<FILE Evepoems.d>
<AUTH>
<TITLE> Ever or Never Poems
<NOTES>
<POEM>
To make a lover known, by plain Anatomy, 
You lovers all that list beware, lo here behold you me.  
Who though mine only looks, your pity well might move, 
Yet ever part shall play his part to paint the pangs of love.  
If first my feeble head, have so much matter left, 
If fancy's raging force have not his feeble skill bereft. 
These locks that hang unkempt, these hollow dazzled eyes, 
These chattering teeth, this trembling tongue, weltered with careful cries. 
These wan and wrinkled cheeks, well wash'd with waves of woe, 
May stand for pattern of a ghost, where so this carcass go.  
These shoulders they sustain, the yoke of heavy care, 
And on my bruised broken back, the burden must I bear.  
These arms are brawnfallen now, with beating on my breast, 
This right hand weary is to write, this left hand craveth rest: 
These sides enclose the forge, where sorrow plays the smith, 
And hot desire, hath kindled fire, to work his metal with. 
The anvil is my heart, my thoughts they strike the stroke, 
My lights and lungs like bellows blow, and sighs ascend for smoke. 
My secret parts are so with secret sorrow soaken, 
As for the secret shame thereof, deserves not to be spoken. 
My thighs, my knees, my legs, and last of all my feet, 
To serve a lover's turn, are so unable and unmeet, 
That scarce they can bear up this restless body well, 
Unless it be to see the bower, wherein my love doth dwell, 
And there by sight eftsoons to feed my gazing eye, 
And so content my hungry corps till dolors do me die: 
Yet for just reward of love so dearly bought, 
I pray you say, lo this was he, whom love had worn to nought.  
<POEM>
At Beauty's bar as I did stand, 
When false suspect accused me, 
George (quoth the Judge) hold up thy hand, 
Thou art arraign'd of Flattery: 
Tell therefore how thou wilt be tried? 
Whose judgement here wilt thou abide?  
<STANZA>
My lord (quoth I) this lady here, 
Whom I esteem above the rest, 
Doth know my guilt if any were: 
Wherefore her doom shall please me best, 
Let her be Judge and Juror both, 
To try me guiltless by mine oath.  
<STANZA>
Quoth Beauty, no, it sitteth not, 
A Prince herself to judge the cause: 
Here is our Justice will you wote, 
Appointed to discuss our laws: 
If you will guiltless seem to go, 
God and your country quit you so.  
<STANZA>
Then craft the crier call'd a quest, 
Of whom was falsehood foremost fear, 
A pack of pickthanks were the rest, 
Which came false witness for to bear, 
The Jury such, the Judge unjust, 
Sentence was said I should be truss'd.  
<STANZA>
Jealous the Jailer bound me fast, 
To hear the verdict of the bill, 
George (quoth then the Judge) now thou art cast, 
Thou must go hence to heavy hill, 
And there be hang'd all but the head, 
God rest thy soul when thou art dead.  
<STANZA>
Down fell I then upon my knee, 
All flat before dame beauty's face, 
And cried, good Lady pardon me, 
Which here appeal unto your grace, 
You know if I have been untrue, 
It was in too much praising you.  
<STANZA>
And though this Judge do make such haste, 
To shed with shame my guiltless blood: 
Yet let your pity first be plac'd, 
To save the man that meant you good, 
So shall you show yourself a Queen, 
And I may be your servant seen.  
<STANZA>
(Quoth beauty) well: because I guess 
What thou dost mean henceforth to be, 
Although thy faults deserve no less 
Than Justice here hath judged thee, 
Wilt thou be bound to stint all strife, 
And be true prisoner all thy life? 
<STANZA>
Yea madam (quoth I) that I shall, 
Lo faith and truth my sureties: 
Why then (quoth she) come when I call, 
I ask no better warranties. 
Thus am I Beauty's bounden thrall, 
At her command when she doth call.  
<POEM>
In Court who so demands what dame doth most excel, 
For my conceit I must needs say, fair Bridges bears the bell: 
Upon whose lovely cheek, to prove my judgement true, 
The Rose and Lily seem to strive for equal change of hue: 
And therewithal so well her graces all agree, 
No frowning cheer dare once presume in her sweet face to be. 
Although some lavish lips, which like some other best, 
Will say the blemish on her brow disgraceth all the rest: 
Thereto I thus reply, God wot they little know 
The hidden cause of that mishap, nor how the harm did grow.  
For when dame nature first had fram'd her heavenly face, 
And thoroughly bedecked it with goodly gleams of grace.  
It liked her so well: Lo here (quoth she) a piece, 
For perfect shape that passeth all Apelles' work in Greece.  
This bait may chance to catch the greatest god of love, 
Or mighty thundering Jove himself that rules the roost above: 
But out, alas, those words were vaunted in all vain, 
And some unseen were present there (poor Bridges) to thy pain, 
For Cupid crafty boy, close in corner stood, 
Not blindfold then, to gaze on her, I guess it did him good.  
Yet when he felt the flame gan kindle in his breast, 
And heard dame nature boast by her, to break him of his rest, 
His hot new chosen love he changed into hate, 
And suddenly with mighty mace, gan rap her on the pate.  
It grieved Nature much to see the cruel deed: 
Me seems I see her how she wept to see her darling bleed.  
Well yet (quoth she) this hurt shall have some help I trow, 
And quick with skin she cover'd it, yet whiter is than snow. 
Wherewith Dan Cupid fled, for fear of further flame, 
When angel like he saw her shine, whom he had smit with shame.  
Lo thus was Bridges hurt, in cradle of her kind, 
The coward Cupid brake her brow to wreak his wounded mind, 
The scar still there remains, no force, there let it be, 
There is no cloud than can eclipse so bright a sun as she.  
<STANZA>
These rusty walls whom cankered years deface, 
The comely corpse of seemly Zouche enclose, 
Whose ancient stock deriv'd from worthy race, 
Procures her praise, where so the carcass goes: 
Her angel's face declares her modest mind, 
Her lovely looks the gazing eyes allure, 
Her deeds deserve some endless praise to find, 
To blaze such brute as ever might endure.  
Wherefore my pen in trembling fear shall stay, 
To write the thing that doth surmount my skill, 
And I will wish of God both night and day, 
Some worthier place to guide her worthy will.  
Where princes' peers her due deserts may see, 
And I content her servant there to be.  
<POEM>
I smile sometimes although my grief be great, 
To hear and see these lovers paint their pain, 
And how they can in pleasant rhymes repeat, 
The passing pangs, which they in fancies feign.  
But if I had such skill to frame a verse 
I could more pain than all their pangs rehearse.  
<STANZA>
Some say they find nor peace, nor power to fight, 
Which seemeth strange: but stranger is my state: 
I dwell in dole, yet sojourn with delight, 
Reposed in rest, yet wearied with debate. 
For flat repulse, might well appease my will 
But fancy fights, to try my fortune still. 
<STANZA>
Some other say they hope, yet live in dread, 
They freeze, they flame, they fly aloft, they fall, 
But I nor hope with hap to raise my head, 
Nor fear to stoop, for why my gate is small.  
Nor can I freeze, with cold to kill my heart, 
Nor yet so flame, as might consume my smart.  
<STANZA>
How live I then, which thus draw forth my days?  
Or tell me how, I found this fever first?  
What fits I feel? what distance? what delays? 
What grief? what ease? what like I best? what worst?  
These things they tell, which seek redress of pain, 
And so will I, although I count it vain.  
<STANZA>
I live in love, even so I love to live, 
(Oh happy state, twice happy he that finds it) 
But love to life this cognisance doth give, 
This badge this mark, to every man that minds it, 
Love lendeth life, which (dying) cannot die, 
Nor living live: and such a life lead I.  
<STANZA>
The sunny days which glad the saddest wights, 
Yet never shine to clear my misty Moon, 
No quiet sleep, amid the moonshine nights 
Can close mine eyes, when I am woebegone.  
Into such shades my peevish sorrow shrouds, 
That Sun and Moon, are still to me in clouds.  
<STANZA>
And feverlike I feed my fancy still, 
With such repast, as most impairs my health, 
Which fever first I caught by wanton will, 
When coals of kind did stir my blood by stealth: 
And gazing eyes, in beauty put such trust 
And love enflam'd my liver all with lust.  
<STANZA>
My fits are like the fever Ectic fits, 
Which one day quakes within and burns without, 
The next day heat within the bosoms sits, 
And shivering cold the body goes about.  
So is my heart most hot when hope is cold, 
And quaketh most when I most heat behold. 
<STANZA>
Tormented thus without delays I stand, 
Always in one and evermore shall be, 
In greatest grief when help is nearest hand, 
And best at ease if death might make me free: 
Delighting most in that which hurts my heart, 
And hating change which might renew my smart. 
<STANZA>
Yet you dear dame: to whom this cure pertains, 
Devise betimes some drams for my disease, 
A noble name shall be your greatest gains, 
Whereof be sure, if you will work mine ease. 
And though fond fools set forth their fits as fast, 
Yet grant with me that Gascoigne's passion pass'd.
</FILE>
<FILE Fatdan.d>
<AUTH> Dan Bartholomew of Bath
<TITLE> Fortuna
<NOTES>
<POEM>
I Have entreated care to cut the thread 
Which all too long hath held my ling'ring life, 
And here aloof now have I hid my head, 
From company, thereby to stint my strife.  
This solitary place doth please me best, 
Where I may wear my willing mind with moan, 
And where the sighs which boil out of my breast, 
May scald my heart, and yet the cause unknown.  
All this I do, for thee my sweetest sour, 
For whom (of yore) I counted not of care, 
For whom with hungry jaws I did devour 
The secret bait which lurked in the snare: 
For whom I thought all foreign pleasures pain, 
For whom again, all pain did pleasure seem, 
But only thine, I found all fancies vain, 
But only thine, I did no dolors deem.  
Such was the rage, that whilom did possess 
The privy corners of my mazed mind: 
When hot desire, did count those torments less 
Which gain'd the gaze that did my freedom bind.  
And now (with care) I can record those days, 
And call to mind the quiet life I led 
Before I first beheld thy golden rays 
When thine untruth troubled not my head.  
Remember thou, as I cannot forget, 
How I had laid, both love, and lust aside, 
And how I had my fixed fancy set, 
In constant vow, for ever to abide.  
The bitter proof of pangs in pleasure past, 
The costly taste, of honey mix'd with gall: 
The painted heaven, which turn'd to hell at last 
The freedom feign'd, which brought me but to thrall.  
The ling'ring suit, well fed with fresh delays 
The wasted vows which fled every wind: 
The restless nights, to purchase pleasing days, 
The toiling days to please my restless mind.  
All these (with more) had bruised so my breast, 
And graft such grief within my groaning heart, 
That I had left dame fancy and the rest 
To greener years: which might endure the smart.  
My weary bones did bear away the scars, 
Of many a wound, received by disdain: 
So that I found the fruit of all those wares, 
To be naught else but pangs of unknown pain.  
And now mine eyes were shut from such delight, 
My fancy faint my hot desires were cold, 
When cruel hap, presented to my sight, 
Thy maiden's face, in years which were not old. 
I think the goddess of revenge devised, 
So to be wreak'd on my rebelling will, 
Because I had in youthful years displayed, 
To taste the baits, which 'tic'd my fancy still.  
How so it were, God knows, I cannot tell: 
But if I lie, you heavens, the plague be mine, 
I saw no sooner, how delight did dwell 
Between those little infant's eyes of thine, 
But straight a sparkling coal of quick desire, 
Did kindle flame within my frozen heart, 
And yielding fancy softly blew the fire, 
Which since hath been the cause of all my smart.  
What need I say? thy self for me can swear, 
How much I tendered thee in tender years: 
Thy life was then to me (God knows) full dear, 
My life to thee is light, as now appears.  
I loved thee first, and shall do to my last, 
Thou flatterest first, and so thou wouldst do still: 
For love of thee full many pains I passed, 
For deadly hate thou seekest me to kill.  
I cannot now, with manly tongue rehearse, 
How soon that melting mind of thine did yield, 
I shame to write, in this waymenting verse, 
With how small fight, I vanquish'd thee in field: 
But Caesar he, which all the world subdued, 
Was never yet so proud of Victory, 
Nor Hannibal, with martial feats endued, 
Did so much please himself in policy, 
As I (poor I) did seem to triumph then, 
When first I got the Bulwarks of thy breast, 
With hot Alarms I comforted my men, 
In foremost rank I stood before the rest, 
And shook my flag, not all to show my force, 
But that thou mightst thereby perceive my mind: 
Askances lo, now could I kill thy corse, 
And yet my life, is unto thee resigned.  
Well let them pass, and think upon the joy, 
The mutual love, the confidence, the trust, 
Whereby we both abandoned annoy, 
And fed our minds with fruits of lovely lust.  
Think on the Tithe, of kisses got by stealth, 
Of sweet embracings shortened by fear, 
Remember that which did maintain our health, 
Alas, alas why should I name it here. 
And in the midst of all those happy days, 
Do not forget the changes of my chance, 
When in the depth of many wayward ways, 
I only sought, what might thy state advance.  
Thou must confess, how much I car'd for thee, 
When of myself, I car'd not for myself, 
And when my hap was in mishaps to be, 
Esteem'd thee more, than all the worldly pelf.  
Mine absent thoughts did beat on thee alone, 
When thou hadst found a fond and newfound choice: 
For lack of thee I sunk in endless moan, 
When thou in change didst tumble and rejoice.  
O mighty goddess needs must I honor you, 
Needs must I judge your judgements to be just, 
Because she did forsake him that was true, 
And with false love, did cloak a feigned lust. 
By high decrees, you ordained the change, 
To light on such, as she must needs mislike, 
A meet reward for such as seek to range, 
When fancy's force, their feeble flesh doth strike.  
But did I then give bridle to thy fall, 
Thou headstrong thou, accuse me if thou can?  
Did I not hazard love yea life and all, 
Toward thy will, from that unworthy man?  
And when by toil I travailed to find, 
The secret causes of thy madding mood, 
I found naught else but tricks of Cressid's kind, 
Which plainly provide, that thou were't of her blood.  
I found that absent Troilus was forgot, 
When Diomed had got both brooch and belt, 
Both glove and hand, yea heart and all god wot, 
When absent Troilus did in sorrows swelt.  
These tricks (with more) thou knowest thyself I found, 
Which now are needless here for to rehearse, 
Unless it were to touch a tender wound, 
With corrosives my panting heart to pierce. 
But as that Hound is counted little worth, 
Which giveth over for a loss or twain, 
And cannot find the means to single forth, 
The stricken Deer which doth in herd remain: 
Or as the kindly Spaniel which hath sprung 
The pretty partridge, for the Falcon's flight, 
Doth never spare but thrusts the thorns among, 
To bring this bird yet once again to sight, 
And though he know by proof (yea dearly bought) 
That seldom or never, for his own avail, 
This weary work of his in vain is wrought, 
Yet spares he not but labors tooth and nail.  
So labor'd I to save thy wandering ship, 
Which reckless then, was running on the rocks, 
And though I saw thee seem to hang the lip. 
And set my great good will, as light as flocks: 
Yet haul'd I in, the main sheet of thy mind, 
And stayed the course by anchors of advice, 
I won thy will into a better wind, 
To save thy ware, which was of precious price.  
And when I had so harbored thy Bark, 
In happy haven, which safer was than Dover, 
The Admiral, which knew it by the mark, 
Straight challeng'd all, and said thou were't a rover: 
Then was I forc'd in thy behalf to plead, 
Yea so I did, the judge can say no less, 
And whiles in toil, this loathsome life I lead, 
Camest thou thyself the fault for to confess, 
And down on knee before thy cruel foe, 
Didst pardon crave, accusing me for all, 
And saidst I was the cause, that thou didst so, 
And that I spun the thread of all thy thrall.  
Not so content, thou furthermore didst swear 
That of thyself thou never meant to swerve, 
For proof whereof thou didst the colors wear, 
Which might bewray, what saint you meant to serve. 
And that thy blood was sacrificed eke, 
To manifest thy steadfast martyr'd mind, 
Till I perforce constrain'd thee for to seek, 
These raging seas, adventures there to find.  
Alas, alas, and out alas for me, 
Who am enforced, thus for to repeat 
The false reports and cloaked guiles of thee,  
Whereon (too oft) my restless thoughts do beat.  
But thus it was, and thus God knows it is.  
Which when I found by plain and perfect proof, 
My musing mind then thought it not amiss, 
To shrink aside, lamenting all aloof.  
And so to beat my simple shiftless brain, 
For some device, that might redeem thy state, 
Lo here the cause, for why I take this pain, 
Lo how I love the wight which me doth hate: 
Lo thus I lie, and restless rest in Bath, 
Whereas I bathe not now in bliss pardie, 
But boil in Bale and skamble thus in scath, 
Because I think on thine unconstancy. 
And wilt thou know, how here I spend my time, 
And how I draw my days in dolors still?  
Then stay a while: give ear unto my rhyme, 
So shalt thou know the weight of all my will. 
When Titan is constrained to forsake, 
His leman's couch, and climbeth to his cart, 
Then I begin to languish for thy sake, 
And with a sigh, which may bewray my smart, 
I clear mine eyes whom gum of tears had glued, 
And upon foot I set my ghostlike course, 
And when the stony walls have oft renewed 
My piteous plaints, with Echoes of remorse, 
Then do I cry and call upon thy name, 
And thus I say, thou curs'd and cruel both, 
Behold the man, which taketh grief for game, 
And loveth them, which most his name doth loath.  
Behold the man which ever truly meant, 
And yet accus'd as author of thine ill, 
Behold the man, which all his life hath spent, 
To serve thyself, and aye to work thy will: 
Behold the man, which only for thy love, 
Did love himself, whom else he set but light: 
Behold the man, whose blood (for thy behoove) 
Was ever press'd to shed itself outright.  
And canst thou now condemn his loyalty?  
And canst thou craft to flatter such a friend? 
And canst thou see him sink in jeopardy?  
And canst thou seek to bring his life to end?  
Is this the right reward for such desert?  
Is this the fruit of seed so timely sown?  
Is this the price, appointed for his part?  
Shall truth be thus by treason overthrown?  
Then farewell fast he, thou art no woman's fere: 
And with that word I stay my tongue in time, 
With rolling eyes I look about each where, 
Lest any man should hear my raving rhyme.  
And all in rage, enraged as I am, 
I take my sheet, my slippers and my gown, 
And in the Bath from whence but late I came, 
I cast myself in dolors there to drown.  
There all alone I can myself convey, 
Into some corner where I sit unseen, 
And to myself (there naked) can I say, 
Behold these brawnfallen arms which once have been.  
Both large and lusty, able for to fight, 
Now are they weak, and wearish God he knows, 
Unable now to daunt the foul despite 
Which is presented by my cruel foes.  
My thighs are thin, my body lank and lean, 
It hath no bombast now, but skin and bones: 
And on mine Elbow as I lie and lean, 
I see a trusty token for the nuns.  
I spy a bracelet bound about mine arm, 
Which to my shadow seemeth thus to say, 
Believe not me: for I was but a Charm, 
To make thee sleep, when others went to play.  
And as I gaze thus galded all with grief, 
I find it fazed almost quite in sunder, 
Then think I thus: thus wasteth my relief, 
And though I fade, yet to the world no wonder.  
For as this lace, by leisure learns to wear, 
So must I faint, even as the candle wasteth, 
These thoughts (dear sweet) within my breast I bear, 
And to my long home, thus my life it hasteth.  
Herewith I feel the drops of sweltering sweat, 
Which trickle down my face, enforced so, 
And in my body feel I likewise beat, 
A burning heart, which tosseth to and fro.  
Thus all in flames I cinderlike consume, 
And were it not that wan hope lends me wind, 
Soon might I fret my faces all in fume, 
And like a Ghost my ghost his grave might find.  
But freezing hope doth blow full in my face, 
And cold of cares becomes my cordial, 
So that I still endure that irksome place, 
Where sorrow seeths to scald my skin withal.  
And when from thence our company me drives, 
Or weary woes do make me change my seat, 
Then in my bed my restless pain revives, 
Until my fellows call me down to meat, 
And then I rise, my corpse for to array, 
I take the glass, sometimes (but not for pride, 
For God he knows my mind is not so gay) 
But for I would in comeliness abide: 
I take the glass, wherein I seem to see, 
Such withered wrinkles and so foul disgrace, 
That little marvel seemeth it to me, 
Though thou so well didst like the noble face, 
The noble face was fair and fresh of hue, 
My wrinkled face is foul and fadeth fast: 
The noble face was unto thee but new, 
My wrinkled face is old and clean outcast: 
The noble face might move thee with delight, 
My wrinkled face could never please thine eye: 
Lo thus of crime I covet thee to quite. 
And still accuse myself of Surquidry: 
As one that am unworthy to enjoy, 
The lasting fruit of such a love as thine, 
Thus am I tickled still with every toy, 
And when my Fellows call me down to dine, 
No change of meat provokes mine appetite, 
Nor sauce can serve to taste my meats withal, 
Then I devise the juice of grapes to dight, 
For Sugar and for Cinnamon I call, 
For Ginger, Grains, and for each other spice, 
Wherewith I mix the noble wine apace, 
My fellows praise the depth of my device, 
And say it is as good as Ippocrace.  
As Ippocrace say I?  and then I swelt, 
My fainting limbs straight fall into a swound, 
Before the taste of Ippocrace is felt, 
The naked name in dolors doth me drown, 
For then I call unto my troubled mind, 
That Ippocrace hath been thy daily drink, 
That Ippocrace hath walk'd with every wind 
In bottles that were filled to the brink.  
With Ippocrace thou banquetedst full oft, 
With Ippocrace thou madst thyself full merry, 
Such cheer had set thy new love so aloft, 
That old love now was scarcely worth a cherry.  
And then again I fall into a trance, 
But when my breath returns against my will, 
Before my tongue can tell my woeful chance, 
I hear my fellows how they whisper still.  
One saith that Ippocrace is contrary, 
Unto my nature and complexion, 
Whereby they judge that all my malady, 
Was long of that by alteration.  
Another saith, no, no this man is weak, 
And for such weak, so hot things are not best, 
Then at the last I hear no liar speak, 
But one which knows the cause of mine unrest, 
And saith, this man is (for my life) in love, 
He hath received repulse, or drunk disdain, 
Alas cry I: and ere I can remove, 
Into a swound I soon return again.  
Thus drive I forth, my doleful dining time, 
And trouble others with my troubles still, 
But when I hear, the bell hath passed prime 
Into the Bath I wallow by my will, 
That there my tears (unseen) might ease my grief, 
For though I strive yet have I fed my fill, 
In privy pangs I count my best relief.  
And still I strive in weary woes to drench.  
But when I plunge, then woe is at an ebb, 
My glowing coals are all too quick to quench, 
And I (too warm) am wrapped in the web, 
Which makes me swim against the wished wave, 
Lo thus (dear wench) I lead a loathsome life, 
And greedily I seek the greedy grave, 
To make an end of all these storms and strife, 
But death is deaf, and hears not my desire, 
So that my days continue still in dole, 
And in my nights, I feel the secret fire, 
Which close in embers, coucheth like a coal, 
And in the day hath been but raked up, 
With covering ashes of my company, 
Now breaks it out, and boils the careful cup, 
Which in my heart, doth hang full heavily.  
I melt in tears, I swelt in chilling sweat, 
My swelling heart, breaks with delay of pain 
I freeze in hope, yet burn in haste of heat, 
I wish for death, and yet in life remain.  
And when dead sleep doth close my dazzled eyes, 
Then dreadful dreams my dolors to increase, 
Methinks I lie awake in woeful wise, 
And see thee come, my sorrows for to cease.  
Me seems thou sayest (my good) what meaneth this?  
What ails thee thus to languish and lament?  
How can it be that bathing all in bliss, 
Such cause unknown disquiets thy content?  
Thou dost me wrong to keep so close from me 
The grudge or grief, which gripeth now thy heart, 
For well thou knowest, I must thy partner be 
In bale, in bliss, in solace, and in smart.  
Alas, alas, these things I deem in dreams, 
But when mine eyes are open and awake, 
I see not thee, wherewith the flowing streams, 
Of brinish tears their wonted floods do make, 
Thus as thou seest I spend both nights and days, 
And for I find the world did judge me once 
A witless writer of these lover's lays, 
I take my pen and paper for the nonce, 
I lay aside this foolish riding rhyme, 
And as my troubled head can bring to pass, 
I thus bewray the torments of my time: 
Bear with my Muse, it is not as it was.  
<POEM>
Among the toys which toss my brain,  
and rieve my mind from quiet rest, 
This one I find, doth there remain, 
to breed debate within my breast. 
When woe would work, to wound my will,  
I cannot weep, or wail my fill.  
<STANZA>
My tongue hath not the skill to tell,  
the smallest griefs which grips my heart, 
Mine eyes have not the power to swell,  
into such Seas of secret smart, 
That will might melt to waves of woe,  
and I might swell in sorrows so.  
<STANZA>
Yet shed mine eyes no trickling tears,  
but floods which flow abundantly, 
Whose fountain first enforc'd by fears, 
found out the gap of jealousy.  
And by that breath, it soaketh so, 
that all my face, is still on flow.  
<STANZA>
My voice is like the raging wind,  
which roareth still, and never stays, 
The thoughts which tumble in my mind,  
are like the wheel which whirls always, 
Now here, now there, now up, now down,  
in depth of waves, yet cannot drown.  
<STANZA>
The sighs which boil out of my breast,  
are not like those, which others use, 
For lovers' sighs, sometimes take rest,  
and lend their minds, a leave to muse, 
But mine are like the surging seas, 
whom calm nor quiet can appease.
<STANZA>
And yet they be but sorrow's smoke,  
my breast the forge where fury plays, 
My panting heart, it strikes the stroke,  
my fancy blows the flame always, 
The coals are kindled by desire,  
and Cupid warms him by the fire.  
<STANZA>
Thus can I neither drown in dole,  
nor burn to ashes, though I waste, 
Mine eyes can neither quench the coal,  
which warms my heart in all this blast.  
Nor yet my fancy make such flame,  
that I may smolder in the same.  
<STANZA>
Wherefore I come to seek out care,  
beseeching him of courtesy, 
To cut the thread which cannot wear,  
by pangs of such perplexity.  
And but he grant this boon of mine,  
thus must I live and ever pine.  
<POEM>
Lo thus (dear heart) I force my frantic Muse, 
To frame a verse in spite of my despite, 
But whiles I do these mirthless meters use 
This rash conceit doth rieve me from delight.  
I call to mind how many loving lays, 
How many Sonnets, and how many songs 
I did devise within those happy days, 
When yet my will had not received wrongs. 
All which were evermore regarded so, 
That little fruit I seem'd thereby to reap, 
But rather when I had bewrayed my woe 
Thy love was light, and lusted still to leap.  
The rhymes which pleased thee were all in print, 
And mine were ragged, hard for to be read, 
Lo dear: this dagger dubs me with this dint, 
And leaves this wound within my jealous head 
But since I have confessed unto care, 
That now I stand upon his courtesy, 
And that the bale, which in my breast I bare, 
Hath not the skill to kill me cunningly, 
Therefore with all my whole devotion, 
To Care I make this supplication.  
<POEM>
O Courteous Care, whom others (cruel) call, 
And rail upon thine honorable name, 
O knife that canst cut off the thread of thrall, 
O shear that shredd'st the semerent sheet of shame, 
O happy end of every grievous game: 
Vouchsafe O Prince, thy vassal to behold, 
Who loves thee more, than can with tongue be told.  
And now vouchsafe to pity this his plaint, 
Whose tears bewray, 
His truth alway, 
Although his feeble tongue be forc'd to faint.  
<STANZA>
I must confess O noble king to thee, 
That I have been a Rebel in my youth, 
I press'd always in pleasure's court to be, 
I fled from that, which Cupid still eschew, 
I fled from Care, lo now I tell the truth, 
And in delights, I loved so to dwell, 
Thy heavenly house, did seem to me but hell. 
Such was my rage, the which I now repent, 
And pardon crave, 
My soul to save, 
Before the web of weary life be spent.  
<STANZA>
But mark what fruits did grow on such a tree, 
What crop did rise upon so rash sown seed, 
For when I thought my self in heaven to be, 
In depth of hell I drowned was in deed: 
Whereon to think my heavy heart doth bleed: 
Me though I swum in Seas of all delight, 
When as I sunk in puddles of despite. 
Alas, alas I thought my self belov'd, 
When deadly hate, 
Did play check mate, 
With me poor pawn, 
that no such pranks had prov'd.  
<STANZA>
This when I tried (ay me) to be true, 
I wept for woe, I pined all for pain, 
I tear my hair, I often changed hue, 
I left delight, with dolors to complain.  
I shunn'd each place where pleasure did remain, 
I cried, I call'd on every kind of death, 
I strove each way to stop my fainting breath.  
Short tale to make, I slept so far in strife, 
That still I sought, 
With all my thought, 
Some happy help to leave my loathed life.  
<STANZA>
But hope was he that held my hand aback, 
From quick dispatch of all my griping grief, 
When heat of hate had burnt my will to wrack, 
Then hope was cold and lent my life relief, 
In every choice hope challeng'd to be chief. 
When coldest cramps had clean overcame my heart, 
Then hope was hot, and warn'd my weary smart, 
When heart was hardy, hope was still in dread, 
When heart was faint, 
With fears attaint, 
When hardy hope held up my fearful head.  
<STANZA>
Thus when I found that neither flowing tears 
Could drown my heart in waves of weary woe, 
Nor hardy hand could overcome my fears, 
To cut the sack of all my sorrow so, 
Nor death would come, nor I to death could go. 
And yet I felt great drops of secret smart, 
Distilling still within my dying heart: 
I then perceiv'd that only Care was he, 
Which was my friend, 
Might make an end, 
Of all these pains, and set my fancy free. 
<STANZA>
Wherefore (oh Care) grant thou my just request, 
Oh kill my corpse, oh quickly kill me now, 
Oh make an end and bring my bones to rest, 
Oh cut my thread (good Care) I care not how, 
Oh Care be kind: and here I make a vow, 
That when my life out of my breast shall part, 
I will present thee with my faithful heart: 
And send it to thee as a Sacrifice, 
Because thou hast, 
Vouchsafe'd at last, 
To end my furies in this friendly wise.  
<POEM>
What greater glory can a Keysar gain, 
If mad mood move his subjects to rebel, 
Than that at last (when all the traitors train, 
Have trod the path, of deep repentance well, 
And naked need with Cold and Hunger both, 
Hath bitten them abroad in foreign land, 
Whereby they may their lewd devices loath. 
When harebrain'd haste, with cold advise is scanned) 
If then at last, they come upon their knee, 
And pardon crave with due submission, 
And for this cause, I think that Care of me, 
Was moved most, to take compassion.  
For now I find, that pity pricks his mind, 
To see me plunged still in endless pain, 
And right remorse, his princely heart doth bind, 
To rule the rage wherein I do remain, 
I feel my tears do now begin to stay, 
For Care from them their swelling springs doth soak, 
I feel my sighs their labors now allay, 
For care hath quench'd the coals that made them smoke.  
I feel my panting heart begins to rest, 
For Care hath stay'd the hammers of my head, 
I feel the flame with blazed in my breast, 
Are now with careful ashes overspread. 
And gentle Care, hath whet his carving knife, 
To cut in twain the thread of all my thrall, 
Desired death now overcometh life, 
And we still works to help in haste with all.  
But since I feel these pangs approaching so, 
And loathed life begin to take his leave, 
Me thinks it meet, to give before I go, 
Such lands, and goods, as I behind me leave. 
So to discharge my troubled conscience, 
And eke to set an order for mine heir, 
Who might (perhaps) be put to great expense, 
To sue for that, which I bequeath him here.  
Wherefore (dear wench) with all my full intent, 
I thus begin to make my Testament.  
<POEM>
In Jove his mighty name, this eight and twentieth day, 
Of frosty bearded January, the enemy to May: 
Since Adam was create, five thousand years I guess, 
Five hundred, forty more and five, as stories do express. 
I being whole of mind, (immortal Gods have praise) 
Though in my body languishing with pangs of pain always, 
Do thus ordain my will which long in woes have wept, 
Beseeching mine executors to see it duly kept. 
First I bequeath my soul on Charon's boat to tend, 
Until my life (my love) at last may light on lucky end, 
That there it may await, to wait upon thy ghost, 
When thou hast quite clean forgot what pranks now please thee most, 
So shall it well be seen whose love is like to mine: 
For so I mean to try my truth, and there till then to pine.  
My body be embalm'd, and closed up in chest, 
With ointments and with spiceries of every sweet the best: 
And so preserved still until the day do come, 
That death divorce my love from life, and truss her up in tomb.  
Then, I bequeath my corpse to couch beneath her bones, 
And there to feed the greedy worms that linger for the nuns 
To fret upon her flesh, which is too fine therefore, 
This service may it do her yet, although it do no more.  
My heart (as heretofore) I must bequeath to Care, 
And God he knows, I think the gift too simple for his share, 
But that he may perceive, I mean to pay my due, 
I will it shall be taken quick, and borne him bleeding new, 
As for my funerals, I leave that toy at large, 
To be as mine executors will give thereto in charge.  
Yet if my goods will stretch unto my strange device, 
Then let this order be observ'd, mine heir shall pay the price: 
First let the torch bearers be wrapp'd in weeds of woe, 
Let all their lights be virgin wax, because I lov'd it so.  
And care not though the twist be coarse that lends then light, 
If fancy fume, and free will flame, then must they needs burn bright.  
Next then let come the choir, with psalms and doleful song, 
Recording all my rough repulse and wraying all my wrong, 
And when the descant sings, in treble tunes above, 
Then let fa burden, say (by low) I liv'd and died for love: 
About my heavy hearse, some mourners would I have, 
Who might the same accompany, and stand about the grave, 
But let them be such men, as may confess with me, 
How contrary the lots of love, to all true lovers be.  
Let Patience be the Priest, the Clerk be Close conceit, 
The Sexton be Simplicity, which meaneth no deceit.  
Let alms of Love be dealt, even at the Chancel door, 
And feed them there with fresh delays, as I have been of yore: 
Then let the youngest sort, be set to ring Love's bells, 
And pay Repentance for their pains, but give them nothing else, 
Thus when the Dirge is done, let every man depart, 
And learn by me what harm it is to have a faithful heart.  
Those little lands I have, mine heir must needs possess, 
His name is Lust, the lands be loss, few lovers scape with less. 
The best of all my goods, which I not here rehearse, 
Give learned Poets for their pains, to deck my tomb with verse: 
And let them write these words upon my careful chest, 
Lo here he lies, that was as true (in love) as is the best.  
Alas I had forgot the persons due to pay, 
And so my soul in Purgatory, might remain alway. 
Then for my privy Tithes, as kisses caught by stealth, 
Sweet callings and such other knacks as multiplied my wealth: 
I give the Vicar here, to please his greedy will, 
A dainty dish of sugar sops but sauc'd with sorrow still: 
And twice a week at least, let dight them for his dish, 
On fridays and on wednesdays, to save expense of fish.  
Now have I much bequeathed and little left behind, 
And others more must yet be served or else I were unkind.  
Wet eyes and wailing words, Executors I make, 
And for their pains ten pounds of tears let either of them take. 
<STANZA>
Let sorrow at the last my Supervisor be, 
And steadfastness my surest stead, I give him for his fee: 
Yet in his patent place this Sentence of proviso, 
That he which loveth steadfastly, shall want no sauce of sorrow. 
<STANZA>
Thus now I make an end, of this my weary will, 
And sign it with my simple hand, and set my seal there till.  
And you which read my words, although they be in rhyme, 
Yet reason may persuade you eke, Thus lovers dote sometime.  
<POEM>
My Mansion house was Moan: from Dolor's dale I came, 
I Fato: Non Fortuna, hight, lo now you know my name: 
My seal is sorrow's scath, within a field of fame, 
Which cuts in twain a careful heart, yet swelt'reth in the same. 
<POEM>
Alas, lo now I hear the passing Bell, 
Which Care appointeth carefully to knell, 
And in my breast, I feel my heart now swell, 
To break the strings, which join'd it to my soul. 
The Crystal ice, which lent mine eyes their light, 
Doth now wax dim, and dazzled all with dread, 
My senses all, will now forsake me quite, 
And hope of health abandoneth my head, 
My weary tongue can talk no longer now, 
My trembling hand now leaves my pen to hold, 
My joints now stretch, my body cannot bow, 
My skin looks pale, my blood now waxeth cold.  
And are not these, the very pangs of death?  
Yes sure (sweetheart) I know them so to be, 
They be the pangs, which strive to stop my breath, 
They be the pangs, which part my love from thee. 
What said I? Love? Nay life: but not my love, 
My life departs, my love continues still: 
My loathed life may from my corpse remove, 
My loving Love shall always work thy will. 
It was thy will even thus to try my truth, 
Thou hast thy will, my truth may now be seen, 
It was thy will, that I should die in youth, 
Thou hast thy will my years are yet but green.  
Thy penance was that I should pine in pain, 
I have perform'd thy penance all in woe, 
Thy pleasure was that I should here remain, 
I have been glad to please thy fancy so. 
Now since I have performed every part 
Of thy command, as near as tongue can tell, 
Content thee yet before my Muse depart, 
To take this Sonnet for my last farewell.  
<POEM>
Farewell dear love whom I have loved and shall, 
Both in this world, and in the world to come, 
For proof whereof my sprite is Charon's thrall, 
And yet my corpse attendant on thy tomb.  
Farewell dear sweet, whose wanton will to please, 
Each taste of trouble seemed too mell to me, 
Farewell sweet dear, whose doubts for to appease, 
I was contented thus in bale to be. 
Farewell my life, farewell for and my death, 
For thee I lived, for thee now must I die, 
Farewell from Bath, whereas I feel my breath 
Forsake my breast in great perplexity, 
Alas how welcome were this death of mine, 
If I had died between those arms of thine.
</FILE>
<FILE Fipoems.d>
<AUTH>
<TITLE>
<NOTES>
<POEM>
Of thee dear Dame, three lessons would I learn, 
What reason first persuades the foolish Fly 
(As soon as she a candle can discern) 
To play with flame, till she be burnt thereby?
Or what may move the Mouse to bite the bait 
Which strikes the trap, that stops her hungry breath? 
What calls the Bird, where snares of deep deceit 
Are closely couch'd to draw her to her death? 
Consider well, what is the cause of this, 
And though percase you will not so confess, 
Yet deep desire, to gain a heavenly bliss, 
May drown the mind in dole and dark distress: 
Oft is it seen (whereat my heart may bleed) 
Fools play so long till they be caught in deed.
And then it is a heaven to see them hop and skip, 
And seek all shifts to shake their shackles off: 
It is a world, to see them hang the lip, 
Who (erst) at love, were wont to scorn and scoff.  
But as the Mouse, once caught in crafty trap, 
May bounce and beat, against the borden wall, 
Till she have brought her head in such mishap, 
That done to death her fainting limbs must fall: 
And as the Fly once singed in the flame,
Cannot command her wings to wave away: 
But by the heel, she hangs in the same 
Till cruel death her hasty journey stay.  
So they that seek to break the links of love 
Strive with the stream, and this by pain I prove.	
For when I first beheld that heavenly hue of thine, 
Thy stately stature, and thy comely grace, 
I must confess these dazzl'd eyes of mine 
Did wink for fear, when I first view'd thy face: 
But bold desire, did open them again, 
And bade me look till I had look'd too long, 
I pitied them that did procure my pain, 
And lov'd the looks that wrought me all the wrong:
And as the Bird once caught (but works her woe) 
That strives to leave the limed twigs behind: 
Even so the more I strove to part thee fro, 
The greater grief did grow within my mind: 
Remedies then must I yield to thee, 
And crave no more, thy servant but to be	
Till then and ever.  HE. F.I.
<POEM>
Love, hope, and death, do stir in me such strife, 
As never man but I led such a life.  
First burning love doth wound my heart to death, 
And when death comes at call of inward grief 
Cold lingering hope, doth feed my fainting breath 
Against my will, and yields my wound relief: 
So that I live, but yet my life is such, 
As death would never grieve me half so much.  
No comfort then but only this I taste, 
To salve such sore, such hope will never want, 
And with such hope, such life will ever last, 
And with such life, such sorrows are not scant. 
Oh strange desire, O life with torments toss'd 
Through too much hope, mine only hope is lost.
<POEM>
In prime of lusty years, when Cupid caught me in, 
And nature taught the way to love, how I might best  begin: 
To please my wandering eye, in beauties tickle trade, 
To gaze on each that passed by, a careless sport I made.  
With sweet enticing bait, I fish'd for many a dame, 
And warmed me by many a fire, yet felt I not the flame:  
But when at last I spied, that face that please me most, 
The coals were quick, the wood was dry, and I began to  toast.  
And smiling yet full oft, I have beheld that face, 
When in my heart I might bewail mine own unlucky case: 
And oft again with looks that might bewray my grief, 
I pleaded hard for just reward, and sought to find relief.  
What will you more?  so oft, my gazing eyes did seek 
To see Rose and Lily strive upon that lively cheek: 
Till at the last I spied, and by good proof I found, 
That in that face was painted plain, the piercer of my  wound.  
Then (all too late) aghast, I did my foot retire, 
And sought with secret sighs to quench my greedy scalding  fire: 
But lo, I did prevail as much to guide my will, 
As he that seeks with halting heel, to hop against the hill.  
Or as the feeble sight, would search the sunny beam, 
Even so I found but labor lost, to strive against the stream.  
Then gan I thus resolve, since liking forced love, 
Should I mislike my happy choice, before I did it prove?  
And since none other joy I had but her to see, 
Should I retire my deep desire? no no it would not be: 
Though great the duty were, that she did well deserve, 
And I poor man, unworthy am so worthy a wight to serve.  
Yet hope my comfort stayed, that she would have regard 
To my good will, that nothing crav'd, but like for just reward: 
I see the Falcon gent sometimes will take delight, 
To seek the solace of her wing, and dally with a kite.  
The fairest Wolf will chose the foulest for her make, 
And why? because he does endure most sorrow for her  sake: 
Even so had I like hope, when doleful days were spent 
When weary words were wasted well, to open true intent.  
When floods of flowing tears, had wash'd my weeping  eyes, 
When trembling tongue had troubled her, with loud lamenting cries: 
At last her worthy will would pity this my plaint, 
And comfort me her own poor slave, whom fear had  made so faint. 
<STANZA>
(Wherefore I made a vow, the stony rock should start, 
Ere I presume, to let her slip out of my faithful heart.)
<STANZA>  
And when she saw by proof, the pith of my good will, 
She took in worth this simple song, for want of  better skill: 
And as my just deserts, her gentle heart did move, 
She was content to answer thus: I am content to love.
<POEM>
A Cloud of care hath cover'd all my coast, 
And storms of strife do threaten to appear: 
The waves of woe, which I mistrusted most,
Have broke the banks wherein my life lay clear: 
Chips of ill chance, are fallen amid my choice, 
To mar the mind, that meant for to rejoice. 
Before I sought, I found the haven of hap, 
Wherein (once found), I sought to shroud my ship, 
But low'ring love hath lift me from her lap, 
And crabbed lot begins to hang the lip: 
The drops of dark mistrust do fall so thick, 
They pierce my coat, and touch my skin at quick. 
What may be said, where truth cannot prevail: 
What plea may serve, where will itself is Judge?  
What reason rules, where right and reason fail: 
Remedyless then must the guiltless trudge: 
And seek out care, to be the carving knife, 
To cut the thread that lingereth such a life.
<POEM>
Dame Cynthia herself (that shines so bright, 
And deigneth not to leave her lofty place: 
But only then, when Phoebus shows his face 
Which is her brother born and lends her light,) 
Disdain'd not yet to do my Lady right: 
To prove that in such heavenly wights as she, 
It fitteth best that right and reason be.  
For when she spied my Lady's golden rays, 
Into the clouds, 
Her head she shrouds, 
And shamed to shine where she her beams displays.  
<STANZA>
Good reason yet, that to my simple skill, 
I should the name of Cynthia adore: 
By whose high help, I might behold the more 
My Lady's lovely looks at mine own will, 
Of deep content, to gare, and gaze my fill: 
Of courtesy and not of dark disdain, 
Dame Cynthia disclos'd my Lady plain.  
She did but lend her light (as for a lite) 
With friendly grace, 
To show her face, 
That else would show and shine in her despite.  
Dan Phoebus he with many a low'ring look, 
Had her beheld of yore in angry wise: 
And when he could none other means devise 
To stain her name, this deep deceit he took 
To be the bait that best might hide his hook: 
Into her eyes his parching beams he cast, 
To scorch their skins, that gaz'd on her full fast: 
Whereby when many a man was sun burned so 
They thought my Queen, 
The sun had been 
With scalding flames, which wrought them all that woe.
<STANZA>
And thus when many a look had looked so long, 
As that their eyes were dim and dazzled both: 
Some fainting hearts that were both leud and loath 
To look again from whence that error sprung, 
Gan close their eye for fear of further wrong: 
And some again once drawn into the maze, 
Gan leudly blame the beams of beauty's blaze: 
But I with deep foresight did some espy, 
How Phoebus meant, 
By false intent, 
To slander so her name with cruelty.  
<STANZA>
Wherefore at better leisure thought I best, 
To try the treason of his treachery: 
And to exalt my Lady's dignity 
When Phoebus fled and drew him down to rest 
Amid the waves that walter in the west.  
I gan behold this lovely Lady's face, 
Whereon dame nature spent her gifts of grace: 
And found therein no parching heat at all, 
But such bright hue, 
As might renew,
An Angel's joys in reign celestial.  
<STANZA>
The courteous Moon that wish'd to do me good, 
Did shine to show my dame more perfectly, 
But when she saw her passing jollity, 
The Moon for shame, did blush as red as blood, 
And shrunk aside and kept her horns in hood: 
So that now when Dame Cynthia was gone, 
I might enjoy my Lady's looks alone, 
Yet honored still the Moon with true intent: 
Who taught us skill, 
To work our will, 
And gave us place, till all the night was spent.
<POEM>
That self same day, and of that day that hour, 
When she doth reign, that mock'd Vulcan the Smith: 
And thought it meet to harbor in her bower, 
Some gallant guest for her to dally with.  
That blessed hour, that bliss'd and happy day, 
I thought it meet, with hasty steps to go 
Unto the lodge, wherein my Lady lay, 
To laugh for joy, or else to weep for woe.  
And lo, my Lady of her wonted grace, 
First lent her lips to me (as for a kiss:) 
And after that her body to embrace, 
Wherein dame nature wrought nothing amiss.  
What followed next, guess you that know the trade, 
For in this sort, my Friday's feast I made.
<POEM>
Beauty shut up thy shop, and truss up all thy trash, 
My Nell hath stolen thy finest stuff, and left thee in the lash: 
<STANZA>
Thy market now is marred, thy gains are gone god wot, 
Thou hast no ware, that may compare, with this that I have got.  
As for thy painted pale, and wrinkles surfled up: 
Are dear enough, for such as lust to drink of every cup: 
Thy body's bolstered out, with bombast and with bags, 
Thy rolles, thy Ruffs, thy cauls, thy coifs, thy Jerkins and thy jags.  
Thy curling and thy cost, thy frisling and thy fare, 
To Court to court with all those toys, and there set forth such ware 
Before their hungry eyes, that gaze on every guest: 
And choose the cheapest chaffer still, to please their fancy best. 
But I whose steadfast eyes, could never cast a glance, 
With wand'ring look, amid the praise, to take my choice by chance
<STANZA>
Have won by due desert, a piece that hath no peer, 
And left the rest as refuse all, to serve the market there: 
There let him choose that list, there catch the best who can: 
A painted blazing bait may serve, to choke a gazing man.  
But I have slipp'd thy flower, that freshest is of hue: 
I have thy corn, go sell thy chaff, I list to seek no new: 
The windows of mine eyes, are glaz'd with such delight, 
As each new face seems full of faults, that blazed in my sight: 
And not without just cause, I can compare her so, 
Lo here my glove I challenge him, that can, or dare say no. 
Let Theseus come with club, or Paris brag with brand, 
To prove how fair their Helen was, that scourg'd the Grecian land; 
Let mighty Mars himself, come armed to the field: 
And vaunt dame Venus to defend, with helmet spear, and shield 
This hand that had good hap, my Helen to embrace, 
Shall have like luck to foil her foes, and daunt them with disgrace.  
How far her lovely looks to stain, the beauties of them both.  
And that my Helen is more fair than Paris' wife, 
And doth deserve more famous praise, than Venus for her life.  
Which if I not perform, my life then let me lease, 
Or else be bound in chains of change, to beg for beauty's fees.
<POEM>
The stately Dames of Rome, their Pearls did wear, 
About their necks to beautify their name: 
But she (whom I do serve) her pearls doth bear, 
Close in her mouth, and smiling shows the same.  
No wonder then, though every word she speaks, 
A Jewel seem in judgment of the wise, 
Since that her sugar'd tongue that passage breaks, 
Between two rocks, bedecked with pearls of price.  
Her hair of gold, her front of Ivory, 
(A bloody heart within so white a breast) 
Her teeth of Pearl, lips Ruby, crystal eye, 
Needs must I honor her above the rest: 
Since she is formed of none other mold 
But Ruby, Crystal, Ivory, Pearl, and Gold.
<POEM>
As some men say there is a kind of seed 
Will grow to horns if it  be sowed thick: 
Wherewith I thought to try if I could breed 
A brood of buds, well sharped in the prick: 
And by good proof of learned skill I found, 
(As on some special soil all seeds best frame) 
So jealous brains do breed the battleground, 
That best of all might serve to bear the same.  
Then sought I forth to find such supple soil, 
And call'd to mind thy husband had a brain, 
So that percase, by travail and by toil, 
His fruitful front might turn my seed to gain: 
And as I groped in that ground to sow it, 
Start up a horn, thy husband could not blow it.  
<POEM>
What state to man, so sweet and pleasant were, 
As to be tied, in links of worthy love?  
What life so bliss'd and happy might appear, 
As for to serve Cupid that God above?  
If our minds were not sometimes infect, 
With dread, with fear, with care, with cold suspect: 
With deep despair, with furious frenzy, 
Handmaids to her, whom we call jealousy.
<STANZA>
For every other sop of sour chance, 
Which lovers taste amid their sweet delight:
Increaseth joy, and doth their love advance, 
In pleasure's place, to have more perfect plight.  
The thirsty mouth thinks water hath good taste, 
The hungry jaws, are pleas'd, with each repast: 
Who hath not prov'd what dearth by wars doth grow, 
Cannot of peace the pleasant plenties know.  
<STANZA>
And though with eye, we see not every joy, 
Yet may the mind, full well support the same, 
An absent life long led in great annoy 
When presence comes doth turn from grief to game, 
To serve without reward is thought great pain, 
But if despair do not therewith remain, 
It may be born, for right rewards at last, 
Follow true service, though they come not fast.  
<STANZA>
Disdains, repulses, finally each ill, 
Each smart, each pain, of love each bitter taste, 
To think on them gan frame the lover's will, 
To like each joy, the more that comes at last: 
But this infernal plague if once it touch, 
Or venom once the lover's mind with grutch, 
All feasts and joys that afterwards befall, 
The lover counts them light or not at all.
<STANZA>
This is that sore, this is that poisoned wound, 
The which to heal, nor salve, nor ointments serve, 
Nor charm of words, nor Image can be found, 
Nor observance of stars can it preserve, 
Nor all the art of Magic can prevail, 
Which Zoroastes found for our avail.  
Oh cruel plague, above all sorrows smart, 
With desperate death thou slay'st the lover's heart.  
<STANZA>
And me even now, thy gall hath so infect, 
As all the joys which ever lover found,  
And all good haps, that ever Troilus sect, 
Achieved yet above the luckless ground:
Can never sweeten once my mouth with mell, 
Nor bring my thoughts, again in rest to dwell.  
Of thy mad moods, and of naught else I think, 
In such like seas, fair Bradamant did sink.
<POEM>
I Could not though I would: good Lady say not so, 
Since one good word of your good will might soon redress my woe, 
Where would is free before, there could can never fail: 
For proof, you see how galleys pass where ships can bear no sail,
<STANZA>
The weary mariner when skies are overcast, 
By ready will doth guide his skill and wins the haven at last,  
The pretty bird that sings with prick against her breast, 
Doth make a virtue of her need, to watch when others rest.  
And true the proverb is, which you have laid apart, 
There is no hap can seem too hard unto a willing heart.  
Then lovely Lady mine, you say not as you should, 
In doubtful terms to answer thus: I could not though I would.  
Yes, yes, full well you know, your can is quick and good: 
And willful will is eke too swift to shed my guiltless blood.  
But if good will were bent as pressed as power is, 
Such will would quickly find the skill to mend that is amiss.  
Wherefore if you desire to see my true love spilt, 
Command and I will slay myself, that yours may be the guilt.  
But if you have no power to say your servant nay, 
Write thus: I may not as I would, yet must I as I may.
<POEM>
With her arms that had my heart in hold,
I stood of late to plead for pity so: 
And as I did her lovely looks behold, 
She cast a glance upon my rival foe.  
His fleeting face provoked her to smile, 
When my salt tears were drowned in disdain: 
He glad, I sad, he laughed, (alas the while) 
I wept for woe: I pin'd for deadly pain.
And when I saw none other boot prevail, 
But reason's rule must guide my skillful mind: 
Why then (quoth I) old proverbs never fail, 
For yet was never good Cat out of kind.  
Nor woman true but even as stories tell, 
Won with an egg, and lost again with shell.  
<POEM>
And if I did what then?  
Are you aggrieved therefore?  
The Sea hath fish for every man, 
And what would you have more?
<STANZA>
Thus did my Mistress once, 
Amaze my mind with doubt: 
And popp'd a question for the nonce, 
To beat my brains about.
<STANZA>
Whereto I thus replied, 
Each fisherman can wish, 
That all the Sea at every tide, 
Were his alone to fish. 
<STANZA>
And so did I (in vain,) 
But since it may not be: 
Let such fish there as find the gain, 
And leave the loss for me. 
<STANZA>
And with such luck and loss,
I will content myself: 
Till tides of turning time may toss, 
Such fishers on the shelf.  
<STANZA>
And when they stick on sands, 
That every man may see: 
Then will I laugh and clap my hands, 
As they do now at me.					
</FILE>
<FILE Haudevises.ed>
<AUTH> Haud Ictus Sapio
<TITLE>
<NOTES>
<POEM>
What wonder you my Lords? why gaze you gentlemen?
And wherefore marvel you mez Dames, I pray you tell me then? 
Is it so rare a sight, nor yet so strange a toy, 
Amongst so many noble peers, to see our one Poor Boy?  
Why? boys have been allowed in every kind of age, 
As Ganymede that pretty boy, in Heaven is Jove his page.  
Cupid that mighty God although his force be fierce, 
Yet he is but a naked boy, as Poets do rehearse.  
And many a pretty boy a mighty man hath proved, 
And served his Prince at all assays deserving to be loved.  
Percase my strange attire my glittering golden gite, 
Doth either make you marvel thus, or move you with delight.  
Yet wonder not my Lords, for if your honors please, 
But even to give me ear awhile, I will your doubts appease. 
And you shall know the cause, wherefore these robes are worn, 
And why I go outlandish like, yet being English born.  
And why I thus presume, to press into this place, 
And why I (simple boy) am bold to look such men in face.  
First then you must persuade, I am no stranger I, 
But English boy, in England born, and bred but even hereby.  
My father was a knight Mount Hermer was his name, 
My mother of the Mountacutes, a house of worthy fame.  
My father from his youth was trained up in field, 
And always took his chief delight, in helmet spear and shield.  
Soldado for his life, and in his happy days 
Soldado like hath lost his life, to his immortal praise.  
The thundering fame which blew about the world so wide, 
Now that the christian enemy, the Turk that prince of pride, 
Addressed had his power, to swarm upon the seas, 
With galleys, foists, and such like ships, well arm'd at all assays, 
And that he made his vaunt, the greedy fish to glut, 
With gobs of christians' carcasses, in cruel pieces cut.  
These news of this report, did pierce my father's ears,  
But never touched his noble heart, with any spark of fears.  
For well he knew the trade of all the Turkish wars, 
And had amongst them shed his blood at may cruel jars.  
In Rhodes his race begun, a slender tall young man, 
Where he by many martial feats, his spurs of knighthood won.  
Yea though the peace was lost, yet won his honor still, 
And evermore against the Turks he warred by his will.  
At Chios many know, how hardily he fought, 
And how with streams of striving blood, his honor dear he bought.  
At length enforc'd to yield with many captains mo, 
Ye bought his liberty with lands and let his goods ago.  
Zechynes of glistering gold, two thousand was his price, 
The which to pay his lands must leap, for else he were unwise.  
Believe me now my lords although the loss be mine, 
Yet I confess them better sold, than like a slave to pine.  
"For lands may come again, but liberty once lost, 
"Can never find such recompense, as countervails the cost. 
Myself now know the case, who like my father's lot, 
Was like of late for to have lost my liberty god wot.  
My father (as I say) enforc'd to leave his land 
In mortgage to my mother's kin, for ready coin in hand, 
Gan now upon these news, which erst I did rehearse, 
Prepare himself to save his pawn or else to lease his fears.  
And first his ransom paid, with that which did remain, 
He rigged up a proper Bark, was called Leffort Brittayne.  
And like a venturer (besides him seemly self) 
Determined for to venture me and all his worldly pelf.  
Perhaps some hope of gain persuaded so his mind, 
For sure his haughty heart was bent, some great exploit to find, 
How so it were, the winds now hoisted up our sails, 
We furrowing in the foaming floods, to take our best avails.  
Now hearken to my words, and mark you well the same, 
For now I will declare the cause wherefore I hither came.  
My father (as I say) had set up all his rest, 
And toss'd on seas both day and night, disdaining idleness, 
We left our foreland's end, we passed the coast of France, 
We reached the cape of Finestre our course for to advance.  
We passed marrocchus' straights, and at the last descried, 
The fertile coasts of Cyprus' soil, which I myself first spied.  
Myself (a forward boy) on highest top was placed, 
And there I saw the Ciprian shore, whereto we sailed in haste.  
Which when I had declared unto the master's mate, 
He leapt for joy and thanked God, of that our happy state. 
"But what remains to man, that can continue long?"  
What sun can shine so clear and bright but clouds may rise among?  
Which sentence soon was proved, by our unhappy hap, 
We though ourselves full near our friends, and light in enemy's lap.  
The Turk the tyrant he, with seige had girt the walls, 
Of famous Famagosta then and sought to make them thralls. 
And as he lay by land, in strong and stately trench, 
So was his power press'd by sea, his christian foes to drench.  
Upon the waltering waves, his foists and galleys fleet, 
More forest like than orderly, for such a man most meet.  
The heavy sight once seen, we turn'd our course apace, 
And set up all our sails in haste, to give such fury place.  
But out alas, our wills, and winds were contrary, 
For raging blasts did blow us still upon our enemy.  
My father seeing then, whereto he needs must go, 
And that the mighty hand of God, had it appointed so, 
Most like a worthy knight (though certain of his death) 
Gan clean forget all wailing words as lavish of his breath.  
And to his christian crew, this (too short) tale be told, 
To comfort them which seemed to faint, and make the coward bold, 
"Fellows in arms, quoth he, although I bear the charge, 
"And take upon me chieftain's name, of this unhappy barge, 
"Yet are you all my feres, and as one company, 
"We must like true companions, together live and die, 
"You see quoth he our foes, with furious force at hand, 
"And in whose hands our handful here unable is to stand.  
"What resteth then to do, should we unto them yield?  
"And willfully receive that yoke, which christians cannot  wield.
<STANZA>
"No sure, hereof be sure, our lives were so unsure, 
"And though we live, yet so to live were better death endure.  
"To hear those hellish fiends in raging blasphemy, 
"Defy our only saviour, were this no misery? 
"To see the foul abuse of boys in tender years, 
"The which I know must needs abhor all honest christians ears.  
"To see maids ravished, wives, women forc'd by fear, 
"And much more mischief than this time can let me utter here.  
"Alas, quoth he, I tell not all, my tongue is tied, 
"But all the slaveries on the earth we should with them abide.  
"How much were better than to die in worthy wise, 
"And so to make our carcasses, a willing sacrifice?  
"So shall we pay the debt, which unto God is due, 
"So shall you die in his defense, who deign'd to die for you.  
"And who with hardy hand most turkish tikes can quell, 
"Let him account in conscience, to please his maker well.  
"You see quoth he, my son, wherewith he look'd on me, 
"Whom but a babe, yet have I brought, my partner here to be, 
"For, him I must confess, my heart is pensive now, 
"To leave him living thus in youth, to die I know not how.  
"But since it pleaseth God, I may not murmur I, 
"If God had pleased we both should live, and as God will we die.  
Thus with a braying sigh, his noble tongue he stay'd, 
Commanding all the ordinance, in order to be laid.  
And placing all his men in order for to fight, 
Fell groveling first upon his face, before them all in sight. 
And when in secret so he whispered had a while, 
He rais'd his head with cheerful look, his sorrows to beguile: 
And with the rest he pray'd, to God in heaven on high, 
Which ended thus, Thou only Lord, canst help in misery.  
Thus said, behold, the Turks enclos'd us round about, 
And seemed to wonder that we durst resist so great a rout.  
Whereat they doubt not long, for though our power was slender, 
We sent them signs by Cannon shot, that we meant not to render.  
Then might we see them chafe, then might we hear them rage, 
And all at once they bent their force, about our silly cage.  
Our ordinance bestowed, our men themselves defend, 
On every side so thick beset, they might not long contend.  
But as their captain wild, each man his force did strain, 
To send a Turk (some two or three) unto the hellish train.  
And he himself which saw, he might no more abide, 
Did thrust amid the thickest throng, and so with honor died.  
With him there died likewise, his best approved men, 
The rest did yield as men amaz'd, they had no courage then.  
Amongst the which myself, was ta'en by Turks alas, 
And with the Turks a turkish life, in Turkey must I pass.  
I was not done to death for so often I craved, 
But like a slave before the Gates, of Famagosta saved.  
That peace once put to sack, I thither was conveyed, 
And under safeguard evermore, I silly boy was stayed.  
There did I see such sights as yet my heart do prick, 
I saw the noble Bragadine, when he was flay'd quick.  
First like a slave enforc'd to bear to every breach, 
Two baskets laden full with earth Mustaffa did him teach.  
By whom he might not pass before he kissed the ground, 
These cruel torments (yet with mo) that worthy soldier found.  
His ears cut from his head, they set him in a chair, 
And from a main yard hoisted him aloft into the air, 
That so he might be showed with cruelty and spite, 
Unto us all, whose weeping eyes did much abhor the sight.  
Alas why do I thus with woeful words rehearse, 
These weary news which all our hearts with pity needs must pierce?  
Well then to tell you forth, I still a slave remain'd, 
To one, which Prelybasta hight, who held me still enchain'd.  
With him I went to Seas into the gulf of Pant, 
With many christians captives mo, which did their freedom want.  
There with the Turkish tyranny we were enforc'd to stay, 
For why? they had advice, that the Venetian fleet, 
Did float in Argostelly then with whom they hop'd to meet.  
And as the waltered thus with tides and billows toss'd, 
Their hope had hap, for at the last they met them to their cost. 
As in October last upon the seventh day, 
They found the force of christian knights address'd in good array.  
And shall I try my tongue to tell the whole discourse, 
And how they did encounter first and how they join'd in force?  
Then harken now my lords, for sure my memory, 
Doth yet record the very plot of all this victory.  
The christian crew came on, in form of battle pight, 
And like a crescent cast themselves preparing for to fight.  
On other side the Turks, which trusted power too much, 
Disorderly did spread their force, the will of God was such.  
Well, at the last they met, and first with cannon's thunder, 
Each other sought with furious force to slit their ships in sunder.  
The Barks are battered sore, the galleys gall'd with shot, 
The hulks are hit and every man must stand unto his lot.  
The powder sends his smoke into the cruddy skies, 
The smolder stops our nose with stench, the sun offends our eyes,
<STANZA>
The pots of lime unslak'd, from highest top are cast, 
The parched peas are not forgot to make then slip as fast.  
The wild fire works are wrought and cast in foemen's face, 
The grappling hooks are stretched forth, the pikes are push'd apace.  
The halberts hew on head, the brown bills bruise the bones, 
The harquebush doth spit his spite, with pretty piercing stones.  
The drums cry dub a dub, the braying trumpets blow, 
The whistling fifes are seldom heard, these sounds do drown them so.  
The voice of warlike wights, to comfort them that faint, 
The piteous plaints of golden hearts, which were with fears attaint.  
The groaning of such ghosts as gasped now for breath, 
The prayers of the better sort, prepared unto death, 
And to be short, each grief which on the earth may grow, 
Was eath and easy to be found, upon these floods to flow.  
If any sight on earth, may unto hell resemble, 
Then sure this was a hellish sight, it makes me yet to tremble: 
And in this bloody fight, when half the day was spent, 
It pleased God to help his flock, which thus in pound was pent.  
The general for Spain, gan gald that Galley sore, 
Wherein my Prely Bassa was, and griev'd it more and more: 
Upon that other side, with force of sword and flame, 
The good Venetian general did charge upon the same.  
At length they came aboard, and in his raging pride, 
Struck off this Turkish captain's head, which blasphemed as it did: 
O how I feel the blood now tickle in my breast, 
To think what joy then pierc'd my heart, and how I thought me blest 
To see that cruel Turk which held me as his slave 
By happy hand of Christians his payment thus to have: 
His head from shoulders cut, upon a pike did stand, 
The which Don John of Austria held in his triumphant hand.  
The boldest Bassa then, that did in life remain, 
Gan tremble at the sight hereof for privy grief and pain.  
Thus when these fierce had fought from morning until night, 
Christ gave his flock the victory, and put his foes to flight: 
And of the Turkish train were eight score Galleys ta'en, 
Fifteen sunk, five and twenty burnt, and brought unto their bane, 
Of Christians set at large were fourteen thousands souls, 
Turks twenty thousand registered in Beelzebub his rolls. 
Thus you have now my Lords, the sum of all their fight, 
And trust it all for true I tell, for I was still in sight: 
But when the seas were calm, and skies began to clear, 
When foes were all or dead or fled, and victors did appear, 
Then every christian sought amongst us for his friend, 
His kinsman or companion some succor them to lend: 
And as they ransacked so, lo God his will it was, 
A noble wise Venetian by me did chance to pass: 
Who gazing in my face, did seem to like me well 
And what my name, and whence I was, commanded me to tell: 
I now which waxed bold, as one that escaped had, 
From deepest hell to highest heaven, began for to be glad: 
And with a lively sprite, began to plead my case,  
And hid not from this worthy man, mine ancient worthy race: 
And told my father's name and how I did descend 
From Mountacutes by mother's side, nor there my tale did end: 
But furthermore I told my father's late exploit, 
And how he left lands goods and life to pay son Dieu son droit.  
Nor of myself I craved so credited to be, 
For lo there were remaining yet, These four whom here you see, 
Which all were English born, and knew I had not lied, 
And were my father's soldiers eke, and saw him how he died.  
This grave Venetian who heard the famous name 
Of Montacutes rehearsed there, which long had been of fame 
In Italy, and he of self same worthy race, 
Gan straight with many courteous words in arms me to embrace, 
And kissed me on cheek, and bade me make good cheer, 
And thank the mighty God for that which happened there, 
Confessing that he was himself a Montacute, 
And bare the self same arms that I did quarter in my scute: 
And for a further proof, he showed in his hat, 
This token which the Mountacutes do bear always, for that 
They covet to be known from Capels where they pass, 
For ancient grutch which long ago between those two houses was.  
Then took me by the hand, and lead me so aboard 
His galley: where there were yfere, full many a comely Lord: 
Of whom eight Montacutes did sit in highest place, 
To whom this first declared first my name, and then my race: 
Lo lordlings here (quoth he) a babe of our own bloods, 
Whom Turks had ta'en, his father slain, with loss of lands and goods: 
See how God favors us, that I should find him now, 
I strange to him, he strange to me, we met I know not how: 
But sure when I saw, and gazed in his face, 
Me thought he was a Mountacute, I chose him by his grace: 
Herewith he did rehearse my father's valiant deed, 
For loss of whom each Mountacute, did seem in heart to bleed.  
They all embrac'd me then, and straight as you may see, 
In comely garments trimm'd me up, as brave as brave may be: 
I was in sackcloth I, now am I clad in gold, 
And wear such robes as I myself take pleasure to behold.  
Amongst their other gifts, this Token they me gave, 
And bade me like a Montacute myself alway behave.  
Now hearken then my Lords, I staying on the seas, 
In consort of these lovely Lords, with comfort and with ease, 
Determined with them in Italy to dwell, 
And there by train of youthful years in knowledge to excel: 
That so I might at last reedify the walls, 
Which my good father had decay'd by tossing fortune's balls: 
And while they slice the seas to their desired shore, 
Behold a little gale began, increasing more and more: 
At last with raging blast, which from Southeast did blow, 
Gan send our sails upon these shores, which I full well did know:
<STANZA>
I spied the Chalky Cliffs upon the Kentish coast, 
Whereby our land hight Albion, as Brutus once did boast, 
Which I no sooner saw, but to the rest I said, 
Siate di buona voglia, My lords be well apaid: 
I see by certain signs these tempests have us cast, 
Upon my native country coasts with happy hap at last: 
And if your honors please this honor me to do, 
In English havens to harbor you, and see our Cities too: 
Lo London is not far, where as my friends would be 
Right glad, with favor to requite your favor showed to me: 
Vouchsafe my Lords (quoth I) to stay upon this strand, 
And whiles your Barks be rigged new, remain with me on land, 
Who though I be a boy, my father dead and slain, 
Yet shall you see I have some friends which will you entertain.  
These noble men, which are the flower of courtesy, 
Did not disdain this my request, but took it thankfully, 
And from their battered Barks commanded to be cast 
Some Gondolas, wherein upon our pleasant streams they passed 
Into the mouth of Thames, thus did I them transport, 
And to London at the last, where as I heard report, 
Even as we landed first, of this twice happy day, 
To think whereon I leapt for joy, as I both must and may: 
And to these lovely lords, which are Magnificoes, 
I did declare the whole discourse in order as it rose: 
That you my Lord who are our chiefest Mountacute, 
And he whom English Mountacutes their only stay impute, 
And found the means this day to match your son and heir, 
In marriage with a worthy dame which is both fresh and fair, 
And (as reports are spread) of goodly qualities, 
A virgin trained from her youth in godly exercise, 
Whose brother had likewise your daughter ta'en to wife, 
And so by double links enchained themselves in lover's life: 
These noble Mountacutes which were from Venice droven, 
By tempest (as I told before) wherewith they long had stroven 
Gan now give thanks to God which so did them convey, 
To see such honors of their kin in such a happy day: 
And straight they me entreat, whom they might well command, 
That I should come to you my Lord first them to recommend, 
And then this boon to crave, that under your protection 
They might be bold to enter here, devoid of all suspection, 
And so in friendly wise for to concelebrate, 
This happy match solemnized, according to your state. 
Lo this is all they crave, the which I can not doubt, 
But that your Lordship soon will grant, with more, if more ye might: 
Yea were it for no more, but for the Courtesy, 
Which (as I say) they showed to me in great extremity: 
They are Venetians, and though from Venice reft, 
They come in such Venetian robes as they on seas had left: 
And since they be your friends, and kinsmen too by blood, 
I trust your entertainment will be to them right good: 
They will not tarry long, lo now I hear their drum, 
Behold, lo now I see them here in order how they come, 
Receive them well my lord, so shall I pray always, 
That God vouchsafe to bless this house with many happy days. 
<STANZA>
After the mask was done, the Actor took master Tho. Bro. by the
hand and brought him to the Venetians, with these words: 
<STANZA>
Guardate Signori, my lovely Lords behold, 
This is another Mountacute, hereof you may be bold.  
Of such our patron here, The viscount Mountacute, 
Hath many comely sequences, well sorted all in suit. 
But as I spied him first I could not let him pass, 
I took the card that lik'd me best, in order as it was.  
And here to you my lords, I do present the same, 
Make much of him, I pray you then, for he is of your name.  
For whom I dare advance, he may your truchman be, 
Your herald and ambassador, let him play all for me.  
<STANZA>
Then the Venetians embraced and received the same master Tho.
Browne, and after they had a while whispered with him, he turned
to the Bridegrooms and Brides, saying thus.  
<STANZA>
Brother, these noble men to you now have me sent, 
As for their truchman to expound the effect of their intent.  
They bid me tell you then, they like your worthy choice, 
And that they cannot choose therein but triumph and rejoice.  
As far as guess may give, they seem to praise it well, 
They say between your lady's eye doth Gentilezza dwell.  
I term it as they do, their English is but weak, 
And I (God knows) am all too young beyond-sea speech to speak. 
And you my sister eke they seem for to commend, 
With such good words as may beseem a cousin and a friend.  
They like your chosen fear, so pray they for your sake, 
That he may always be to you, a faithful loving make.  
This in effect is all, but that they crave a boon, 
That you will give them license yet, to come and see you soon.  
Then will they speak themselves, such english as they can, 
I fear much better than I speak, that am an english man.  
Lo now they take their leaves of you and of your dames, 
Hereafter shall you see their face and know them by their names. 
<STANZA>
Then when they had taken their leaves the Actor did make an end
thus.  
<STANZA>
And I your Servidore, vibascio le mani, These words I learn'd
amongst them yet, although I learn'd not many.
</FILE>
<FILE  Merpoems.d>
<AUTH> meritum Petere Grave
<TITLE> Poems
<NOTES> Typed br Ward Elliott 1987?
<POEM>
Desire of Fame would force my feeble skill,
To praise a Countess by her due desert:
But dread of blame holds back my forward will,
And quench'd the coals which kindled in my heart.  
Thus am I plung'd 'tween dread and deep desire, 
To pay the due which duty doth require.  
And when I call the mighty Gods in aid 
To further forth some fine invention: 
My bashful spirits be full ill afraid 
To purchase pain by my presumption.  
Such malice reigns (sometimes) in heavenly minds, 
To punish him that praiseth as he finds.  
For Pallas first whose filed flowing skill, 
Should guide my pen some pleasant words to write: 
With angry mood hath fram'd a froward will, 
To dash device as oft as I indict 
For why? if once my Lady's gifts were known, 
Pallas should loose the praises of her own.  
And bloody Mars by change of his delight 
Hath made Jove's daughter now mine enemy: 
In whose conceit my Countess shines so bright, 
That Venus pines for burning jealousy. 
She may go home to Vulcan now again: 
For Mars is sworn to be my Lady's swain.  
Of her bright beams Dan Phoebus stands in dread, 
And shames to shine within our Horizon: 
Dame Cynthia holds in her horned head, 
For fear to lose by like comparison.  
Lo thus she lives, and laughs them all to scorn: 
Countess on earth, in heaven a Goddess born.  
And I sometimes her servant, now her friend, 
Whom heaven and earth for her (thus) hate and blame: 
Have yet presumed in friendly wise to spend, 
This ragged verse in honor of her name.  
A simple gift, compared by the skill: 
Yet what may seem so dear as such good will.
<POEM>
When first I thee beheld in colors black and white, 
Thy face in form well framed with favor blooming still: 
My burning breast in cares did choose his chief delight, 
With pen to paint thy praise, contrary to my skill. 
Whose worthiness compar'd with this my rude device, 
I blush and am abash'd, this work to enterprise. 
But when I call to mind thy sundry gifts of grace, 
Full fraught with manners meek in happy quiet mind: 
My hasty hand forthwith doth scribble on apace, 
Lest willing heart might think, it meant to come behind.  
Thus do both hand and heart these careful meters use, 
'Twixt hope and trembling fear, my duty to excuse.  
Wherefore accept these lines, and banish dark disdain, 
Be sure they come from one that loveth thee in chief: 
And guerdon me thy friend in like with love again, 
So shalt thou well be sure to yield me such relief, 
As only may redress my sorrows and my smart: 
For proof whereof I pledge (dear Dame) to thee my heart.
<POEM>
If ever man yet found the Bath of perfect bliss, 
Then swim I now amid the Sea where nought but pleasure is.  
I love and am beloved (without vaunt be it told) 
Of one more fair than she of Greece for whom proud Troy was sold.  
As bountiful and good as Cleopatra Queen: 
As constant as Penelope unto her make was seen.  
What would you more?  my pen unable is to write 
The least desert that seems to shine within this worthy wight. 
So that for now I cease, with hands held up on high, 
And crave of God that when I change, I may be forced to die. 
<POEM>
The deadly drops of dark disdain, 
Which daily fall on my desert. 
The ling'ring suit long spent in vain, 
Whereof I feel no fruit but smart: 
Enforce me now these words to write: 
Not all for love, but more for spite.  
<STANZA>
The which to thee I must rehearse, 
Whom I did honor, serve and trust, 
And though the music of my verse 
Be plainsong tune both true and just: 
Content thee yet to hear my song, 
For else thou dost me double wrong.  
<STANZA>
I must allege, and thou canst tell 
How faithful I vowed to serve, 
And how thou seemdst to like me well: 
And how thou saydst I did deserve 
To be thy Lord, thy Knight, thy King, 
And how much more I list not sing.  
<STANZA>
And canst thou now (thou cruel one)
Condemn desert to deep despair?  
Is all thy promise past and gone? 
Is faith so fled into the air?  
If that be so, what rests for me?  
But thus in song to say to thee.  
<STANZA>
If Cressid's name were not so known, 
And written wide on every wall: 
If brute of pride were not so blown 
Upon Angelica withal: 
For haught disdain thou mightst be she, 
Or Cressid for inconstancy.  
<STANZA>
And in reward of thy desert, 
I hope at last to see thee paid: 
With deep repentance for thy part, 
Which thou hast now so lewdly played.  
Medoro he must be thy make, 
Since thou Orlando dost forsake.  
<STANZA>
Such is the fruit that growth always 
Upon the root of ripe disdain: 
Such kindly wages Cupid pays, 
Where constant hearts cannot remain. 
I hope to see thee in such bands, 
When I may laugh and clap my hands. 
<STANZA>
But yet for thee I must protest, 
That sure the fault is none of thine, 
Thou art as true as is the best, 
That ever came of Cressid's line: 
For constant yet was never done, 
But in unconstancy alone. 
<POEM>
Both deep and dreadful were the Seas, 
Which held Leander from his love, 
Yet could no doubts his mind appease, 
Nor save his life for her behoove: 
But guiltless blood itself would spill, 
To please the waves and work his will.  
<STANZA>
O greedy gulf, O wretched waves, 
O cruel floods, O sink of shames, 
You hold true lovers bound like slaves, 
And keep them from their worthy Dames: 
Your open mouth gapes evermore, 
Till one or both be drown'd therefore. 
<STANZA>
For proof whereof myself may sing, 
And screech to pierce the lofty skies, 
Whose Lady left me languishing, 
Upon the shore in woeful wise: 
And cross'd the Sea out of my sight, 
Whereby I lost my chief delight.
<STANZA>
She said that no such trustless flood,
Should keep our loves (long time) in twain: 
She swore no bread should do her good, 
Till she might see myself again.  
She said and swore these words and more, 
But now I find them nothing so.  
<STANZA>
What resteth then for me to do,  
Thou salt sea foam come say thy mind? 
Should I come drown within thee too, 
That am of true Leander's kind?  
And headlong cast this corpse of mine, 
Into those greedy guts of thine? 
<STANZA>
No cruel, but in spite of thee, 
I will make Seas where erst were none, 
My tears shall flow in full degree, 
Till all my mirth may ebb to moan. 
Into such drops I mean to melt, 
And in such Seas myself to swelt.  
<STANZA>
Yet you dear Dame for whom I fade, 
Thus starving still in wretched state: 
Remember once your promise made, 
Perform it now though all too late.  
Come home to Mars who may you please, 
Let Vulcan bide beyond the Seas. 
<POEM>
Give me my Lute in bed now as I lie, 
And lock the doors of mine unlucky bower: 
So shall my voice in mournful verse decry, 
The secret smart which causeth me to lower. 
Resound you walls an Echo to my moan, 
And thou cold bed wherein I lie alone: 
Bear witness yet what rest thy Lady takes, 
When others sleep which may enjoy their makes.  
<STANZA>
In prime of youth when Cupid kindled fire, 
And warm'd my will with flames of fervent love: 
To further forth the fruit of my desire, 
My friends devised this mean for my behoove.  
They made a match according to my mind, 
And cast a snare my fancy for to bind: 
Short tale to make the deed was almost done, 
Before I knew which way the work begun.  
<STANZA>
And with this lot I did myself content, 
I lent a liking to my parents' choice: 
With hand and heart I gave my free consent, 
And hung in hope forever to rejoice. 
I liv'd and lov'd long time in greater joy, 
Than she which held king, Priam's son of Troy: 
But three lewd lots have chang'd my heaven to hell 
And those be these, give ear and mark them well.  
<STANZA>
First slander he, which always beareth hate, 
To happy hearts in heavenly state that bide: 
Gan play his part to stir up some debate, 
Whereby suspect into my choice might glide. 
And by his means the slime of false suspect, 
Did (as I fear) my dearest friend infect. 
Thus by these twain long was I plung'd in pain, 
Yet in good hope my heart did still remain.  
<STANZA>
But now (aye me) the greatest grief of all, 
(Sound loud my Lute, and tell it out my tongue) 
The hardest hap that ever might befall, 
The only cause wherefore this song is sung, 
Is this alas: my love, my Lord, my Roy, 
My chosen fere, my gem, and all my joy, 
Is kept perforce out of my daily sight, 
Whereby I lack the stay of my delight.  
<STANZA>
In lofty walls, in strong and stately towers,
(With troubled mind in solitary sort, 
My lovely Lord doth spend his days and hours, 
A weary life devoid of all disport.  
And I poor soul must lie here all alone, 
To tire my truth, and wound my will with moan: 
Such is my hap to shake my blooming time, 
With winter's blasts before it pass the prime.  
<STANZA>
Now have you heard the sum of all my grief, 
Whereof to tell my heart (oh) rends in twain: 
Good Ladies yet lend you me some relief, 
And bear a part to ease me of my pain.  
My sorts are such, that weighing well my truth, 
They might provoke the craggy rocks to ruth, 
And move these walls with tears for to lament, 
The loathsome life wherein my youth is spent.  
<STANZA>
But thou my Lute, be still now take thy rest, 
Repose thy bones upon this bed of down: 
Thou hast discharged some burden from my breast, 
Wherefore take thou my place, here lie thee down. 
And let me walk to tire my restless mind, 
Until I may entreat some courteous wind: 
To blow these words unto my noble make, 
That he may see I sorrow for his sake. 
<POEM>
Of all the letters in the christ's cross row, 
I fear (my sweet) thou lovest B. the best, 
And though there be good letters many more, 
As A.O.G.N.C.S. and the rest, 
Yet such a liking bearest thou to B. 
That few or none thou thinkest like it to be.  
<STANZA>
And much I muse what madness should thee move, 
To set the Cart before the comely horse: 
Must A. give place to B. for his behoove?  
Are letters now so changed from their course? 
Then must I learn (though much unto my pain,) 
To read (anew) my christ cross row again.  
<STANZA>
When I first learn'd, A. was in high degree, 
A captain letter, and a vowel too: 
Such one as was always a help to B, 
And lent him sound and taught him what to do. 
For take away the vowels from their place, 
And how can then the consonants have grace? 
<STANZA>
Yet if thou like a consonant so well, 
Why should not G. seem better far than B? 
G. spelleth God, that high in heaven doth dwell, 
So spell we Gold and all good things with G. 
B. serves to spell bold, bawdy, brainsick, bold, 
Black, brown, and bad, yea worse than may be told.  
<STANZA>
In song, the G. clef keeps the highest place, 
Where B. sounds always (or too sharp or) flat: 
In G. sol, re, ut: trebles have trim grace, 
B. serves the bass and is content with that.  
Believe me (sweet) G. giveth sound full sweet, 
When B. cries buzz, as for basses meet.  
<STANZA>
But now percase thou wilt one G. permit, 
And with that G. thou meanest B. to join: 
Alas, alas, methinks it were not fit, 
(To cloak thy fault) such fine excuse to coin.  
Take double G. for thy most loving letter, 
And cast off B. for it deserves no better.  
<STANZA>
Thus have I played a little with thy B. 
Whereof the brand is thine, and mine the blame: 
The wight which wounds thy wandering will is he, 
And I the man that seek to salve thy name: 
The which to think, doth make me sigh sometime, 
Though thus I strive to jest it out in rhyme. 
<POEM>
Content thy self with patience perforce, 
And quench no love with drops of dark mistrust: 
Let absence have no power to divorce, 
Thy faithful friend which meaneth to be just. 
Bear but a while thy constance to declare, 
For when I come one inch shall break no square.  
<STANZA>
I must confess that promise did me bind, 
For to have seen thy seemly self ere now: 
And if thou knewst what griefs did gald my mind, 
Because I could not keep that faithful vow: 
My just excuse, I can myself assure, 
With little pain thy pardon might procure.  
<STANZA>
But call to mind how long Ulysses was, 
In ling'ring absence, from his loving make: 
And how she deigned then her days to pass, 
In solitary silence for his sake.  
Be thou a true Penelope to me, 
And thou shalt soon thine own Ulysses see.  
<STANZA>
What said I? soon? yea soon I say again, 
I will come soon and sooner if I may: 
Believe me now it is a pinching pain, 
To think of love when lovers are away.  
Such thoughts I have, and when I think on thee, 
My thoughts are there, whereas my bones would be. 
<STANZA>
The longing lust which Priam's son of Troy, 
Had for to see his Cressid come again: 
Could not exceed the depth of mine annoy, 
Nor seem to pass the pattern of my pain.  
I freeze in hope, I thaw in hot desire, 
Far from the flame, and yet I burn like fire.  
<STANZA>
Wherefore dear friend, think on the pleasures past, 
And let my tears, for both our pains suffice: 
The ling'ring joys, when as they come at last, 
Are bet than those, which pass in posting wise.  
And I myself, to prove this tale is true, 
In haste, post haste, thy comfort will renew.  
<POEM>
Receive you worthy Dame this rude and ragged verse, 
Lend willing care unto the tale, which I shall now rehearse.  
And though my witless words, might move you for to smile 
Yet trust to that which I shall tell, and never mark my style.  
Amongst five hundred Dames, presented to my view, 
I find most cause by due desert, to like the best of you.  
I see your beauty such, as seemeth to suffice,  
To bind my heart in links of love, by judgement of mine eyes. 
And by your bounty quench, the coals of quick desire, 
I fear the face of yours will set, ten thousand hearts on fire.  
But bounty so abounds, above all my desert, 
As yet I quake and shrink for fear, to show you of my smart.  
Yet since mine eye made choice, my heart shall not repent, 
But yield itself unto your will, and therewith stand content.  
God knoweth I am not great, my power it is not much, 
The greater glory shall you gain, to show your favor such.  
And what I am or have, all that I yield to you, 
My hand and sword shall serve always, to prove my tongue is true.
Then take me for your own, and so I will be still,  
Believe me now, I make this vow, in hope of your good will.  
Which if I may obtain, God leave me when I change, 
This is the tale I meant to tell, good Lady be not strange.  
<POEM>
This Apuleius was in Afric born, 
And took delight to travel Thessaly, 
As one that held his native soul in scorn, 
In foreign coasts to feed his fantasy.  
And such a gain as wand'ring wits find out, 
This yonker won by will and weary toil, 
A youth misspent, a doting age in doubt. 
<STANZA>
A body bruis'd with many a beastly broil, 
A present pleasure passing on a pace, 
And painting plain the path of penitence, 
A frolic favor soil'd with foul disgrace, 
When hoary hairs should claim their reverence.  
Such is the fruit that grows on gadding trees, 
Such kind of mell most moveth busy Bees.                    
<STANZA>
For Lucius be, 
Esteeming more one ounce of present sport, 
Than elders do a pound of perfect wit: 
First to the bower of Beauty doth resort, 
And there in pleasure passed many a fit, 
His worthy race he (reckless) doth forget, 
With small regard in great affairs he reels, 
No counsel grave nor good advice can set, 
His brains in brake that whirled still on wheels.  
For if Birbena could have held him back, 
From Venus' Court where he now nuzzled was, 
His lusty limbs had never found the lack 
Of manly shape: the figure of an Ass, 
Had not been blazed on his blood and bones, 
To wound his will with torments all at once.                
<STANZA>
But Fotys she, 
Who saw this Lording whittled with the cup, 
Of vain delight whereof he gan to taste: 
Pour'd out apace and filled the Mazor up, 
With drunken dole, yea after than in haste.  
She greas'd this guest with sauce of Sorcery, 
And fed his mind with knacks both quaint and strange: 
Lo here the treason and the treachery, 
Of gadding girls when they delight to range. 
For Lucius thinking to become a fowl, 
Became a fool, yea more than that, an Ass, 
A bobbing block, a beating stock, an owl, 
Well wondered at in place where he did pass: 
And spent his time his travail and his cost, 
To purchase pain and all his labor lost.                    
<STANZA>
Yet I poor I, 
Who make of thee my Fotys and my friend, 
In like delights my youthful years to spend: 
Do hope thou wilt from such sour sauce defend,              
David thy King. 
<POEM>
A Lady once did ask of me,
This pretty thing in privacy: 
Good sir (quoth she) fain would I crave, 
One thing which you yourself not have: 
Nor never had yet in times past, 
Nor never shall while life doth last. 
And if you seek to find it out, 
You lose your labor out of doubt: 
Yet if you love me as you say, 
Then give it me, for sure you may.  
<POEM>
The cruel hate which boils within my burning breast, 
And seeks to shape a sharp revenge, on them that love her best: 
May warn all faithful friends, in case of jeopardy, 
How they shall put their harmless hands, between the bark and tree.  
And I among the rest, which wrote this weary song, 
Must needs allege in my defense, that thou hast done me wrong.  
For if in simple verse, I chanc'd to touch thy name, 
And touch'd the same without reproach, was I therefore to blame?  
And if (of great good will) I gave my best advice, 
Then thus to blame without cause why, me thinks thou art not wise.  
Amongst old written tales, this one I bear in mind, 
A simple soul much like myself, did once a serpent find. 
Which (almost dead for cold) lay moiling in the mire 
When he for pity took it up and brought it to the fire. 
No sooner was the Snake, cured of her grief, 
But straight she sought to hurt the man, that lent her such relief.  
Such Serpent seemeth thou, such simple soul am I, 
That for the weight of my good will, am blam'd without cause why.  
But as it best beseems, the harmless gentle heart, 
Rather to take a open wrong, than for to plain his part: 
I must and will endure, thy spite without repent, 
The blame is mine, the triumph thine, and I am well content. 
<POEM>
If what you want, you (wanton) had at will, 
A steadfast mind, a faithful loving heart: 
If what you speak you would perform it still, 
If from your work your deed could not revert.  
If youthful years your thoughts did not so rule, 
As elder days may scorn your friendship frail: 
Your doubled fancy would not thus recule, 
For peevish pride which now I must bewail.  
For Cressid fair did Troilus never love, 
More dear than I esteem'd your framed cheer: 
Whose wavering ways (since now I do them prove) 
By true report this witness with me bear: 
That if your friendship be not too dear bought, 
The price is great, that nothing gives for nought. 
<POEM>
I that my race of youthful years had run 
Always untied, and not (but once) in thrall, 
Even I which had the fields of freedom won, 
And liv'd at large, and play'd with pleasure's ball: 
Lo now at last am ta'en again and taught, 
To taste such sorrows, as I never sought.  
<STANZA>
I love, I love, alas I love indeed, 
I cry alas, but no man pities me: 
My wounds are wide, yet seem they not to bleed, 
And hidden wounds are hardly healed we see. 
Such is my luck to catch a sudden clap, 
Of great mischance in seeking my good hap. 
<STANZA>
My mourning mind which dwelt and died in dole, 
Sought company for solace of the same: 
My cares were cold, and craved comfort's coal, 
To warm my wile with flakes of friendly flame. 
I sought and found, I crav'd and did obtain, 
I won my wish, and yet I got no gain.  
<STANZA>
For whiles I sought the cheer of company, 
Fair fellowship did wonted woes revive: 
And craving medicine for my malady, 
Dame pleasure's plaster prov'd a corrosive.  
So that by mirth, I reap'd no fruit but moan, 
Much worse I fear than when I was alone.  
<STANZA>
The cause is this, my lot did light too late, 
The Birds were flown, before I found the nest: 
The steed was stolen, before I shut the gate, 
The cates consum'd, before I smelt the feast. 
And I fond fool with empty hand must call, 
The gorged Hawk, which likes no lure at all.  
<STANZA>
Thus still I toil, to till the barren land, 
And grope for grapes among the barren briars: 
I strive to sail and yet I stick on sand, 
I deem to live, yet drown in deep desires.  
These lots of love, are fit for wanton will, 
Which finds too much, yet must be seeking still.  
<POEM>
When I record within my musing mind, 
The noble names of wights bewitched in love: 
Such solace for myself therein I find, 
As nothing may my fired fancy move: 
But patiently I will endure my woe, 
Because I see the heavens ordain it so.  
<STANZA>
For whiles I read and rifle their estates, 
In every tale I note mine own annoy: 
But whiles I mark the meanings of their mates, 
I seem to swim in such a sugared joy, 
As did (percase) entice them to delight, 
Though turn'd at last, to drugs of sour despite.  
<STANZA>
Peruse (who list) Dan David's perfect deeds, 
There shall he find the blot of Berzabe, 
Whereon to think, my heavy heart it bleeds, 
When I compare my love like her to be: 
Uriah's wife, before mine eyes that shines, 
And David I, from duty that declines.  
<STANZA>
Then Solomon this princely Prophet's son, 
Did Pharaoh's daughter make him fall or no? 
Yes, es, perdie, his wisdom could not shun, 
Her subtle snares, nor from her counsel go.  
I name (as he) the wisest wight of all, 
But well I wot, a woman holds me thrall.  
<STANZA>
So am I like the proud Assyrian Knight, 
Which blasphem'd God, and all the world defied: 
Yet could a woman overcome his might, 
And daunt his force in all his pomp and pride. 
I Holoferne, am drunken brought to bed, 
My love like Judith, cutting off my head.  
<STANZA>
If I were strong, as some have made account, 
Whose force is like to that which Sampson had?  
If I be bold, whose courage can surmount, 
The heart of Hercules, which nothing dread?  
Yet Dalila, and Deyanyrae's love, 
Did teach them both, such pangs as I must prove.  
<STANZA>
Well let these pass, and think on Naso's name, 
Whose skillful verse did flow in learned style: 
Did he (think you) not dote upon his Dame?  
Corma fair, did she not him beguile?  
Yes God he knows, for verse nor pleasant rhymes, 
Can constant keep, the key of Cressid's crimes.  
<STANZA>
So that to end my tale as I began, 
I see the good, the wise, the stout, the bold: 
The strongest champion and the learnedst man, 
Have been and be, by lust of love controlled.  
Which when I think, I hold me well content, 
To live in love, and never to repent.  
<POEM>
L'escu d'amour, the shield of perfect love, 
The shield of love, the force of steadfast faith, 
The force of faith which never will remove, 
But standeth fast, to bide the brunts of death: 
That trusty targe, hath long borne of the blows, 
And broke the thrusts, which absence at me throws.  
<STANZA>
In doleful days I lead an absent life, 
And wound my will with many a weary thought: 
I plead for peace, yet starve in storms of strife, 
I find debate, where quiet rest was sought. 
These pangs with more, unto my pain I prove, 
Yet bear I all upon my shield of love.  
<STANZA>
In colder cares are my conceits consumed, 
Than Dido felt when false Enaeas fled: 
In far more heat, than trusty Troilus fumed, 
When crafty Cressid dwelt with Diomed.  
My hope such frost, my hot desire such flame, 
That I both freeze, and smolder in the same. 
<STANZA>
So that I live, and die in one degree, 
Healed by hope, and hurt again with dread: 
Fast bound by faith when fancy would be free, 
Untied by trust, though thoughts enthrall my head.  
Reviv'd by joys, when hope doth most abound, 
And yet with grief, in depth of dolors drowned.  
<STANZA>
In these assaults I feel my feebled force 
Begins to faint, thus wearied still in woes: 
And scarcely can my thus consumed corse, 
Hold up this Buckler to bear of these blows. 
So that I crave, or presence for relief, 
Or some supply, to ease my absent grief.  
<STANZA>
To you (dear Dame) this doleful plaint I make, 
Whose only sight may soon redress my smart: 
Then show yourself, and for your servant's sake, 
Make haste post haste, to help a faithful heart.  
Mine own poor shield hath me defended long, 
Now lend me yours, for else you do me wrong.
</FILE>
<FILE Sifort.d>
<AUTH> Si Fortunatus Infoelix
<TITLE> Poems
<NOTES>
<POEM>
When worthy Bradamant, had looked long in vain,
To see her absent love and Lord, Ruggier: return again:
Upon her loathed bed her lustless limbs did cast,
And in deceitful dreams she thought, she saw him come at last.
But when with open arms, she ran him to embrace, 
With open eyes she found it false, and thus complain'd her case,
That which me pleas'd (quoth she) was dreams which fancy drew,
But that which me torments (alas) by sight I find it true.  
My joy was but a dream, and soon did fade away, 
But my tormenting cruel cares, cannot so soon decay.  
Why hear I not and see, since now I have my senses?
That which in feigned fading dreams, appeared by pretenses.  
Or whereto serve mine eyes, if sights they so mistake,  
As seem to see each joy in sleep, and woo when they awake.  
The sweet and slumbering sleep, did promise joy and peace,  
But these unpleasant sights do raise, such wars as never cease.  
The sleep I felt was false, and seem'd to ease my grief, 
But that I see is all too true, and yields me no relief.  
If truth annoy me then, and feigned fancies please me, 
God grant I never hear nor see, true thing for to disease me.  
If sleeping yield me joy, and waking work me woe, 
God grant I sleep, and never wake, to ease my torment so.  
O happy slumbering souls, whom one dead drowsy sleep 
Six months (of yore) in silence shut, with closed eyes did keep.  
Yet can I not compare, such sleep to be like death, 
Nor yet such waking, as I wake, to be like vital breath.  
For why my let doth fall, contrary to the rest, 
I deem it death when I awake, and life while I do rest.  
Yet if such sleep be like to death in any wise, 
O gentle death come quick at call, and close my dreary eyes.  
Thus said the worthy dame, whereby I gather this, 
No care can be compar'd to that, where true love parted is.
<STANZA>
Lo Lady if you had but half like care for me,
That worthy Bradamant had then her own Ruggier to see: 
My ready will should be so press'd to come at call, 
You should have no such sight or dream to trouble you withal.  
Then when you list command, I will and come in haste, 
There is not hap shall hold me back, good will shall run so fast.  
<POEM>
The hateful man that heapeth in his mind, 
Cruel revenge of wrongs forepast and done, 
May not (with ease) the pleasant pathway find, 
Of friendly verses which I have now begone, 
Unless at first his angry breast untwined, 
The crooked knot which cankered choler knit, 
And then recule with reconciled grace.  
Likewise I find it said in holy writ, 
If thou intend to turn thy fearful face, 
To God above: make thine agreement yet, 
First with thy Brother whom thou didst abuse, 
Confess thy faults thy forwardness and all, 
So that the Lord thy prayer not refuse.  
When I consider this, and then the brawl, 
Which raging youth (I will not me excuse) 
Did whilom breed in mine unmellowed brain, 
I thought it meet before I did assay, 
To write in rhyme the double golden gain, 
Of amity: first yet to take away 
The grutch of grief, as thou dost me constrain.  
By due desert whereto I now must yield, 
And drown for aye in depth of Lethe's lake, 
Disdainful moods whom friendship cannot wield: 
Pleading for peace which for my part I make 
Of former strife, and henceforth let us write 
The pleasant fruits of faithful friends delight.
<POEM>
This vain avail which thou by Mars hast won, 
Should not allure thy fleeting mind to feel: 
Where sturdy Steeds in depth of dangers run, 
With guts well gnawn by claps that Cannons yield.  
Where faithless friends by warfare waxen ware, 
And run to him that giveth best reward: 
No fear of laws can cause them for to care, 
But rob and rieve, and steal, without regard 
The father's cote, the brother's steed from stall: 
The dear friend's purse shall picked be for pence, 
The native soil, the parents left and all,
With Tant tra Tant, the camp is marching hence.  
But when bare beggary bids them to beware, 
And late repentance rules them to retire.  
Like hiveless Bees they wander here and there, 
And hang on them (who erst) might dread their year.  
This cutthroat life (me seems) thou shouldst not like, 
And shun the happy haven of mean estate: 
High Jove (perdie) may send what thou dost seek, 
And heap up pounds within thy quiet gate.  
Nor yet I would that thou should'st spend thy days, 
In idleness to tear a golden time: 
Like country louts which compt none other praise, 
But grease a sheep and learn to serve the swine. 
In vain were then the gifts which nature lent, 
If Pan so press to pass Dame Pallas' lore:
But my good friends let thus thy youth be spent, 
Serve God thy Lord, and praise him evermore.  
Search out the skill which learned books do teach, 
And serve in field when shadows make thee sure: 
Hold with the head, and row not past thy reach, 
But plead for peace which plenty may procure.  
And (for my life) if thou canst run this race, 
Thy bags of coin will multiply apace. 
<POEM>
The feeble thread which Lachesis hath spun, 
To draw my days in short abode with thee, 
Hath wrought a web which now (well near) is done, 
The wale is worn: and (all too late) I see 
That lingering life doth dally but in vain, 
For Atropos will cut the twist in twain. 
I not discern what life but loathsome were, 
When faithful friends are kept in twain by want: 
Nor yet perceive what pleasure doth appear, 
To deep desires where good success is scant. 
Such spite yet shows dame fortune (if she frown,) 
The haughty hearts in high mishaps to drown.  
Hot be the flames which boil in friendly minds, 
Cruel the care and dreadful is the doom:
Slipper the knot which tract of time unwinds, 
Hateful the life and welcome were the tomb.
Blest were the day which might devour such youth, 
And cursed the want that seeks to choke such truth. 
This wailing verse I bathe in flowing tears, 
And would my life might end with these my lines: 
Yet strive I not to force into thine ears, 
Such feigned plaints, as fickle faith resigns.
But high foresight in dreams hath stopped my breath, 
And caus'd the Swan to sing before his death.  
For lo these naked walls do well declare, 
My latest leave of thee I taken have: 
And unknown coasts which I must seek with care 
Do well divine that there shall be my grave.  
There shall my death make many for to moan, 
Scarce known to them, well known to thee alone.  
This boon of thee (as last request) I crave, 
When true report shall sound my death with fame: 
Vouchsafe yet then to go unto my grave, 
And there first write my birth and then my name.  
And how my life was shortened many years, 
By women's wiles as to the world appears.  
And in reward of grant to this request, 
Permit O God my tongue these words to tell: 
(When as his pen shall write upon my chest) 
With shrieking voice mine own dear friend farewell.  
No care on earth did seem so much to me, 
As when my corpse was forc'd to part from thee.  
<POEM>
A Hundred suns (in course but not in kind) 
Can witness well that I possess no joy: 
The fear of death which fretteth in my mind 
Consumes my heart with dread of dark annoy.  
And for each sun a thousand broken sleeps, 
Divide my dreams with fresh recourse of cares: 
The youngest sister sharp her shear she keeps, 
To cut my thread and thus my life it wears.  
Yet let such days, such thousand restless nights, 
Spit forth their spite, let fates eke show their force: 
Death's daunting dart where so his buffets lights, 
Shall shape no change within my friendly course: 
But dead or live, in heaven, in earth, in hell 
I will be thine where so my carcass dwell. 
<POEM>
Not stately Troy though Priam yet did live,
Could now compare Fonteine bel' eau to pass: 
Nor Syrian towers, whose lofty steps did strive, 
To climb the throne where angry Saturn was.  
For outward show the ports are of such price, 
As scorn the cost which Caesar spilt in Rome; 
Such works within as stain the rare devise, 
Which whilom he Apelles wrought on tomb.  
Swift Tiber flood which fed the Roman pools, 
Puddle to this where Crystal melts in streams,
The pleasant place where Muses kept their schools,
(Not parched with Phoebe, nor banish'd from his beams)
Yield to those Dames, not sight, nor fruit, nor smell, 
Which may be thought these gardens to excel.
<POEM>
Lady receive, receive in gracious wise,
This ragged verse, these rude ill scribed lines: 
Too base an object for your heavenly eyes, 
For he that writes his freedom yields as thrall 
His sturdy neck (erst subject to no yoke)
But bending now, and headlong pressed to fall, 
Before your feet, such force hath beauty's stroke.  
Since then mine eyes (which scorn'd our English) dames 
In foreign courts have chosen you for fair, 
Let be this verse true token of my flames, 
And do not drench your own in deep despair.  
Only I crave (as I nil change for new) 
That you vouchsafe to think your servant true. 
<POEM>
I cannot with thy grief, although thou work my woe 
Since I profess'd to be thy friend, I cannot be thy foe: 
But if things done and past, might well be call'd again, 
Then would I wish the wasted words, which I have spent in vain: 
Were it untold to thee, in earnest or in game, 
And that my doubtful musing mind, had never thought the same.  
For whiles I thee beheld, in careful thoughts I spent 
My liking lust, my luckless love which ever truly meant.  
Too late I found that gorged hawks, do not esteem the lure.  
This vantage hast thou then, thou mayst well brag and boast 
Thou mightst have had a lusty lad, of stature with the most, 
And eke of noble mind: his virtues nothing base, 
Do well declare that descends, of ancient worthy race.  
Save that I not his name, and though I could it tell, 
My friendly pen shall let it pass, because I love him well.  
And thou hast chosen one of meaner parentage, 
Of stature small and there withal, unequal for thine age.  
His thews unlike the first, yet hast thou hot desire, 
To play thee in his flitting flames, God grant they prove not fire.  
Him holdest thou as dear, and he thy Lord shall be, 
(Too late alas) thou lovest him, and never loved thee.  
And for just proof hereof, mark what I tell is true, 
Some dismal day shall change his mind, and make him seek a new, 
Then wilt thou much repent thy bargain made in haste, 
And much lament those perfumed gloves, which yield such sour taste.  
And eke the falsed faith, which lurks in broken rings, 
Though hand in hand say otherwise, yet do I know such things.  
Then shalt thou sing and say, farewell my trusty Squire, 
Would god my mind had yielded once, unto to thy just desire.  
Thus shalt thou wail my want, and I thy great unrest, 
Which cruel Cupid kindled hath, within thy broken breast.  
Thus shalt thou find it grief, which erst thou thoughtest game,  
And I shall hear the weary news, by true reporting fame.  
Lamenting thy mishap, in source of swelling tears, 
Harding my heart with cruel care, which frozen fancy bears.  
And though my just desert, thy pity could not move, 
Yet will I wash in wailing words, thy careless childish love.  
And say as Troilus said, since that I can no more, 
Thy wanton will did waver once, and woe is me therefore.  
<POEM>
If men may credit give, to true reported fames, 
Who doubts but stately Rome had store of lusty loving Dames?  
Whose ears have been so deaf, as never yet heard tell
How far the fresh Pompeia, for beauty did excel.  
And golden Marcus he, that swayed the Roman sword, 
Bare witness of Bohemia, by credit of his word.  
What need I more rehearse? since all the world did know 
How high the floods of beauty's blaze, within those walls did flow.  
And yet in all that choice a worthy Roman Knight, 
Antonius who conquered proud Egypt by his might.  
Not all to please his eye, but most to ease his mind, 
Chose Cleopatra for his love, and left the rest behind.  
A wondrous thing to read, in all his victory, 
He snapp'd but her for his own share, to please his fantasy.  
She was not fair God wot, the country breeds none bright, 
Well may we judge her skin the soil, because her teeth were white.  
Percase her lovely looks, some praises did deserve, 
But brown I dare be bold she was, for so the soul did serve.  
And could Antonius forsake the fair in Rome?  
To love this nutbrown Lady best, was this an equal doom?  
I dare well say dames there, did bear him deadly grudge, 
His sentence had been shortly said, if Faustine had been judge.  
For this I dare avow, (without vaunt it be spoke) 
So brave a knight as Anthony, held all their necks in yoke.  
I leave not Lucrece out, believe in her who list, 
I think she would have liked his lure, and stooped to his fist.  
What mov'd the chieftain then, to link his liking thus?  
I would some Roman dame were here, the question to discuss.  
But I that read her life, do find therein by fame, 
How clear her courtesy did shine, in honor of her name.  
Her bounty did excel, her truth had never peer,  
Her lovely looks, her pleasant speech, her lusty loving cheer.  
And all the worthy gifts, that ever yet were found, 
Within this good Egyptian Queen, did seem for to abound.  
Wherefore he worthy was, to win the golden fleece, 
Which scorn'd the blazing stares in Rome, to conquer such a piece.  
And she to quit his love, in spite of dreadful death, 
Enshrin'd with Snakes within his tomb, did yield her parting breath.  
If fortune favored him, then may that man rejoice, 
And think himself a happy man by hap of happy choice.  
Who loves and is beloved of one as good, as true, 
As kind as Cleopatra was, and yet more of bright hue.  
Her eyes as grey as glass, her teeth as white as milk, 
A ruddy lip, a dimpled chin, a skin as smooth as silk.  
A wight what could you more that may content man's mind,  
And hath supplies for every want that any man can find.  
And may himself assure, when hence his life shall pass, 
She will be stung to death with snakes, as Cleopatra was.
<POEM>
Were my heart set on high as thine is bent, 
Or in my breast so brave and stout a will: 
Then (long ere this) I could have been content, 
With sharp revenge thy careless corpse to kill. 
For why thou knowest (although thou know not all) 
What rule, what reign, what power, what seigniory, 
Thy melting mind did yield to me (as thrall) 
When first I pleased thy wandering fantasy.  
What lingering looks bewray'd thine inward thought, 
What pangs were publish'd by perplexity, 
Such wreaks the rage of love in thee had wrought 
And no gramercy for thy courtesy.  
I list not vaunt, but yet I dare avow 
(Had been my harmless heart as hard as thine) 
In bonds of bale, in pangs of deadly pine.  
For why by proof the field is eath to win, 
Where as the chieftains yield themselves in chains: 
The port or passage plain to enter in 
Where porters list to leave the key for gains.  
But did I then devise with cruelty, 
(As tyrants do) to kill thy yielding pray?  
Or did I brag and boast triumphantly, 
As who should say, the field were mine that day?  
Did I retire myself out of thy sight 
To beat (afresh) the bulwarks of thy breast?
Or did my mind in choice of change delight, 
And render thee as refused with the rest? 
No Tiger no: the Lion is not lewd, 
He shows no force on seely wounded sheep, &c.
<POEM>
How long she look'd that look'd at me of late,
As who would say, her looks were all for love:
When God he knows they came from deadly hate,
To pinch me yet with pangs which I must prove.
But since my looks her liking may not move, 
Look where she likes: for lo this look was cast, 
Not for my love, but even to see my last.
<POEM>
I look'd of late and saw thee look askance 
Upon my door to see if I sat there,
As who should say: If he be there by chance, 
Yet may he think I look him everywhere.
No cruel no, thou knowst and I can tell, 
How for thy love I laid my looks aside:
Though thou (percase) hast look'd and liked well 
Some new found looks amid this world so wide. 
But since thy looks my love have so enchanted 
That in my looks thy liking now is past: 
Look where thou likest, and let thy hands be stained,
In true love's blood which thou shalt lack at last.  
So look so lack, for in these toys thus toss'd, 
My looks thy love, thy looks my life have lost.
<POEM>
The thriftless thread which pampered beauty spins, 
In thraldom binds the foolish gazing eyes: 
As cruel Spiders with their crafty gins, 
In worthless webs do snare the simple Flies. 
The garments gay, the glittering golden gite, 
The teasing talk which floweth from Pallas' pools: 
The painted pale, the (too much) red made white, 
Are smiling baits to fish for loving fools.  
But lo, when eld in toothless mouth appears, 
And hoary hairs instead of beauty's blaze: 
Then Had I wist, doth teach repenting years, 
The tickle track of crafty Cupid's maze. 
Twixt fair and foul therefore, twixt great and small, 
A lovely nutbrown face is best of all.  
<POEM>
When danger keeps the door, of lady beauty's bower,
When jealous toys have chased Trust out of her strongest tower:
Then faith and truth may fly, when falsehood wins the field 
Then feeble naked faultless hearts, for lack of sense must yield,
And then prevails as much to hop against the hill, 
As seek by suit for to appease a froward Lady's will.  
For oaths and solemn vows, are wasted then in vain, 
And truth is counted but a toy, when such fond fancies reign.  
The sentence soon is said, when will itself is Judge,
And quickly is the quarrel pick'd when ladies list to grudge. 
This sing I for myself, (which wrote this weary song)
Who justly may complain my case, if ever man had wrong.  
A Lady have I serv'd, a Lady have I lov'd, 
A Lady's good will once I had, her ill will late I prov'd.  
In country first I knew her, in country first I caught her, 
And out of country now in court, to my cost have I sought her.  
In court where Princes reign, her place is now assign'd.  
And well were worthy for the room, if she were not unkind.  
There I (in wonted wise) did show myself of late, 
And found yet as the soil was changed, so love was turn'd to hate.  
But why? God knows, not I: save as I said before,
Pity is put from porters place, and danger keeps the door.  
If courting then have skill, to change good Ladies so, 
God send each willful dame in court, some word of my like woe 
That with a troubled head, she may turn and toss. 
In restless bed when she should sleep and feel of love the loss.
And I (since porters put me from my wonted place)
And deep deceit hath wrought a while to wrest me out of grace:  
Will home again to cart, as fitter were for me, 
Than thus court to serve and starve, where such proud porters be.
<POEM>
Thou with thy looks on whom I look full oft, 
And find therein great cause of deep delight: 
Thy face is fair, thy skin is smooth and soft, 
Thy lips are sweet, thine eyes are clear and bright, 
And every part seems pleasant in my sight.  
Yet wrote thou well, those looks have wrought my woe, 
Because I love to look upon them so.  
For first those looks allur'd mine eye to look, 
And straight mine eye stirr'd up my heart to love: 
And cruel love with deep deceitful hook, 
Chok'd up my mind whom fancy cannot move, 
Nor hope relieve, nor other help behoove: 
But still to look, and though I look too much, 
Needs must I look, because I see none such.  
Thus in thy looks my love and life have hold, 
And with such life my death draws on apace: 
And for such death no medicine can be told, 
But looking still upon thy lovely face, 
Wherein are painted pity, peace, and grace.  
Then though thy looks should cause me for to die,
Needs must I look, because I live thereby.  
Since then thy looks my life have so in thrall, 
As I can like none other looks but thine: 
Lo here I yield my life, my love, and all 
Into thy hands, and all things else resign, 
But liberty to gaze upon thine eyen. 
Which when I do, then think it were thy part, 
To look again, and link with me in heart.  
<POEM>
I Cast mine eye and saw ten eyes at once, 
All seemly set upon one lovely face: 
Two gaz'd, two glanc'd, two watched for the nonce, 
Two winked wiles, two frown'd with froward grace. 
Thus every eye was pitched in his place.  
And every eye which wrought each other's woe, 
Said to itself, alas why looked I so?  
And every eye for jealous love did pine, 
And sigh'd and said, I would that eye were mine.
</FILE>