote As perfectest and better than the rest So that by like their péeces beare the sway Else other men could shoote as farre as they Their péeces then are called Petronels And they themselues by sundrie names are calld As Bandolliers for who in mountaynes dwels In trowpes and bandes ofte times is stoutly stalld Or of the Stone wherwith the locke doth strike Petronelliers they called are by like And so percase this péerelesse péece of his For which he mournde and made such ruefull mone Was one of those and therfore all his blisse Was turnd to bale when as that péece was gone Since Martial men do set their chief delight In armes which are both free and fayre in sight My selfe haue séene some péece of such a pryce As woorthy were to be estéemed well For this you know in any straunge deuise Such things as séeme for goodnesse to excell Are holden deare and for great Iewels déemd Bycause they be both rare and much estéemd But now to turne my tale from whence I came I saie his lottes and mine were not vnlike He spent his youth as I did out of frame He came at last like me to trayle the pike He pynde in pryson pinchte with priuie payne And I likewise in pryson still remayne Yet some good fruite in fetters can I finde As vertue rules in euery kinde of vice First pryson brings repentaunce to the minde Which wandred earst in lust and lewde deuice For hardest hartes by troubles yet are taught That God is good when all the worlde is naught If thou haue ledde a carelesse lyfe at large Without regard what libertie was worth And then come downe to cruell Gaylours charge Which kéepes thée close and neuer lettes thée forth Learne then this fruite in Fetters by thy selfe That libertie is worth all worldly pelfe Whose happe is such to yéelde himself in warre Remembre then that peace in pleasure dwelles Whose hartes are high and know not what they are Let such but marke the gingling of their belles When fetters frette their anckles as they goe Since none so high but that may come as lowe To tell a truth and therein to be shorte Prysons are plagues that fal for mans offence Which maketh some in good and godly sorte With contrite harte to grope their conscience Repentance then steppes in and pardon craues These fruites with mo are found in darksome caues If thou haue friends there shalt thou know them right Since fastest friends in troubles shew their fayth If thou haue foes there shalt thou sée their spight For all to true it is that Prouerbe sayth Where hedge is lowe there euery man treads downe And friendship failes when Fortune list to frowne Patience is founde in prison though perforce And Temprance taught where none excesse doth dwell Exercise calles least flouth should kill thy corse Diligence driues thy busie braines to swell For some deuise which may redéeme thy state These fruites I found in fetters all too late And with these fruites another fruite I found A strange conceyt and yet a trustie truth I found by proufe there is no kinde of ground That yéeldes a better croppe to retchlesse youth Than that same molde where fetters serue for mucke And wit stil woorkes to digge vp better lucke For if the séede of grace will euer growe Then sure such soile will serue to beare it best And if Gods mercie therewithall do flowe Then springs it high and ruffles with the rest Oft hath bene séene such séede in prison cast Which long kept close and prospred yet at last But therewithall there springs a kinde of Tares Which are vile wéedes and must be rooted out They choake vp grace and lap it fast in snares Which oftentimes do drawe it déepe in dout And hinders plantes which else would growe full hie Yet is this wéede an easie thing to spie Men call it Fansie sure a woorthlesse wéede And of the same full many sortes are found Some fansies are which thinke a lawfull déede To scape away though faith full fast be bound Some thinke by loue nay lust in cloke of loue From fetters fast their selues for to remoue Some be that meane by murder to preuaile And some by fraude as fansie rules the thought Sometimes such frightes mens fansies do assaile That when they sée their fréedome must be bought They vowe to take a
ryme called ryding rime and that is suche as our Mayster and Father Chaucer vsed in his Canterburie tales and in diuers other delectable and light enterprises but though it come to my remembrance somewhat out of order it shall not yet come altogether out of time for I will nowe tell you a conceipt whiche I had before forgotten to wryte you may see by the way that I holde a preposterous order in my traditions but as I sayde before I wryte moued by good wil and not to shewe my skill Then to returne too my matter as this riding rime serueth most aptly to wryte a merie tale so Rythme royall is fittest for a graue discourse Ballades are beste of matters of loue and rondlettes moste apt for the beating or handlyng of an adage or common prouerbe Sonets serue aswell in matters of loue as of discourse Dizaymes and Sixames for shorte Fantazies Verlayes for an effectuall proposition although by the name you might otherwise iudge of Verlayes and the long verse of twelue and fouretene sillables although it be now adayes vsed in all Theames yet in my iudgement it would serue best for Psalmes and Himpnes I woulde stande longer in these traditions were it not that I doubt mine owne ignoraunce but as I sayde before I know that I write to my fréede and affying my selfe therevpon I make an ende FINIS VVyll is dame bevvties chiefe Iustice of Oyre and terminer Common Bayll There is in deede suche a kinde of feuer Lenuoye Such a sect there is that desire no longer lyfe theÌ„ vvhiles they are in loue Astolf being the goodliest personne in the vvorlde founde a dvvarfe lying vvith his vvife * Apeece of golde like the Crusado * The chiefe Cittie in Cyprus * The gouernour of Famagosta * The generall of the Turkes The foure to che bearers that came in vvith the Actor The Actor had a token in his cap like to the Mountacutes of Italie The token that he dyd vveare in his cappe The Montacutes and capels in Italye do vvere tokens in their cappes to be knovven one from another * Venetian hotes * Knovv not * Good quaâ—â—â—ies * Am not * Lacke * As vvho should say These thinges are mistical and not to bee vnderstoode but by Thaucthour him selfe Another misterie Another misterie Another misterie Another similitude Hope is euer contrary to a louers Passion à definito Poetes Astronomers definition Painters description Common peoples opinion The Authors definition Prince Nobilitie Prelacie Lawyers Merchants Husbandmen CoÌ„munaltie Haughty harts ☞ Caesar Pompey Montacute Earle of Salisbury Borbon Borbons Epitaph Aristotle Cicero Auicene Greedy minde Miser Vnthriftes Praters Felons Hope is cup-bearer to war. Flushyng frayes fleesing of Flaunders Aerdenburgh Tergoes * The Prince of Orenge his name is Guillam of Nassau ☜ Ramykins * A Coronel of the kings side (a) An Iland so called which was sore spoyled by our countrymen (b) A Coronel of the kings side whiche was gouernour of Middelburgh next before MouÌ„tdragon * A towne in Holland * Christmas The frute of fansie The pleasauntest village as I thinke that is in Europe (a) forbidden (b) the Greene captaine (c) a prouerbe (a) protestauÌ„ts (b) The Iland wherein Flushing doth stand (c) Rigged vp and fully furnished (d) a Towne (e) a Riuer (f) Lusty gallants (g) The admiral of flushing (h) Iulian de Romero (i) The castellane of Anwerp (k) A Riuer Hope is the herbenger of mishappe * footemen ☜ ☞ * A coronell of the kings side ☜ Prince Nobilitie Prelacie Lawyers Merchaunts The first supose grownd of all the suposes An other supose Another supose An other supose A dottish supose An other supose Erostra Du. ex improuiso Dulipo is espied by Erostrato The seruants come in An other suppose Pasi subito improuiso venit An other suppose Another suppose Another suppose A stoute suppose A pleasant suppose A true suppose A shamelesse suppose A needelesse suppose An other suppose A shrewde suppose An other suppose Another suppose Another plain and homely suppose Erostrato exit A knauishe suppose Lawyers are neuer weary to get money A gentle suppose A crafty suppose A right suppose The first suppose brought to conclusion * Fygure The courte liuely painted A glasse for yong women ArgumentuÌ„ â maiore Bacchus Bacchus was the God whom they most honored in Thebes Neuer Sworde Lamenting Exile an exceding griefe to an honest mynde All exyles are like bondmen Hope the help in miserye Fuw frends in miserye Smal causes may moue the needy to contend The dames did loue Polynice and hate Eteocles One of the furies Rehersall of olde grudges doâ— hâ—â—der al reconcilition (b) Cruell or vengeable Truth pleadeth simply when falssehood vseth eloquence (c) Crown 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 Sundrye men sundry minds Onely rule Wil not Tullyes opinyon Youth seeth not so much as age Ambition doth destroye al equalytte doth maynteyne al things If the head be euill the body cannot be good Content to riche Riches are but borowed ware More care to loose than plesure to posses Small glory for a rebel to see his owne countrey spoyled Kyll Promisse Age must be helped by youth Venus made him blynde for giuing sentence against hir Great follye to accuse the gods A thankles office to foretell a mischiefe No greater honor than to dye for thy countrey Death indeed yeldeth more pleasure than lyfe Comaundements Any messeÌ„ger is welcome that bringeth tydings of aduancement Cesers tears We harken somtimee willingly to wofull news * would not She sheweth the frutes of true kyndly loue The duty of a childe truly perfourmed She giueth him a staffe and stayeth hym hir self also Iustice sleepeth A Glasse for brittel Beutie and for iusty limmes A mirrour for Magistrates (a) The Hill where poetes fayne thâ—t the Muses sleepe (a) A true exposition (b) Querweening There are to many of them in euery countrey A Misterie (a) Sir William Morgan of Pencoyde (a) bettâ—â— (a) best beloued (b) in good worth (a) Fadom a half three ho. (b) When all sayles are takeÌ„ downe (c) You be to soone (d) It is not good tide (e) the Duke (a) vnknowen (a) It is good tide that know I well (b) Lusty gallants Yorke and Herle (a) care (a) A Small bote The ayre of that Countrie did by all likelyhood seeme colder to him than the streetes of Venice (a) as who sayeth She vvas an Egiptian Angelica refusing the most famous knights in the vvhole vvorlde chose at last Medoro a poore seruing man.
My faynting lymmes straight fall into a sowne Before the taste of Ippocrace is felt The naked name in dollours doth mée drowne For then I call vnto my troubled mynde That Ippocrace hath bene thy daylye drinke That Ippocrace hath walkt with euerye winde In bottels that were fylled to the brinke With Ippocrace thou banquetedst full ofte With Ippocrace thou madst thy selfe full merrye Such chéere had set thy new loue so alofte That olde loue nowe was scarcely worth a cherry And then againe I fall into a traunce But when my breth returnes against my wyll Before my tongue can tell my wofull chaunce I heare my fellowes how they whisper still One sayth that Ippocrace is contrary Vnto my nature and complexion Whereby they iudge that all my malladye Was long of that by alteration An other sayth no no this man is weake And for such weake so hote thinges are not best Then at the last I heare no lyar speake But one which knowes the cause of mine vnrest ▪ And sayth this man is for my life in loue He hath receiued repulse or dronke disdaine Alas crye I and ere I can remoue Into a sowne I sone returne againe Thus driue I foorth my doolefull dining time And trouble others with my troubles styll But when I here the Bell hath passed prime Into the Bathe I wallowe by my wyll That there my teares vnsene might ease my griefe For though I starue yet haue I fed my fill In priuie panges I count my best relife And still I striue in weary woes to drench But when I plondge than woe is at an ebbe My glowing coles are all to quicke to quenche And I to warme am wrapped in the webbe Which makes me swim against the wished waue Lo thus deare wenche I leade a lothsome life And greedely I séeke the greedy graue To make an ende of all these stormes and strife But death is deafe and heares not my desire So that my dayes continewe styl in dole And in my nightes I féele the secrete fire Which close in embers coucheth lyke a cole And in the daye hath bene but raked vp With couering ashes of my company Now breakes it out and boyles the careful cuppe Which in my heart doth hang full heauily I melt in teares I swelt in chilling sweat My swelling heart breakes with delay of paine I fréeze in hope yet burne in haste of heate I wishe for death and yet in life remaine And when dead sléepe doth close my dazeled eyes Then dreadful dreames my dolors do encrease Me thinkes I lie awake in wofull wise And sée thée come my sorrowes for to cease Me séemes thou saist my good what meaneth this What ayles thée thus co languish and lament How can it be that bathing all in blisse Such cause vnknowne disquiets thy content Thou doest me wrong to kéepe so close from me The grudge or griefe which gripeth now thy heart For well thou knowest I must thy partner be In bale in blisse in solace and in smarte Alas alas these things I déeme in dreames But when mine eyes are open and awake I sée not thée where with the flowing streames Of brinishe teares their wonted floods do make Thus as thou séest I spend both nightes and dayes And for I find the world did iudge me once A witlesse wryter of these louers layes I take my pen and paper for the nonce I laye aside this foolishe ryding rime And as my troubled head can bring to passe I thus bewray the torments of my time Beare with my Muse it is not as it was Fato non fortuna The extremitie of his Passion AMong the toyes which tosse my braine and reaue my mind from quiet rest This one I finde doth there remaine to breede debate within my brest VVhen wo would work to wound my wyl I cannot weepe nor waile my fyll My tongue hath not the skill to tell the smallest griefe which gripes my heart Mine eyes haue not the power to swell into such Seas of secrete smart That will might melt to waues of woe and I might swelt in sorrowes so Yet shed mine eyes no trickling teares but flouddes which flowe abundauntly VVhose fountaine first enforst by feares found out the gappe of ielousie And by that breache it soketh so that all my face is styll on flowe My voice is like the raging wind which roareth still and neuer staies The thoughtes which tomble in my minde are like the wheele which whirles alwayes Nowe here nowe there nowe vp now downe in depth of waues yet cannot drowne The sighes which boyle out of my brest are not lyke those which others vse For louers sighes sometimes take rest And lend their mindes a leaue to muse But mine are like the surging Seas whome calme nor quiet can appeas And yet they be but sorrowes smoke my brest the fordge where furie playes My panting heart yt strikes the stroke my fancie blowes the flame alwaies The coles are kindled by desire and Cupide warmes him by the fire Thus can I neyther drowne in dole nor burne to ashes though I waste Mine eyes can neyther quenche the cole which warmes my heart in all this haste Nor yet my fancie make such flame that I may smoulder in the same VVherefore I come to seeke out Care beseeching him of curtesie To cut the thread which cannot weare by panges of such perplexitie And but he graunt this boone of mine thus must I liue and euer pine Fato non fortuna LO thus déere heart I force my frantike Muse To frame a verse in spite of my despight But whiles I doo these mirthlesse méeters vse This rashe conceite doth reue me from delight I call to minde howe many louing layes Howe many Sonets and how many songes I dyd deuise within those happie dayes When yet my wyl had not receiued wronges All which were euermore regarded so That litle fruite I séemd thereby to reape But rather when I had bewrayed my woe Thy loue was light and lusted styll to leape The rimes which pleased thee were all in print And mine were ragged hard for to be read Lo déere this dagger dubbes me with this dint And leaue this wound within my ielous head But since I haue confessed vnto Care That now I stand vppon his curtesie And that the bale which in my brest I bare Hath not the skill to kyll me cunningly Therefore with all my whole deuotion To Care I make this supplication Fato non fortuna His libell of request exhibited to Care. O Curteous Care whome others cruell call And raile vpon thine honourable name O knife that canst cut of the thread of thrall O sheare that shreadst the séemerent shéete of shame O happye ende of euery gréeuous game Vouchsafe O Prince thy vassall to behold Who loues thée more than can with tongue be told And nowe vouchsafe to pittie this his plaint Whose teares bewray His truth alway Although his feeble tongue be forst to faint I must confesse
O noble king to thée That I haue béene a Rebell in my youth I preast alwaies in pleasures court to bée I fled from that which Cupide still eschuth I fled from Care lo now I tell the truth And in delightes I loued so to dwell Thy heauenly house dyd séeme to me but hell Such was my rage the which I now repent And pardon craue My soule to saue Before the webbe of weary life be spent But marke what fruites dyd grow on such a trée What crop dyd rise vpon so rashe sowne séede For when I thought my selfe in heauen to bée In depth of hell I drowned was in déede Whereon to thinke my heauie hart doth bléede Me thought I swumme in Seas of all delight When as I sunke in puddles of despight Alas alas I thought my selfe belou'd When deadly hate Did play checke mate With me poore pawne that no such prancks had prou'd This when I tryed ay me to be to true I wept for woe I pined all for paine I tare my héere I often chaunged hewe I left delight with dollours to complaine I shund each place where pleasure dyd remaine I cride I calde on euery kinde of death I stroue eache way to stop my fainting breath Short tale to make I stept so farre in strife That still I sought With all my thought Some happie helpe to leaue my lothed life But hope was he that held my hande abacke From quicke dispatch of all my griping griefe When heate of hate had burnt my will to wracke Then hope was colde and lent my life reliefe In euery choice hope challengde to be chiefe When coldest crampes had cleane orecome my heart Then hope was hote and warnde my weary smart Then heart was heardie hope was still in dread When heart was faint With feares attaint Then hardie hope held vp my fearefull head Thus when I found that neither flowing teares Could drowne my heart in waues of wery wo Nor hardy hand could ouercome my feares To cut the sacke of all my sorrowes so Nor death would come nor I to death could go And yet I felt great droppes of secrete smart Distilling styll within my dying heart I then perceiude that onely care was he Which as my friend Might make an end Of all these paines and set my fansie frée Wherefore oh Care graunt thou my iust request Oh kyll my corpse oh quickly kyll me nowe Oh make an ende and bring my bones to rest Oh cut my thread good Care I care not howe Oh Care be kinde and here I make a vowe That when my life out of my brest shall part I wyll present thée with my faithfull hart And send it to thée as a Sacrifice Bicause thou hast Vouchsaft at last To ende my furies in this friendly wise Fato non Fortuna WHat greater glory can a Keysar gaine If madde moode moue his subiectes to rebell Than that at last when all the traytours traine Haue trode the pathe of déepe repentaunce well And naked néede with Cold and Hunger both Hath bitten them abrode in forren land Whereby they may their lewde deuises loth When hairbraind haste with cold aduise is scande If then at last they come vpon their knée And pardon craue with due submission And for this cause I thinke that Care of me Was moued most to take compassion For now I find that pittie prickes his mind To sée me plonged still in endlesse paine And right remorse his princely heart doth bind To rule the rage wherein I do remaine I féele my teares doe now begin to stay For Care from them their swelling springs doth soke I feele my sighes their labours now allaye For Care hath quencht the coles that made thē smoke I feele my panting heart begins to rest For Care hath staide the hammers of my head I feele the flame which blazed in my brest Is nowe with carefull ashes ouerspread And gentle Care hath whet his karuing knife To cut in twaine the thread of all my thrall Desired death nowe ouercommeth life And wo still workes to helpe in haste with all But since I féele these panges approching so And lothed life begin to take his leaue Me thinkes it meete to giue before I go Such landes and goodes as I behind me leaue So to discharge my troubled conscience And eke to set an order for my heyre Who might perhaps be put to great expence To sue for that which I bequeath him here Wherefore déere wenche with all my full intent I thus begin to make my Testament Fato non fortuna His last wyll and Testament IN Ioue his mighty name this eight and twentith day Of frosted bearded Ianuar the enemy to May Since Adam was create fiue thousand yéeres I gesse Fiue hundreth forty more and fiue as stories do expresse I being whole of minde immortall Gods haue praise Though in my body languishing with panges of paine alwayes Do thus ordaine my wyll which long in woes haue wepte Beséeching mine executours to sée it duely kept Fyrst I bequeath my soule on Charons boate to tende Vntill thy life my loue at last may light on luckye ende That there it may awaite to wayte vpon thy ghost Whē thou hast quite clene forgot what pranks now please thée most So shall it well be séene whose loue is like to mine For so I meane to trye my truth and there tyll then to pine My body he enbalmde and cloased vp in chest With oyntments and with spiceries of euery swéete the best And so preserued styll vntill the day do come That death diuorce my loue from life trusse hir vp in tombe Then I bequeath my corps to couche beneathe hir bones And there to féede the gréedy wormes that linger for the nones To frette vppon her fleshe which is to fine therefore This seruice may it doe hir yet although it do no more My heart as heretofore I must bequeathe to Care And God he knowes I thinke the gift to simple for his share But that he may perceiue I meane to pay my dew I will it shall be taken quicke and borne him bléeding new As for my funerals I leaue that toye at large To be as mine executours wyll giue thereto in charge Yet if my goodes will stretche vnto my strange deuice Then let this order be obseru'd mine heyre shall pay the price First let the torche bearers be wrapte in weedes of woe Let all their lightes be virgin waxe because I lou'de it so And care not though the twist be course that lends them light If fansie fume frée wil flame then must they néeds burn bright Next them let come the quier with psalmes and dolefull song Recording all my rough repulse and wraying all my wrong And when the deskant singes in tréeble tunes aboue Then let fa burden say by lowe I liu'd and dyde for loue About my heauy hearse some mourners would I haue Who migh the same accompany and stand about the graue But let them be such