The goodes that gotten be by good and iust desart; Yet vse them so that neady handes may helpe to spend the part: [store, For looke what heape thou hordest of rusty gold in Thine enemies shall waste the same, that neuer swat therfore.

And with repentant hart, to laude thee, Lorde on hye

That hast so gently set me straight, that erst walkte so awry.

Now graunt me grace my God, to stande thine strong in sprete,

And let the world then worke such waies, as to the world semes mete.

My lost time to lament, my vaine wais to bewaile, No day, no night, no place, no hower, no moment I shall faile,

My soule shall neuer cease with an assured faith, To knocke, to craue, to call, to crye, to thee for helpe, which sayth,

[it is; Knocke and it shal be heard, but aske, and giuen And all that lyke to kepe this course, of mercy shall not misse:

For when I call to minde how the one wandring shepe [flock did kepe: Did bring more joy with his returne, than all the It yeldes full hope and trust, my strayed and wandring ghost [were neuer lost. Shal be received and held more dere, then those O Lord my hope behold, and for my helpe make haste [past, To pardon the forepassed race that carelesse I haue And but the day draw neare that death must pay the det

For loue of life which thou hast lent and time of paiment set, [is at hande, From this sharpe showre me shielde, which threatned Wherby thou shalt great power declare, and I the storme withstand.

Not my will Lord but thine, fulfilde be in eche case, To whose gret will and mighty power all powers shall once geue place.

My faith, my hope, my trust, my God, and eke
my guyde
[the body bide:
Stretch forth thy hande to saue the soule, what so
Refuse not to receiue that thou so deare hast
bought,
[sought.

For but by thee alone I know all safetie in vain is
I know and knowledge eke, albeit very late,
That thou it is I ought to loue and dreade in eche
estate,

THE LOUER HERE TELLETH OF HIS DIUERS JOIES, AND ADVERSITIES IN LOUE, AND LASTLY OF HIS LADIES DEATH.

SYTH singing gladdeth oft the harts,

Of them that fele the panges of loue;
And for the while doth ease their smarts,
My self I shall the same way proue.

And though that loue hath smit the stroke
Wherby is lost my libertye

Which by noe meanes I may reuoke,
Yet shall I sing, how pleasantly:

Nye twenty years of youth I past,
Which al in libertie I spent;
And so from first vnto the last,
Ere aught I knew what louing ment.

And after shall I sing the wo, The paine, the grief, the deadly smart; When loue this life did ouerthrowe, That hiden lyes within my hart.

And then, the joyes that I did feele, When fortune lifted after this; And set me bye vpon her whele, And changde my wo to pleasant blisse.

And so the sodein fall againe, From al the joyes that I was in; All you that list to hear of paine, Geue eare, for now I doe beginne.

Loe first of all when loue began With hote desires my heart to burne, Me thought, his might auailde not than, From libertie my heart to turne.

For I was free, and did not know How much his might mans heart may greue, I had profest to be his fo, His law I thought not to beleue.

I went vntyed in lusty leas;

I had my wish alwaies at will;
Ther was no wo, might me displease,
Of pleasant ioyes I had my fill.

No painful thought did pass my hart,
I spilt no teare to wet my brest;
I knew no sorow, sigh, nor smart,
My greatest grief was quiet rest.

I brake no slepe, I tossed not,
Nor did delite to sit alone;

I felt no change of colde and hote,
Nor nought a nightes could make me mone.

For al was joy that I did fele, And of voyde wandring I was free; I had no clogge tyde at my hele, Thus was my life at libertie.

That yet me thinks it is a blisse, To think vpon that pleasure past; But forth withall I finde the misse, For that it might no lenger last.

Those dayes I spent at my desire,
Without wo or aduersitie;

Till that my hart was set a fire,
With loue, with wrath, and ielousie.

For on a day (alas the while)
Lo, heare my harme how it began;
The blinded Lord, the God of guile
Had list to end my fredome than.

And through mine eye into my hart,
All sodeinly I felt it glide;
He shot his sharped fiery dart,
So hard, that yet vnder my side

The head (alas) doth still remaine;
And yet since could I neuer know
The way to wring it out againe;
Yet was it nie thre yere ago.

This sodein stroke made me agast,
And it began to vexe me sore;
But yet I thought it would haue past,
As other such had done before.

But it did not, that (wo is me)
So depe imprinted in my thought
The stroke abode, that yet I see
Methinkes my harme how it was wrought.

Kinde taught me straight that this was loue And I perceiued it perfectly,

Yet thought I thus; nought shall me moue
I wil not thrall my libertie.

And diuers wayes I did assay,
By flight, by force, by frend, by fo
This fierie thought to put away;
I was so loth for to forgo

My libertie, that me was leuer
Then bondage was; where I hard say,
Who once was bound, was sure neuer
Without great paine to scape away.

But what for that, there is noe choice
For my mishap was shapen so;
That those my dayes that did rejoyce,
Should turne my bliss to bitter wo.

For with that stroke my blisse toke ende,
Instede wherof forthwith I caught
Hotte burning sighes, that sins haue brend
My wretched hart almost to nought.

And sin that day, O Lord, my life,
The misery that it hath felt,
That nought hath had, but wo and strife
And hotte desires my hart to melt.

O Lord, how sodein was the change,
From such a pleasant liberty;
The very thraldome semed strange,
But yet there was no remedy.

But must yeld and geve up all,
And make my guide my chefest fo;
And in this wise became I thrall,
Lo love and happe would haue it so.

I suffred wrong and held my peace,
I gaue my teares good leaue to ronne
And neuer would seke for redre. se,
But hopte to liue as 1 begonne.

For what it was that might me ease, He liued not that might it knowe; Thus drank I all myne own disease, And all along bewaylde my wo.

There was no sight that might me please,

I fled from them that did reioyce;
And oft alone, my hart to ease,

I would bewaile with woful voyce

My life, my state, my misery;
And curse my selfe and all my daies:
Thus wrought I with my fantasie,
And sought my help none other waies.

Saue sometime to my self alone,
When farre of was my helpe, God wot,
Lowde would I crie, My life is gone,
My dere, if that ye helpe me not.

Then wisht I streight that death might end
These bitter panges, and al this grief;
For nought, me thought, might it amend
Thus in dispaire to haue reliefe.

I lingred forth, till I was brought
With pining in so piteous case,
That al, that saw me, sayd, me thought,
Lo death is painted in hys face.

I went no where, but by the way
I saw some sight before mine eyes
That made me sigh, and ofttimes say,
My life, alas, I thee despise.

Thys lasted well a yere, and more,
Which no wight knew, but onely I;
Soe that my lite was nere forlore,
And I dispaired vtterly.

Till, on a day, as fortune would,
(For that, that shall be nedes must fal)
I set me down, as though I should
Haue ended them my life and al.

And as I sat to write my plaint,
Meaning to shew my great vnrest,
With quaking hand, and hart ful faint
Amid my playntes among the rest,

I wrote with ynk, and bitter teares, I am not mine, I am not mine; Behold my life, away that weares, And if I dye the losse is thine.

Herewith a little hope I caught
That for a while my life did stay;
But in effect, all was for nought;
Thus liued I still, til on a day

As I sat staring on those eyes,
Those shining eyes, that first me bound,
My inward thought tho cryed, Aryse,
Lo, mercy, where it may be found.

403

And therewith all I drew me nere,
With feble hart, and at a braide
(But it was softely in her eare)
Mercy, madame, was all I saide.

But woe was me, when it was told,
For therwithall fainted my breath,
And I sate still for to beholde
And hear the iugment of my death.

But loue nor hap would not consent
To end me then, but well away
There gaue me baisse, that I repent
To thinke I liue to see this day.

For after this I plained still,
So long, and in so piteous wise,
That I my wish had at my will
Graunted, as I would it deuise.

But Lord whoeuer hard or knew
Of half the joy that I felt than?
Or who can think it may be true
That so much blisse had euer man?

Lo, fortune thus set me aloft;
And more my sorowes to releue,
Of pleasant ioyes I tasted oft

As much as loue or happe might geue.

The sorowes old, I felt before
About my hart, were driuen thence;
And for eche grief, I left afore,
I had a blisse in recompence.

Then thought I all the time wel spent
That I in plaint had spent so long;
So was I with my life content
That to my selfe I sayd among;

Sins thou art ridde of all thine ill,
To shew thy joyes set forth thy voice,
Aud sins thou hast thy wish at will
My happy hart, reioyce, reioyce.

Thus felt I ioyes a great deale mo
Then by my song may well be tolde:
And thinking on my passed wo
My blisse did double manifolde.

And thus I thought with mannes blood
Such blisse might not be bought to deare;
In such estate my ioyes then stoode
That of a change I had no feare.

But why sing I so long of blisse?
It lasteth not, that will away;
Let me therfore bewayle the misse,
And sing the cause of my decay.

Yet all this while there liued none
That led his life more pleasantly,
Nor vnder hap there was not one,
Methought, so well at ease, as I.

But O blinde ioy, who may thee trust?
For noe estate thou canst assure:
Thy faithful vowes prove al uniust,
Thy fair behestes be full vnsure.

Good proofe by me, that but of late
Not fully twenty daies ago,

Which thought my life was in such state, That nought might worke my hart this wo.

Yet hath the enemy of mine ease, Cruel mishappe, that wretched wight, Now when my life did most me please Deuised me such cruel spight.

That from the hiest place of all
As to the pleasing of my thought,
Downe to the deepest am I fall,
And to my helpe auaileth nought.

Lo, thus are al my joyes quite gone,
And I am brought from happinesse
Continually to waile and mone;
Lo, such is fortunes stablenesse.

In welth I thought such suertie
That pleasure should haue ended neuer,
But now alas, aduersitie

Doth make my singing cease for euer.

O! brittle ioye! O! welth vnstable!
O fraile pleasure, O sliding blisse
Who feles the most, he shall not misse
At length to be made miserable.

For all must end as doth my blisse.
There is none other certeintie,
And at the end the worst is hys
That most hath known prosperitie.

For he that never blisse assayed
May wel away with wretchednesse,
But he shall finde that hath it sayd
A pain to part with pleasantnesse;

As I do now; for ere I knew What pleasure was, I felt no grief Like unto this, and it tis tren

That blisse hath brought me al this mischief.

But yet I haue not songen how
This mischief came, but I intend
With woful voice to sing it now,
And therewithal I make an end.

But Lord, now that it is begon
I fele my sprites are vexed sore;
Oh! geue me breth till this be don,
And after let me liue no more.

Alas the enmy of this life,
The ender of al pleasantnesse,
Alas he bringeth all this strife,
And causeth all this wretchednesse.

For in the middes of all the welth
That brought my hart to happinesse,
This wicked death he came by stelth
And robde me of my ioyfulnesse.

He came, when that I little thought Of ought that might me vexe so sore, And sodeinly he brought to nought My pleasantnesse for euer more.

He slew my joy, alas the wretch! He slew my ioy, ere I was ware; And now alas, no might may stretch To set an end to my great care.

For by this cursed deadly stroke My blisse is lost, and I forlore; And no help may the losse reuoke, For lost it is for euermore.

And closed vp are those faire eyes That gaue me first the signe of grace, My faire swete foes, mine enemies And earth doth hide her pleasant face.

The loke which did my life vphold,
And all my sorowes did confound,
With which more blisse then may be told,
Alas, now lieth it vnder ground.

But cease, for I will sing no more,
Since that my harm hath no redresse;
But as a wretche for euermore
My life will waste with wretchednesse.

And ending thys my wofull song,
Now that it ended is and past,
1 would my life were but as long
And that this word might be my last.

For lothsome is that life (men say)
That liketh not the liuers minde;
Lo, thus I seke mine owne decay
And will, till that I may it finde.

A perfect leche applieth his wittes
To gather herbes of all degrees,
And feuers with there feruent fittes
Be cured with their contraries.

New wine will search to finde a vent, Although the cask be sett so strong; And wit wyll walke when wyll is bent, Although the way be neuer so long.

The rabbetes runue under the rockes, The snailes doe clime the highest towers, Gunpouder cleaues the sturdy blockes; A fervent will all things deuoures.

When Wyt with Will and Diligent Applie themselves, and match as mates, There can no want of resident From force defend the castell gates.

Forgetfulnesse makes little haste, And slouth delightes to lye full soft; That telleth the deaf, his tale doth wast, And is full drye that craues full oft.

405

OF HIS LOUE NAMED WHITE.
FULL faire and white she is, and White by name,
Whose white doth striue the lilies white to staine;
Who may contemne the blast of black defame,
Who in darke night can bring day bright againe;
The ruddy rose impreaseth with clere heew
In lips and chekes, right orient to behold,
That the nerer gaser may that bewty reew,
And fele disparst in limmes the chilling cold,
For white, all white his bloodless face will be,
The ashey pale so alter will his cheare.
But I that do possesse in full degree
The harty love of this my hart so deare,

So oft to me as she presents her face
For ioy do fele my hart spring from hys place.

That men to mind might call, how farre he did At all assaies to winne the fame, which were to long to tell. [runne And eke the restlesse race that he fall oft hath In painful plight from place to place, where seruice [trouth, was to don, Then should men well perceiue, my tale to be of And he to be the worthiest wight that euer nature wrought.

THE LADYE PRAYETH THE RETURNE OF HER LOUER ABIDYNG ON THE SEAS. SHALL I thus euer long, and be no whit the nere? And shall I still complaine to thee, the which me will not here?

Alas, saie nay, saie nay, and be no more so dome, But open thou thy manly mouth, and saie that thou wilt come. [a liues man bee. That thou wilt come, thy word so sware, if thou The roaring hugy waues, they threaten my pore ghost, [be lost,

WYLL APPERE.

It is no fire that geues no heate
Though it appere neuer so hot;

And they that runne and cannot sweate
And very leane and drie, God wot.

Shall they not make me feare that they haue swallowed thee?

[to me,

But as thou art most sure aliue, so wilt thou come Wherby I shall go se thy shippe ride on the strand, And think and say, lo where he comes, and sure here wyll he land.

And then I shall lift vp to thee my little hand, And thou wilt thinke thine heart in ease, in helth to see me stand

And if thou come indede (as Christ thee sende to doe) [brace thee to. Those arms which misse thee yet, shall then emEche vain to euery joint, the liuely blood sbal spread, [full pale and dead. Which now for want of thy glad sight, doth shew But if thou slip thy trouth, and do not come at [I shail; As minutes in the clock do strike, so call for death To please both thy false hart, and rid my selfe from wo, [so That rather had to dye in trouth then liue forsaken

all

THE MEANE ESTATE IS BEST.
THE doutfull man hath feuers strange,
And constant hope is oft diseasde;
Dispaire cannot but brede a change,
Nor fleting hartes cannot be pleasde;
Of all these bad, the best I think,
Is wel to hope, though fortune shrink.

Desired thinges are not ay prest,
Nor thinges denide left al unsought;
Nor new thinges to be loued best,
Nor all offers to be set at nought;
Where faithful hart hath ben refusde,
The chosers wit was there abusde.

The wofull ship of careful sprite,
Fleting on seas of wailinge teares,
With sailes of wishes broken quite,
Hanging on waues of dolefull feares
By surge of sighes at wreck nere hand
Ma e fast on anker holde on land.

What helps the dial to the blinde,
Or els the clocke without it sound;
Or who by dreames doth hope to finde
The hidden golde within the grounde,
Shal be as free from cares and feares
As he that holdes a wolfe by th' eares.

And how muche mad is he that thinks
To clime to heauen by the beames?
What ioy alas, hath he that winks
At Titan or his goiden streames?
His joyes not subiect to reasons lawes,
That ioyeth more than he hath cause.

For as the phenix that climeth hye The sunne lightly in ashes burneth; Againe, the faulcon so quick of eye, Sone on the grounde the net masheth: Experience therfore the meane assurance Prefers before the doutfull pleasance.

THE LOUER THINKES NO PAINE TO
GREAT, WHERBY HE MAY OBTAINE
HIS LADIE.

SITA that the way to welth is wo,
And after paine is pleasure prest,
Why should I than despaire so,

Ay bewailing mine vnrest,

Or let to lead my life in paine,
So worthy a lady to obtaine?

The fisherman doth count no care
To cast his nets to wracke or wast,
And in reward of eche mans share,
A gogen gift is much imbrast:
Should I then grudge in griefe or gall,
That loke at length to whelmé a whall?

The pore man ploweth his ground for graine,
And soweth his seede increase to craue,
And for thexpence of all his paine,
Oft holdes it hap his sede to saue:
These pacient paines my part doth show
To long for loue ere that I know

And take no scorne to scape from skill,
To spend my sprites to spare my speche,
To win for welth the want of will,
And thus for rest to rage I reche,
Running my race as rect vpright,
Till teares of truth appease my plight.

And plant my plaint within her brest,
Who doutlesse may restore againe
My harmes to helth, my ruth to rest,
That lased is within her chaine;
For earst ne are the griefes so great
As is the ioy when loue is met.

For who couets so high to clime
As doth the bird that pitfoll toke?
Or who delightes so swift to swim,
As doth the fishe that scapes the hoke?
If these had neuer entred wo,
How mought they have reioised so?

But yet, alas, ye louers all
That here my joyelesse thus rejoyce,
Judge not amiss what so befall;

In me there lieth no power of choyse:
It is but hope that doth me moue,
Who standerd bearer is to loue.

On whose ensigne, when I behold,

I see the shadow of her shape,

Within my faith so fast I fold,
Through drede I die, through hope I scape:
Thuse ease and wo full oft 1 finde,

What will you more? she knoweth my minde.

OF A NEW MARIED STUDIENT THAT
PLAIED FAST OR LOSE.

A STUDIENT at his boke so plast,
That welth he might have wonne;
From boke to wife did flete in hast,
From welth to wo to runne.
Now who hath plaied a feater cast
Since jugling first begonne?
In knitting of himselfe so fast,
Himselfe he hath vndoone.

THE MEANE ESTATE IS TO BE ACCOMPTED THE BEST.

(From Horace.)

WHO craftly castes to stere his boate,

And safely skours the flattring flood,