He cutteth not the greatest waues;

For why, that way were nothing good: Ne fleteth on the croked shore,

Lest harme him happe a wayting lest, But windes away betwene them both,

As who woulde say, the meane is best?
Who waiteth on the golden meane,

He put in point of sickernes,
Hides not his head in sluttish coates,

Ne shroudes himselfe in filthines.
Ne sittes aloft in high estate,

Where hatefull hartes enuie hys chance,
But wisely walkes betwixt them twaine
Ne proudly doth himselfe auance.
The highest tree in all the wood,

Is rifest rent with blustering windes;

The higher hall the greater fall,

Such chance haue proude and lofty mindes. When Jupiter from hye doth threat

With mortall mace and dint of thunder, The hiest hilles bene battred eft,

When they stand still that stoden vnder.
The man whose bed with wit is fraught

In welth will feare a worser tide;
When fortune failes dispaireth naught,
But constantly doth stil abide.
For he that sendeth grisely stormes,

With whisking windes and bitter blastes,
And fowlth with haile the winters face,
And frotes the soile with hory frostes;
Enen he adawth the force of cold,

The springe in sendes with somer hote:

The same full oft to stormy hartes

Is cause of bale, of ioy the roote.

Not alwaies ill though so be now,

407

The beauty of her face, her shape in such degree, [mended to be. As God himselfe may not discerne one place Nor place it in like place, my fansy for to please, Who would become a heardsmans hyre, one howre to haue of ease;

[nes, Whereby I might restore to me some stedfastThat have mo thoughtes heapt in my hed, then life may long disges: [colde, As oft to throwe me downe vpon the earth so Wheras with teares most rufully, my sorowes do vnfold:

And in beholding them I chiefly call to minde, What woman could finde in her hart, such bond

age for to biude.

[care,

Then rashly forth I yede, to cast me from that Lyke as the birde for foode doth flye, and lighteth in the snare. [be roon, From whence I may not meue, untill my race So trained is my truth through her that thinkes my life wel woon.

Thus tosse I too and fro, in hope to haue reliefe, But in the fine I finde not so, it doubleth but my greife;

Wherefore I will my want a warning for to be Vnto all men, wishing that they a myrrour make of me.

THE FELICITIE OF A MINDE IMBRACING VERTUE, THAT BEHOLDETH THE WRETCHED DESIRES OF THE WORLDE.

I LENT my loue to losse, and gaged my life in vaine, [gaine: If hate for loue and death for life of louers be the A curse I may by course the place eke tyme and howre, [creatnre. That nature fyrst in me dyd fourme to be a lives Sith that I must absent my self so secretly, In place desert, where never man my secretes shall discry: [brute,

In doling of my dayes among the beastes so Who with their tonges may not bewray the secrets of my sute. [mynde, Nor I in like to them may once to moue my But gase on them, and they on me, as beasts are wont of kinde.

Thus ranging as refusde, to reache some place of rest,

And ruffe of heare, my nayles unnocht, as to such

[this,

But yet among the rest, no ioy may match with T'aspyre unto the temple hye where wisdome throned is.

Defended with the sawes of hory heads expert, Which clere it keep from errours mist, that might the truth peruert. [under foote,

From whence thou maist loke downe, and see as Mans wandring will and doutful life from whence they take their roote. [ryse,

How some by wit contend, by prowes some to Riches and rule to gaine and holde, is all that men deuise.

O miserable myndes, O hartes in folly drent, Why see you not what blindnesse in this wretched life is spent?

Body deuoyde of griefe, minde free from care and drede,

Is all and some that nature craues, wherewith our lyfe to feede:

So that for natures turne fewe thinges may well suffice, [surprice. Dolour and grief clene to expell, and some delight

Yea and it falleth oft, that nature more content Is with the lesse, then when the more to cause delight is spent.

ALL WORLDLY PLEASURES VADE.
(From Horace.)

THE winter with his griesly stormes ne lenger
dare abide,
[hath newly dide.
The pleasant grasse with lusty grene, the earth
The trees have leues, the bowes don spred, new
changed is the yere;

The water brokes are clean sonk down, the pleasant banks apere;

The spring is come, the goodly nimphes now daunce in euery place,

Thus hath the yere most pleasantly of late ychaungde his face.

Hope for no immortalitie, for welth will weare away, [euery day. As we may learn by euery yere, yea howers of For Zephirus doth mollify the cold and blustering [of our mindes.

windes, The somers drought doth take away the spring out And yet the somer cannot last, but once must step aside,

Then autumn thinkes to kepe his place, but au

tumn cannot bide;

For when he hath brought furth his fruits, and stuft the barnes with corn,

Then winter eates and empties all, and thus in

autumn worn.

Then hory frostes possesse the place, then tempestes work much harm,

Then rage of stormes done make al cold, which somer had made so warm.

Wherfore let no man put his trust in that, that will decay, [weare away. For slipper wealth will not continue, pleasure will For when that we haue lost our lyfe, and lye under a stone, [pleasure gone, What are we then; we are but earth, then is our No man can tell what God almight of every wight doth cast, [shall last. No man can say, to day I live, till morne my life For when thou shalt before thy judge staud to receiue thy dome, [of thee become. What sentance Minos doth pronounce that must Then shall not noble stocke and bloud redeme thee from his handes, [from his bandes:

Nor sugred talke with eloquence shall loose thee Nor yet thy life vprightlye led can helpe there

out of hell,

For who desendeth downe so depe, must there abide and dwell.

Diana could not thence deliuer chast Hypolitus, Nor Theseus could not call to lyfe his frend Perithous.

A COMPLAINT OF THE LOSSE OF LIBERTIE BY LOUE.

IN seking rest, vnrest 1 finde,

I fynde that welth is cause of wo. Wo worth the time that 1 inclinde To fixe in minde her beauty so.

That day be darkned as the night;
Let furious rage it cleane denour;
Ne sunne nor moone therin giue light,
But it consume with streame and showre.

Let no small birds strayne forth their voyce,
With pleasant tunes, ne yet no beast
Finde cause whereat he may reioyce
That day when chaunced mine vnrest.

Wherin alas, from me was raught
Myne owne free choyce and quiet minde,
My lyfe, my death in balance braught,
And reason rasde through barke and rinde.

And I as yet in flower of age,
Both wit and will did still aduaunce,
Ay to resist that burning rage:
But when I darte then did I glaunce.

Nothing to me did seme so bye,
In minde I could it strait attaine;
Fansy perswaded me therby,
Loue to esteme a thing most vaine.

But as the bird upon the bryer

Doth pricke and proyne her without care,
Not knowing alas (poore foole) how nere
She is unto the fowlers snare:

So I amid deceitfull trust
Did not mistrust such woful happe;
Till cruel loue, ere that I wist,
Had caught me in his carefull trappe.

Then did I fele and partly know
How little force in me did raigne,
So soon to yelde to ouerthrowe,
So frayle to flit from ioy to paine.

From when in welth will did me leade,
Of libertie to hoyse my saile,

To hale at shete, and cast my leade,
I thought free choyce would still preuaile.
In whose calme streames I sailde so farre,
No raging storme had in respect,
Untill I raisde a goodly starre,
Wherto my course I did direct.

In whose prospect in doolfull wise,
My tacle failde, my cumpasse brake
Through hote desires such stormes did rise,
That stern and top went all to wrake.

Oh cruell hap, oh fatall chaunce,
O fortune why wert thou vnkinde,
Without regard thus in a traunce,
To reue from me my ioyful minde?

Where I was free now must I serue,
Where I was lose now am I bound;
In death my life I do preserue,
As one through girt with many a wound.

A PRAISE OF HIS LADYE. GEUE place you ladies and be gone, Boast not your selues at all,

For here at hande approcheth one,
Whose face will staine you all.

Farewell, my deare therfore, farewell to me wel knowne,

If that I die it shal be said that thou hast slaine thine owne.

AN ANSWERE OF COMFORT. THESTILIS, thou sely man, why dost thou so complayne?

If nedes thy loue will thee forsake, thy mourning is in vayne. [course to runne, For none can force the streames against their Nor yet unwilling loue with tears or wailing can be wonne. [sorowes ease, Cease thou therefore thy plaintes, let hope thy The shipmen though their sails be rent, yet hope to scape the seas.

Though strange she seme a while, yet thinke she

will not change.

Good causes drive a ladies loue, sometime to seme full strange. [happe, No louer that bath wit, but can foresee such That no wight can at wish or will slepe in his ladies lappe.

Achilles for a time faire Brises did forgo, Yet did they mete with ioy againe; then think thou maist do so. [do finde, Though he, and louers al, in loue sharpe stormes Dispair not thou, pore Thestilis, though thy loue seme unkind,

Ah think her graffed loue cannot so sone decay, Hie springes may cease from swelling still, but never drye away. [encrease Oft stormes of louers yre, do more their loue As shyning sunne refreshe the frutes, when raining gins to cease. [flowe again When springes are waxen lowe, then must they So shall thy hart aduanced be, to pleasure out of paine. [peres, When lacke of thy delight most bitter grief apThinke on Etrascus worthy loue, that lasted thirty yeres, [syred choyce. Which could not long atcheue, his hartes deYet at the ende he found rewarde, that made him to reioyce. [maine, Since he so long in hope with pacience did reCannot thy feruent loue forbeare thy loue a month or twaine? [forgo, Admit she minde to chaunge, and nedes will thee Is there no mo may thee delight, but she that paynes thee so? [done, Thestilis draw to the towne, and loue as thou hast In tyme thou knowest by faithfull loue, as good as she is wonne. [alone, And leaue the desert woodes and wayling thus And seke to salue thy sore elsewhere, if all her loue be gone.

THE LOUER PRAIETH PITY, SHOWING
THAT NATURE HATH TAUGHT HIS
DOG, AS IT WERE, TO SUE FOR THE
SAME BY KISSING HIS LADIES
HANDES.

NATURE that taught my sely dog, God wat
Euen for my sake to licke where I do loue,

A pen of no auayle, a fruitles labour eke, My troubled hed with fansies fraught, doth paine it selfe to seke:

And if perhaps my wordes of none auaile do pricke Such as do fele the hidden harmes, I would not they should kicke, [no harme, As causelesse me to blame which thinketh them Although I seme by others fire, sometime my self to warmie,

Which clerely I deny, as giltlesse of that crime,

And though wrong demde I be therin, truth it wyll trie in time,

-TYME TRYETH TRUETH.

ECHE thing I see hath tyme, which tyme must trye my trouth,

Which truth deserues a special trust, on trust
gret frendship groweth ;
[found;
And frendship may not faile where faithfulnesse is
And faithfulnesse is full of fruite, and frutful thinges
be sounde.
[of prayse,
And sound is good at proofe, and proofe is prince
And precious praise is such a pearle, as seldome
nere decayes.
[must abide,
All these thinges time tries fourth, which time I
How should I boldly credite craue till time my
truth haue tride;

For as I found a time to fall in fansies frame,
So I do wishe a lucky time for to declare the same.
If hap may aunswere hope, and hope may haue

My mirth and ioyes are fled, And I a man in wo; Desirous to be ded,

My mischief to forgo.

I burne and am a colde,
I freze amids the fire,
I se she doth withold
That is my most desire.

I see my helpe at hande,
I see my life also,

I see where she doth stande
That is my deadly fo.

I see how she doth see,
And yet she wyll be blinde,
I see in helping me,
She sekes and wyll not finde.

I se how she doth wry,
When I begin to mone,
I see when I come nye,
How faine she would be gone.

I see, what wyll ye more? She wyll me gladly kyll; And you shall see therfore That she shall have her wyll.

I cannot liue with stones,
It is to hard a food,

I will be dead at ones
To do my lady good.

THE PICTURE OF A LOUER. BEHOLD my picture here wel portrayed for the nones, [very bones. With hart consumed and falling flesh, behold the Whose cruel chauuce alas, and desteny is such, Onely because I put my trust in some folke all

to much.

For since the time that I did enter into this pine, I neuer saw the rising sunne but with my weping eyen; Nor yet I neuer heard so swete a voice or sound, But that to me it did encrease the dolour of my wounde.

Nor in so soft a bedde, alas I neuer lay, But that it semed hard to me or euer it was day. Yet in this body bare, that nought but life retaines, [yet still remaines, The strength whereof clene past away, the care Like as the cole in flame doth spend it self you [sumed be.

se,

To vaine and wretched cinder dust till it conSo doth this hope of mine enforce my feruent sute, [eate the frute; To make me for to gape in vayne, whilst other And shall do tyll that death doth geue me such a

EMBRACETH DEATH.

leade,

[dead. This epitaph vpon my graue, to shew why I am Here lyeth the louer lo, who for the loue he aught, Aliue vnto his ladie dere, his death thereby he

caught.