life by customs ill And takes away true feare Of God and man such Poets leud Were banisht and exilde Because with foule condishons shreud Their country they defilde Good Poets were in eury age Made of and nourishâ— well They were the floures of gardens gaie That gaue the goodly smell The true forewarners of great things That after did befall The ioy of godly vertuous kings And honest subiects all Our age and former fathers daies Leaue Goore and Chauser out Hath brought foorth heere but few to praise Search all our soyle about Yet of all those that newly wrate In prose or verse of late Let Sydney weare for stile of state The garland lawreate His bookes makes many bookes to blush They shew such sence and wit Our dribbers shoots not woorth a rush When he the marke doth hit His phrase is sifted like fine floure That maketh manchet bread Sweet eury where and nothing soure That flowes from Sydneyes head Sweete dewe dropt out of Sydneyes quill As raine great moysture shoes And from his muse there did distill A liquor sweete as rose Aquintesence a spirit of wine Naie Nectar better namde A breuage for the Gods deuine Of compounds made and framde That whosoeuer drinks thereon Immortall shall be made His books he left to looke vpon When we in worldly shade Sits mumping eury houre of daie And scarce knows where we are Our braines like bucke doth stande at baie Beset about with care Of this or that when Sydneyes books Cals vp a drowping ghost For whosoeuer thereon looks With worldly troubles tost He shall finde quietnes thereby And Christian comfort great Woorth all the treasure vnder skie It climes to Ioues hie seat And sits among the Angels sweet Where psalmes and himnes are sung And all base humors vnder feeâ— Are out of fauor flung The poets that can clime the cloudes Like ship boy to the top When sharpest stormes do shake the shroudes Sets ware to sale in shop Of heauenly things that earthly men Can scarcely vnderstand Did not our Chausers golden pen That beautifide this land Reach to the sunne and highest star And toucht the heauens all A poets knowledge goes so far That it to mind can call Each wonder since this world began And what was seene in skies A poet is no common man He lookes with Argoes eies Like Linx throw steele or stonie wals No secret scapes his sight Of future time and what befals In world by day or night He sees and somtimes writes thereof When scornfull people scowle And makes of earnest words a scoffe Or cals â—aire speeches fowle Our countrie breeds vp Poets still As grasse springs from good ground For there doth flourish learned skill Where knowledge doth abound Looke what our elders wits did sowe Or left behinde in heapes Our age and haruest people mowe Or with sharpe sickle reapes The seede of sence faire fruit brings foorth In feeld a thousand fold And is in value price and woorth More preshous than the gold What can be counted foule or cleane But Poets thereon talke Yet thousands knowes not what they meane When they in cloud will walke As from the fountaine water floes Conuaid by gushing pipe So from the pen of Poet goes Fine words and sentence ripe That ech good minde may well digest As sweete as honie sure His termes are taken with the best If verse be neate and pure As riders whisking wand doth feare The horse whereon he sits So wrangling people eurie where At verses vex their wits If any writer touch the gall In pastime be it sed Then downe coms tressels house and all Vpon the poore mans head Yet wise men will good words embrace And take each thing in worth And giue each word and line a grace That poets do set forth Diuine du Bartas merits 〈◊〉 Most excellent verse he wrate So sundrie writers in our daies Haue done full well of late In Spensers morall fairie Queene And Daniels rosie mound If they be throwly waid and seen Much matter may be found One Barnes that Petrarks scholler is May march with them in ranke A learned Templers name I mis Whose pen deserues great thanke A number more writs well indeed They spring vp newly now As gazing world their works shall reed So shall world praise them throw But sure my noble Sidneies skill I neuer can forget To him my seruice and good will Shall euer dwell in deâ— Of learned lore the onely light Which blazde like lampe most cleere And as a star in moone shine night Could vnder cloud appeer Seemd dim and darke to dazled eies But faire and bright to those That vnderstood the stately gise Of learned verse or prose Could crack the nut of â—aâ—â—hell And shew the kernell plaine For by his works who notes them well In world he liues againe The booke that doth of poets treat In golden robes so shines It triumphes still with honor great Among the best diuines Which booke deckt vp in trim attire Of authors wise and graue In matters of mine owne desire Great light to poetrie gaue And made me write of poets praise Thus so to starrie skie My Sidneies honor heere I raise As far as fame can flie FINIS My next Booke comes out shortlie dedicated to my Honorable woorthy friende Master HENRIE BROOKE sonne and heire to the noble Lord COBHAM A well disposed minde cals many good things to memorie Good men haue many sweet imaginations Blinde world is fraught with fond desires The poore estate of people is to be pitied The wealth hardly won is easilie left Graceles time runs on rowling wheeles Christian loue lookes to euerie thing Zeale is the glas that shewes the spots of face Abuse runs ouer the brim Full paunch eats vp all Faire wordâ— make fooles faine Deceit deceaues militous of men Wealths thirst drinks riuers dry A sauing world spares nothing to the poore Prisoners perish for want of comfort Many silly soules goes a hungrie to bed Full purse follows many pleasures The purchesars plucks all from the poore Craftie 〈◊〉 can play bopeep Cunning raiseth the price of euery thing Vittles made deere seldome comes downe againe Wicked wolues deuoures the lambs A diuelish dearth destroies thousands The loue of wealth forgets all goodnes Hard hands will part from nothing Foolish world thinks but our present time Many yeers and maners alters the kinde of man A golden age is turnd to copper and brasse Words is the worst ware that euer was sold. Wealth weighs downe euery thing Words are waues tossed with wind Marcheuill is now made an English man Want of charitie hath made me loose my pattent The milner will be sure of his toule A fine fisher would catch all himselfe Good turnes are turnd to faire holy water The father will scarse speake for his sonne The soldier consumes himselfe with griefe A lip wise
And in sweete sound true musicke is exprest O charitie helpe or else adue the pen For I must march againe with marshall men FINIS To the generall Readers IF ought amisse you finde good Reader heere His fault it is that sings ne sweete nor loud When he caught cold and voice could not be cleere Because ech note is cloked vnder cloud He craâ—d no helpe nor stole from no mans song One peece nor part of musicke any waie Ne sembreeffe breefe nor yet ne larke nor long For he hath skill in deskant some men saie And on the base can make three parts in one And set new songs when all the old are gone Though some beleeue but hardly that he makes These things or that which seemes far past his reach Tush though old head and hand with paulsie shakes Let no ill will plaine writers pen appeach If you do loue no wrong giue ech man right Rob not the iust of any praise well won Way not mens worth with waights in ballance light For truth is truth when all is saide and don You may as well say white and red is blacke And Sun and Moone are steele and marble stone As say or thinke behinde a writers backe He borrowed that which he claimes as his owne O giue men leaue to father their owne childe Let it be foule or faire as babies are A stubborne boye a cracke-rope tame or wilde Begot in haste and brought vp poore and bare How ere they be blinde lame or shapt awrie Vglie to sight bigge boulchoâ—s lowe or â—ie Those yoonglings all the Dadâ—an not denie Are his that sent those babes abroad to nurse Like orphants weake that knowes not what to do With blessings great and not with parents curse That shortens life and gets Gods anger to Children were woont to beare their fathers name Not one durst say in earnest iest or skorne To hinder childe of spotlesse birth and fame A lawfull sonne was but a bastard borne Both beast and bird their yoong ones do defend So shall my Muse maintaine that I haue pend Then bring Shores wife in question now no more I set hir foorth in colours as she goes Sir Rafe Bowser a worshipfull knight witnesseth where and when I penned that And as she went like gallant lasse before So other gyrls as gaie and fresh as rose With verse haue I set foorth in sundrie sorts As braue as she what ere disdaine reports That humor now declines for age drawes on The full tide is of fine inuention gon Ebbe followes floud when vitall vaines waxe dead Wit weares and wastes as torch consumes with winde When water turnes drie growes a flowing head In age ech thing decaies by course of kinde Yet whiles the oyle in lampe may make a blaze Or candell in the socket shewes a light On sparkling flame the cleerest eies will gaze And comfort finde thereby in darkest night I yeeld to time that like a sithe cuts cleane All that doth grâ—w in spring or fall of leafe And wish in world my treble were a meane That I might sinâ— to eares that are not deafe A note should sinke as deepe in iugging brest As euer yet â—n sea did ancker rest Songs are but likt as fancies giues them leaue Both well and 〈◊〉 as sounds of trumpets are Though Syrens voice the hearers doth deceaue Mine hath no charme but open plaine and bare As I was borne so speake I English still To lose my paines and win the worlds good will No losse so much as credit crackt with pen Nor gaine so great as loue of honest men Fare you well The Author to his booke GO now plaine booke where thou maist welcom find Walke throw the world till frinds do thee embrace Let foes alone obay thy masters mind For fear nor threat hide not a fautlesse face Win courts goodwill the countries loue is gaind With wise men stay from froward wits beware At plow and cart plaine speech is not disdaind Sit downe with those that feeds on hungrie fare For they haue time to note what thou dost saie Let gallants go they will but giue a gibe Or take thee vp and fling thee straight awaie Touch not smooth hands that vse to take a bribe They better like full bags than busie bookes Shun from the sight of glorious peacocks proud Their onlie pomp stands all on statelie lookes They glowm and skoull as t weare a raynie cloud Giue babling toongs good leaue to taunt and talke Their taste is gone they oft take chese for chalke Bid scornfull heads let true-plainâ— lines alone That harmles are and came from lowlie hart Passe not in haste to people strange vnknowne Least iudgment swift do take on thee the start And run beyond thy reach full many a skore Go slowlie foorth with thanks come quickly 〈◊〉 Bring no rebuke for that nips near and sore T were better far abroad thou shouldst not roâ—â— Though thou be blind yet those that well can see If thou offend will find great fault with mee Behaue thy selfe as mildly as thou maist Lâ—ke messenger that doth his arnd aright Thy master must affirme each thing thou saist The darkest word at length must come to light Like pilgrim go and passe throw perils all Take well in worth what hap doth thee befall Returne no more to me till newes thou bring Of praise or thankes or of some better thing If none of these this waiward world will yeeld Trudge from fine towne fliâ— to the open feild Where thou must passe through thickets full of thorns Where pricking briers and croked brambles grose And neuer none sâ—apt free from scâ—â—th or scornes Or scratted hands or tearing of his close Where eluish apâ—s and marmsets mockes and mose And thistles are seen sooner than a rose Yea thou shalt come where nettles are good store Whose angrie sting will blisters raise apace Slip from those weedes and come near them no more For fear vnwares good words do get disgrace The goodlie floures of court thou needs not feare For they are sweete and meeke of nature throw There wisedome will with writers humor beare If humbly stil thou canst behaue thee now Thy masters pen hath purchast fauour there Among the Dames of faire Dianas traine Where beautie shines like siluer drops of raine In sunnie day O booke thou happy art If with those Nimphes thou maist be entertaind If any one of them take in good part A verse or word thou hast a garland gaind Of glorie great for fame hir selfe must sound Out of their voice looke what they do pronounce Like tennis ball aloft it doth rebound And yeelds great weight but not by dram nor ounce But heauie as a massie pound of lead They wey mens worth with praises quicke or dead Yea what they say of Poets fond or wise Of prose or verse that ripe inuenshoâ— shoes As twâ—re a lawe the fame thereof shall rise And through the world like coin it currant goes From hand to hand and so doth
passage take Preasse thou to them for they may mend my hap If that of thee some good account they make And that in sport they laie thee in their lap Vntill they list to read thee eurie line Then at welhead some water drawe I may For fountaine springs may run cleere claret winâ— Whose pleasant sap giues moisture eurie way The nimble Nimphs that with Diana dwell Can quicklie turne the cock and flowing spout That thousands shall bring buckets to the well And watch their times till comfort commeth out Now booke trudge hence bestow thy labour right Set spurs to horse that flies in aeir with wings Mount ore the hils and rest ne day nor night Till thou do come before great Queens and Kings Then flat on face fall prostrate at their feet That may from graue call vp thy masters spreet Keepe thou these rules this course and compasse hold So may thy grace conuert my lead to gold CHVRCHYARDES CHARITIE WHen labring minde and weary body both Is cloid with world hart wold shake off toile Before the ghost to highest heauens goeth And death of life shall make a wretched spoile And man must needs forsake this soathsome soile He takes some care to make his conshence cleere Of all he thinks or may imagine heere First lookes he vp where soule desires to be Of life to come to know what hope we haue And where we rest in ioie from bondage free So soone as cold dead bodie lies in graue Than ere man leaues this cruell cumbrous caue In charitie he waies this world aright As far as wades wise iudgement skill and sight But finding world full fraught with fond desires A mightie masse of matter therein lies That burns out time and kindleth many fires Whereon foule flames and smothring smoke doth rise He lookes thereon with heauie rufull eies As though some zeale might mooue a musing minde To pity plagues that man must leaue behinde Who doth not sigh to see the poore opprest By rich mens reach that wrests awry the right Who will not waile the woe of troubled brest Or sore lament the state of wronged wight When broad day brings darke dealings vnto light Who will not rue our wretched race on earth That keepes till death no rule from day of birth The goods we win are woorse to keepe than get The wealth we lose robs some of rest and sleepe Our daily gaine will answere scarce our det We couet more than wit can warely keepe We slip from hence as rich as new shorne sheepe And that we leaue in world that well was won Is soone consumde and spent with riotous son Who parts from world would wish that were not so His charitie commands him so to thinke But graceles time on rowling wheeles doth go At whose abuse our flyring world can winke Vice cares no whit if vertue swim or sinke Ambishous mind and malice meetes in one So that true loue and charitie is gone Loue bids men looke to all things vnder Sun Beast fish and foule and all we see with eie But charitie a greater course doth run Because it doth in quiet conscience lie She lookes ech where as she had wings to flie And houer ore our doings on this mould That bridle takes and will not be contrould O then to loue and charitie I pas Whose zeale is great and charge is nothing small That cleerely sees as in a christall glas The spots of face and inward cankers all And can in haste vnto remembrance call Old farn yeers past and present things of late Whereof a world of wits may well debate Who can hold toong to see bad worlds abuce Run ore the brim where vertue neuer floes As hauocke had hald vp the water sluce Where out at large great skuls of fishes goes Poore pashence must be pleasd with painted shoes Alms deeds are dead no pitty now is last For all the world is set on sleight and craft If pouertie be pincht with plague or sore He starues for food adue the man is dead The sound we seeke the sicke we do abore Full paunch eats all the hungrie is not fed For greedy guts keeps needy mouth from bred True charitie and good deuoshon old By frost and snow are almost kild with cold Would God good works with faithfull honest deeds Reformd this vice that spreds too far I feare And faire sweete flowrs were planted for those weeds That doth with fraud infect sweet soyles ech where Fine words doth but betraie the simple eare As fowlers pipe the harmles bird disseaues That lights on lyme amid greene birchen leaues If meere deceit were banisht from our viewe False dealing then would blush to shew his face If wisdome did disdaine vaine follies newe Old troth in world would claime his woonted place But cunning wits doth finenes so embrace That plainnes walkes like pilgrim to and fro In wandring wise and knowes not where to go Wealth hath desire to drinke great riuers drie His scalding thirst cannot be quenched well Want pines awaie and comfortles doth lie And water tasts like Tantalus in hell The needy sort in dolour daily dwell The hautie head thinks skorne to turne his face And rue the state of naked wretches case The fields and lanes are full of sicke and lame Who beg and craue as loud as voice can crie But sauing world is grown so far from frame No great remorse remains in passers by Hardnes holds backe both bag and bounties eie So that no ruth regard nor pittie comes From sparing hands and graceles griping thombs Our prisons all are pestred with poore soules Whose yelling noise a tyrants hart may mooue At grates they stand and looke through peeping holes To purchase alms and trie good peoples loue But penurie doth so their pashence prooue With emptie wombe and hungrie meatles mawe They lay them downe on boords or wads of strawe The silly folke in towne or cottage rude With belly full do seldome go to bed And lookes as leane as haukes that ill are mude Which often be with crowes or carraine fed How should men giue when charitie is dead For money meat and clothing now is bard From those that need the world is waxt so hard How can full purse supplie the poore mans went When trull at home from sheepe lookes for a fleece And master must be sometimes all a flant And prettie pus my deere must haue a peece Whose beautie staines the faire Helen of Greece These things are large and loâ—g to looke vpon By which cold cause warme charitie is gon More reasons rise to make men hold and keepe The crums they catch from Fortunes table still For purchesars do walke when plow men sleepe Their sacks of corne is seldome from the mill They take no rest till thrift bare budget fill Then locke they vp in chest their golden bags When beggers trudge and iet about in rags Cold
parts men plaie much like old plain bopeepe Or counterfait in dock out-nettle still And for their game there is such hold and keepe That nothing can escape their reaching skill Much haue yee won when got is their good will T is lost againe for one small graine of gold Their charitie is growne so extreme cold They raise the price of euery thing is bought On tenter hookes their ware is stretched out Seekes all the waies for wealth that may be sought As for the winde a ship is swaid about And at a trice they turne the water spout So from our purse both pence and pounds they draw By hooke or crooke by wrest or reach of law The rate of things rackt vp doth fall no more Colde conshence takes all-fish that coms to net To make corne deere they hoord much graine in store So they may win some care not how they get For eu'ry bird they do such lime-twigs set That no bird scapes if it be slidge to flie Except foresight the suddaine danger spie No rain nor curb nor bridle holds them in No lawe nor rule nor order will they keepe Sets all abroch to feede and nourish sin And plaies the wolues with lambs when yonglings sleep Makes old folks whine and babes in cradle weepe And makes the rate of eu'ry thing so scant That some cries out that neuer thought of want A diuelish dearth is come from darke hell gate To kill cold harts as hands can crush a crab That blow fals not vpon the proud mans pate But giues the meeke and mildest minde the stab Now tell I all the secrets like a blab As good to shew a sore whiles wound is greene As let men starue before the greefe be seene The loue of wealth forgets both God and man And who growes rich sets little by renowne To catch and hold the world doth what it can With endles care in court in field and towne Craft keepeth vp plaine honestie fals downe Charitie is dead and goodnes growes full sicke Wisedome doth drowp and follie is too quicke Wealth like a worme eats vp sweete kernels all As cankers rust runs into iron and steele Hard closed hands that will let nothing fall Wants eares to heare yet fingers hath to feele Well all is right when world runs like a wheele Round as a top that scourging can abide Swims vp and downe and followes time and tide On present time and muck mans mind is bent On world to come no care nor eie they cast What coms with ease is often rashlie spent And what doth hap in hands we hold full fast As though our pomp and pride should alwaies last Yea thinking all is ours that we can scrape And still for more do greedie gluttons gape The many yeers and winters past and gone Hath changde the kind of grace and goodnes quite Our bodies beares in flesh a hart of stone That ioined is with faintie liuer white Which neuer breeds in breast one good delite Our noughtie minds may be the cause of this That hath transformd all Adams babes amisse The golden age of our forefathers wise Is copper now or worse than any brasse We quickly can clap on a new found gife And weare a maske seeme shadow in a glasse But bring no worke nor great good thing to passe Make shew of much as art sets tristes forth That proues a puffe in substance little worth Words are the ware that each man sets to sale With phrases fine bedeckt to blinde poore sight Faire promise first steps forth and tels a tale Of bad deuice that weies in ballance light For at your need performance taketh flight And leaues in lake the foole that words hath won Who paies great paines for shadowes in the sun Wit did prefer good people well of yore Welth now with weights doth wey the ballance down Words and fine talke leads world the dance before But neither wealth nor words wins true renown For when the trumpe doth giue vncertaine sown Men will not then prepare them for the fight But rather seeke to saue themselues by flight Words are the waues that welters on the seas And works a froth in colour white as snoe Makes thousands sicke and breedes a cold disease To those that with such swelling surges goe Inconstant words with tide will ebbe and floe But fruitfull deeds stands firme and fast as rocke That bides the brunt of eurie blast and shocke Fine Macheuill is now from Florence flown To England where his welcome is too great His busie books are heere so red and known That charitie thereby hath lost her heat Poore prisners doe in Ludgate die for meat Who doth for det in danger long remaine Must fall down flat and seldom rise againe Wit takes his toll as milner at the mill Powlseakes the bags of meale as he doth please Thrusts thousands backe till tricksie tanker fill Like prentise fine that faine would take some ease In deed there is no fishing to the seas But what is caught in conshence should be sold In market place that men might credit hold No charitie is found when fisher feeds On all himselfe and giues his fellowes none Alas poore soules we angle in the reeds And catch a frog when all the fish is gone Bullhead and loch lies vnder little stone But stones and sticks will breake our nets I dout Before we bring a dish of gudgins out The great good turnes in court that thousands felt Is turnd to cleer faire holie water there The scraps are small that hungrie hands haue delt Spoile cannot spare the paring of a peaâ—e For snatch crust robs almes baskets eury where The poore so starues or knowes not what to do And so I feare shall sillie suters to The father scarse will speake for his owne son World waxeth mute when men should do some good The streame is stopt where water ought to run We cast our nets where fish creepes in the mud And clime those trees where bowes will neuer bud We take great paine yet no good fruit enioies For words are wind and fils our eares with noies The soldier sits and sighes to shake off greefe Whose wounds in war of right claimes great reward Waits hard at heele but findeth small releefe Who least deserues is alwaies most prefard Who brags and boasts blind world doth best regard But some that lost their blood in countries right May kisse the post and bid vs all good night What charitie is that iudge you that can Who sees these things so far past all redresse When lip-wise world sets little by a man What may fall out of that a foole may gesse Each one shall haue his lot yea more or lesse But charitie and fortune differ far Between them two we find a mortall war The one helps all and loues a number still The other hurts or else prefers a few And wise men find
no hold in hir good will For she is cald a most inconstant shrew That with the sun will waste away like dew A sommer flowre that withers in the frost Coms softly on and rides away in post As blind of sight as euer Cupid was For she lookes not on vertue any way Nor wisdoms worth but fauors many an asse For his smooth face and peacocks feathers gay But charitie is the only staffe and stay To all estates for where she stoutly stands She sets all free and breaketh bondage bands Forgiues great faults and suffers many a wrong She giues a badge that eury christian weares And in all worlds hir liurey lasteth long It garded is all round about with teares And she hir selfe a branch of oliue beares In signe of peace and mercie mixt with grace That pitie takes of eurie rufull case This charitie giues as much as men may craue And soone forgets the bountie she bestowes Takes great delight the life of man to saue By vertue of good turnes that from hir floes Whose is sent like the white and sweet red rose For all hir gifts and graces beares such flowres That makes poore men to laugh when fortune lowres On charitie the hungrie dailie feeds As lambs and sheepe in fruitfull pasture liue Shee giues few words where shee bestoes good deeds The more we neede the sooner will shee giue As corne from chaffe is siâ—ted through the siue So shee tries out from dust and drosse the gold As wisdome doth the worth of men vnfold This charitie is first that fauour findes And shall be last that wins our worlds good will Begot by grace and nuâ—st in noble mindes That staies and stands vpon their honor still T is seen far off as torch is on an hill Felt near at hand and found out by the light Which in darke daies doth glad ech good mans sight When fortunes wrath hath wounded many a wight She brings a boxe of balm to heale ech sore That makes sad mind and heauie hart so light It neuer thinks on wretched chance no more If charitie like victor goes before Come after hir proud world with all thy braues Like conqueror she triumphs on hir slaues But well awaie and woe God woâ— the while True charitie is faintly felt or found Shee is of late halfe-driuen in exile Because bad life le ts crueltie abound The world is full of hollow harts vnsound And mercie meets with ruth scarce once a yeere For rigors rage doth show such churlish cheere Men walke abroad transformd in sundry shapes More monster like than babes of Adams brood Fearfull to sight like vglie owls and apes That hath of kind no ciuill humane mood Tigers in proofe nurst vp with woluish food For sillie lambs that doth no butcher fear They do deuour and in small peeces tear Greedy as guls and gapes for garbedge still Rauening like woolues that murthers sheepe in folde Suttle as foxe that neuer hath his fill Hedstrong and proud and will not be controld Currish as kite ne gentle yoong nor old Such cruell tricks doth alter so mans minde That long they liue by craft and dies vnkind Quarrels encrease and combats haue no end Till bloud be shed and life and land be lost Some thinks the bow were better breake than bend On that consait stands mightie manhood most But charitie rides then away in post And leaues in lash behinde hir in some part A heape of harmes and many a heauie hart Lust liues by spoyle like theefe that robs true men Desires to eate the hen and chickens all Rauine and rage prouls fast for profite then So gets some cheate though it be near so small But lust is like an image on a wall Strike out the cole that is but blacke of hue Faire white and cleane appeers blurd wall to you Ore weening runs beyond the course of wit Presumpshon then doth set best foote before And boldnes knowes not where to stand nor sit His loftie lookes prouokes his pride so sore But when threed-bare his bad spun cloth is wore The world but laughs to see bald bayard blinde With painted robes patch vp a stately minde In cloud vnseene new fanglenes would walke But he is spide by old deepe serching sight Fine filed toongs like parrets prate and talke And wonder makes of trifling matters light This glorious crew triumphes in moone shine night But when cleere day such idols doth disclose World will point out where eurie shadow goes Wilde wilfull heads that all sound counsell hates A careles course of borrowed life doth lead Whose retchles race still argues and debates They soone forget good lessons that they read But when the foot awrie the shue doth tread Downe goes the heele yea seam the sole and all And so vnwares a man in mire may fall And stumbling oft makes some to snapper still Vse mastrie breedes and custome pleads a law Let bridle goe the horse will haue his will Much water scarse will quench hot fire in straw A stubborne childe that still doth backward draw Must needes be whipt to make him feare the rod So we are plagud when we forget our God Three sundrie plagues the wrath of God doth show The first is past the second you may see The third ye wot the world too well doth know For that cuts downe corne grasse and highest tree The angrie cloudes will neuer calmie bee Till better life seaise all our showres of raine And Gods great grace brings sommer home againe Shame followes pride and death comes after sin Then famine kâ—ls vp thousands where it flies They will take heed that hath well scourged bin And fall to mend their liues if they be wise But in our world such new found fashons rise All frames not well looke into ech mans waies Small charitie is seen in these bad daies When charitie proud painted posts plucks downe To God and prince great honor shall arise When plainnes thriues in court and ciuill towne Old troth will bid farewell our newfound gise Goodnes will come and so aduance the wise Dunses and dolts shall stand beneath the bar And pride shall blush that doth presume too far The least of most makes most of his bad stuffe So leers and looks as frighted were his wits Is neuer well till pride be in his ruffe Than monarke like on loftie seat he sits Whose scornfull hart is full of froward fits But speaks no word for feare that bayard blinde Should plunge before and yearke at him behinde The woorst with best compares and striues for place As gold and glas in woorth weare all alike Beares out his brags with scowling brazen face That cannot blush no more than can blacke tike He frowns so sore he lookes as he would strike The crabbish â—arle so curst and cumbrous is Then when he speakes in schoole the schollers hisse The surly sire sits swelling like
would woonders tell In pollicies wise Solon plaid The Poet sundrie waies Good things were better soong than said Which gaind immortall praise Plato tooke Solons works in hand And plaid the Poet right And set that Atlantike Iland Full plaine before our sight The Booke of Herodotus bore A famous title fine Yea such as none did giue before Of all the muses nine Dominician was a Poet rare And did therein excell So many princes now there are That loueth Poetrie well Three conquerours of mightie powre Gaue Poets such a grace That they would neuer frowne not lowre On them in any case As Plutarke saith a tyrant wept A tragedie to heare Who sawe his murthring minde thereby As in a glas full cleere Amid a great reuolt in Rome A woorthie Poet stood And told of bodie and the minde A tale that did much good Two Poets turnd a tyrants hart From rigour vnto ruth And wrought him with their wits and art To fauour right and truth Nathan did faine a tale indeed To Dauid when he fell Whereon the king tooke such great heed He saw his follie well In Dauids Psalms true miter floes And songs of Sallomon Where great delite and pleasure groes Are woorthie looking on A dialogue that Plato made Giues Poets great renowne Brings ech rare wit to sun from shade To weare the laurell crowne True stories old with new delite Shall fill your harts and â—ares For they of Poets praises write Their books good witnes beares If aunshent authors and great kings No credit gets herein Darke-sight sees not no stately things That doth great glory win Plucke vp cleere iudgement from the pit Of poore espreet and sence And wipe the slime from slubbred wit And looke on this defence That Sydney makes a matchles worke A matter fresh and new That did long while in silence lurke And seldome came to view He cals them Poets that embrace True vertue in hir kinde And do not run with rimes at bace With wanton blotted minde All idle verse he counts but vaine Like cracks of thorns in fire Or summer showrs of sleete or raine That turns drie dust to mire These rurall rymes are but the scum And froth that flies from seas Or doth from some sharpe humor come That breeds a new disease In braine that beats about the skull And so brings foorth a toye When musse or moone is at the full Of paines or pleasing ioye Like long wingd hauke doth Poet fore Ore mountaine or hie trees And loud as cannon can he rore At ech vice that he sees His scope as hie as reasons reach May clime in order due Not to giue counsell nor to teach But to write fancies new Of this or that as matter moones A well disposed minde That vice doth hate and vertue loues And he good cause doth finde So ruling pen as duties bounds Be kept in eury part For when the Poet trumpet sounds It must be done by art As though a sweete consort should plaie On instruments most fine And shew their musicke eury waie With daintie notes diuine Ech string in tune as concord were The guide of all the glee Whose harmonie must please the eare With musicke franke and free The Poets Lyra must be strung With wire of siluer sound That all his verses may be sung With maidens in a round So chaste and harmles should they be As words from preachers voice With spiced speech in ech degree Wherein good men reioice Not farsed full of sollies light That beares ne poies nor weight But flying cleere in aire like flight Whose force mounts vp an height And seems to pearce the cloudie skies Such poets Sidney likes Whose gentle wind makes dust arise As hie as morice pikes That lifts aloft the soldiers hart Who doth aduance the same And bends his bodie in ech part Thereby to purchase fame The sword and lance of marshall men Their Lions courage showes The poets with their wit and pen Tels where their furie flowes They both are knowne as soone as seene As things of great import The one may verie far ore weene The other in some sort Stands on his honor sundrie waies And offreth life therefore The poet seekes no more but praise As poets did of yore Whose words strooke dead the stoutest groomes That euer were in place And sweeped cleane like new made broomes The foulest cause or case As water washeth ech thing white And sope might scoure with all The canker of foule worlds delite More sharpe than bitter gall So poets with plaine terms makes cleane The soulest conshence liues And by good words from vice doth weane Through councell that it giues The childest wit and churlisht mind Lo then how poets may Both alter maners and bad kind To frame a better way Of heauens and the highest throne Where God himselfe doth sit Good poets still should treat alone To showe â—heir flowing wit As by their muse they caried were Beyond our sight or vew Into a fine and purer aire Or speshall climat new Where all things are as cleane as gold From furnace to the stamp So poets should this world behold And shine as cleer as lamp That light doth giue to eury eie Which doth in darknes dwell And glorie show of heauens hie To damned spreets of hell Which darknes in a dungeon keeps From sight of vertues lore Where ignorance in slumber sleeps Like dunse for euermore Sir Philip Sydney praiseth those Whose waking wits doth see The depth and ground of verse or prose And speakes with iudgement free Of all the matters vnder sun Both secrets hie and lowe And ouer them with pen can run As far as skill can goe Sift eurie word and sentence well And cast away the bran To show the kernell crack the shell In peeces now and than That eurie one shall taste the nut Or see where worme hath fed And shoot an arrowe at the but And drawe it to the head Like archer that can hit the white And win the wager straight With cunning knowledge and delite And suttle sence and slaight Which looks into the world so round And searcheth eury place To see what may be easlie found Or spoke of ech mans case To rime and roue in retchles sort He counted reuell rash As whip doth make a horse to snort When carter giues a lash So ballet makers doth with wind Stir vp a hiue of bees And of the abundance of vaine mind With words in aire he flees As though it were a thunder crack That neuer brings foorth raine But dailie threatens rune and wrack With ratling rumors vaine Vaine commedies that stirs vp vice He did condemne and hate He holds that babble of no price That doth infect a state Corrupts with words good maners still Offends both eie and eare Brings in loose
world cares little for a man Charitie and fortune differ far Fortune fauors many an asse Charitie forgiues and forgets iniuries Charitie hath no end of hir bountie Charitie giues few words but doth many good deeds Charitie is the 〈◊〉 and 〈◊〉 shall beâ—â—sled Charitie conquers euery where like a victor Bad life would driue charitie in exile Men go transformed now a daâ—s Some people are as greedy as guls Quarrels breeds mischiefe and bloudshed Lust is a theefe and robs vs of life Pride and presumption is bold as blâ—nde bayaâ—d New fanglenes is easily found out Wilful heads hates good counsell Ill custome Breedes abuse Two plagues past thâ—eatens a third Shame followes pride and deartâ— nipped sore Proud painted posts are rotteâ— in the middle Pride alubberly lout lookes like a monarke The woorst with hâ—e hart compares with the best A surly sire swels like a a toad A stately stalke thinks none like himselfe A craftie crue are wilier than the foxe Cunâ—ing lads are â—s quicke aâ— a â—ee Preferments are not got with shooting toe short They hit the white that haue good hap Ech man prefers his seruaâ—ts and friends Hope well can get no money from the mint Serue long spends much and gets little Who makes haste to amend any misse New natures alters good old conditions Not one doth right search and you shall see Artificers and all are light in the ballance Plagues will not cease till bad life be reformed Wild buds brings foorth no good fruit Neither world not weather keeps good course Neither world nor weather keeps good course Cold weather or world pleaseth none Cold aire kils sometime sound and sicke Cold loue quicklie takes leaue Cold fortune kils any man liuing Cold foode is comfortles and hard to digest Cold hungrie baites may kill a horse Cold words makes a man desperate A colder season in all sorts was neuer seene Cold words and workes makes many a heauy hart Cold winter may bring some sommer daies Warme loue 〈◊〉 awaken charitie againe The authorâ— breath is to cold 〈◊〉 do any good Aged yeers showes death 〈◊〉 â—t hand Labor is well â—â— stowed when wise men are 〈◊〉 Amphyon and Orpheus Poets and excellent musitions Liuius Andronicus and Ennius Dant Bocace and Petrarke Marâ—ot Ronsaâ—t and dâ— Baâ—tas Goâ—re Chaufer 〈◊〉 the noble earle of Sâ—â—â—â—e Dauy Lindzey and Buckananus They honor and make much of their â—imers In Wales they call their rimers Bardes Albinus loued poetrie much The rude Indians make much of their rimers The Danes and Saxons had many poets among them In Greece their best philosophers at the first became poets Thales Empedocles and Parmenides Pithagoras and Phosillides Torteus Solon that wrate the fable of the Atlantick Iland Plato a diuine philosopher did stoup to poetrie Herodotus Dominician Vaspasians sonne as Plinie saith was an excellent poet Alexander Caesar and Scipio Alexander Phoreus wept at a tragedy Menenus Agrippa a philosopher made peace among the people in an vprore Simonides and Pyndarius made Hiero a iust king Nathan spake of a lambe vngraciously taken from his bosome Dauid and Salomon deuine poets Platoes dialog called Ion. Lelius a Romane Socrates both were poets Iames the first that was king of Scotland and K. Iames the sixt now raigning great poets The Greeke Socrates put Aesops fables into verse and Aristotle wrate the art of poetrie Emperors kings captains and Senators were poets and favoured the art Adrian and Sophocles great poets â—f our 〈◊〉 me the paâ—â—â— poetry Robert â—ng of Cicâ—ll and 〈◊〉 great Frances â—ng of France Cardinall Berabus and Bibiena Famous teachers and preachers Beza and Melancton Learned philosophers Fracastorius and Scaliger Great and good orators Pontanus and Muretus And beyond all these the hospitall of France being builded on vertue gaue poets a singular commendation Alexander kept the bookes of Homer in 〈◊〉 his Iewel casket Menander the comicke poet being sent for by embassadors of Macedonia and Aegipt preferred the conscience of learning before kinglie fortunes Augustus Caesar wrate familiar epistles vnto Horace which Horace in his life was aduanced to the tribuneship of soldiers and when he died he left Augustus Caesar his heire Virgill entring the colledge of poets in Rome the rest of the poets there did more reuerence to him than to the emperor and when he came into the senate the senators likewise did so Dauid sung the Liricke verses to his harp and those ebrue songs consisted of divers feet and vnequall numbers somtime in Iambikes running other while Insaphicks swelling again in halfe a foote amiably halting Salomon in the gardens of Engadda framed songs to his harpe which then was a heauenly musicke Ieremie wrate his funerall lamentations in saphycks long before Simonides the Greeke poet Isaias wrate sacred Odes holie verses and for remembring the mysteries of god therein a tyrant king caused him to be sawed a sunder The song of Sydrack and his fellowes in the hot flame was in verse Moises by some men is thought the first deuiser of verse and his sister Marie deuised the exaâ—eter and by it to haue glorified Iehoua Ausonius a french man and poet schoolemaster to Gracianus the Emperor was aâ— orator and consul of Rome therfore Homer writes that Achilles sonne of Peleus was a singular liricke poet singing and plaing the noble deeds of cheeftaines Linus of Thebes a most ancient poet he was the sonne of Mercury and wrate the course of the sun moone and spheres in excellent verse Tiberius Nero the Emperor a poet and Lucan his tresorer a poet on a publike theater they shewed â—he tragedie Orpheus Adrianus Augustus Emperor a poet and preferrer of poetrie Iulianus Empeperor and Caius Iulius Caesar. Oppianus of great nobilitie Sextus Aurelius Propertius one of the Dedicie Scenica a spaniâ— knight Neros schoolemaster Sophocles and Pericles â—milius 〈◊〉 a man of noble parentage Anacreon of Theios with Pollucrates king of the Samiana Aâ—atus all his life time liued with Anâ—igâ—nus Lucius Cecilliâ—â— Câ—sar play â—â—loâ—e Cirus the poet treasorer of the Emperor Theodocius and Apatrician Publius and â—aberius companions with Iulius Caesar. Arian the poet of Periander king of Corinth Raâ—ullides with Iulianus the Emperor Claudianâ—s his tombâ—â—â—â—ored bâ—â—â—norâ—â—s and Aâ—cadius Emperors Aeschiron in hiâ— whole militarie expedition â—amiliar with Alexander Masonides honored of Adrian the Emperor Ariosto liked of all good wits Torquator Tasso an Italian knight and poet laureaâ— who departed from obliuion to immortalitie this last Aprill 1595. whose memorie shall neuer vanish Mounsiour Dâ—uereux a yoong Bishop at this day liuing in France accounted now the singular man in Europ for verse and poâ—ticall deuises Sir Phillip Sidney to appology