If Cressydes name were not so knowen, And written wide on euery wall: If brute of pryde were not so blowen, Upon Angelica1 withall:

For hault disdayne thou mightst be she, Or Cresside for inconstancie,

And in reward of thy desart,
I hope at last to see thee payd:
With deepe repentaunce for thy part,
Which thou hast now so lewedly playd.
Medoro hee must bee thy make,
Since thou Orlando doest for sake.

Such is the fruite that groweth alwaies,
Upon the roote of ripe disdaine:
Such kindly wages Cupide payes,
Where constant hearts cannot remaine,
I hope to see thee in such bandes,

When I may laugh and clappe my handes.

But yet for thee I must protest, But sure the faulte is none of thine, Thou art as true as is the best, That euer came of Cressedes lyne: For constant yet was neuer none, But in vnconstancie alone.

Meritum petere, graue.

MARS IN DESPITE OF VULCANE WRITTEN FOR AN ABSENT louer (parteD FROM HIS LADY BY SEA.)

BоTH deepe and dreadfull were the Seas,
Which held Leander from his loue,
Yet could no doubtes his mind appease,
Nor saue his life for hir behoue:
But guiltlesse bloud it selfe would spill,
To please the waues and worke his wyll.

O greedye gulfe, O wretched waues,
O cruell floods, O sinke of shames,
You holde true louers bound like slaues,
And keepe them from their worthy Dames:
Your open mouth gapes euermore,
Tyll one or both be drowned therefore.

For proofe whereof my selfe maye sing,
And shrich to pearce the loftye skies,
Whose Lady left me languishing,
Uppon the shoare in woofull wise.
And crost the Seas out of my sight,
Wherby I lost my chiefe delight.

She sayd that no snch trustlesse flood,
Should keepe our loues (long time) in twayne:
She sware no bread shoulde doe hyr good,
Till she might see my selfe agayne.
She sayd and swore these wordes and mo.
But now I finde them nothing so.

What resteth then for me to doo,
Thou salte sea foome come saye thy mind?
Should I come drowne within thee to,
That am of true Leanders kind?
And headlong cast this corpes of mine,
Into this greedy guttes of thine.

■ Angelica refusing the most famous knights in the whole worlde, chose at last Medoro a poore seruing man.

LENUOIE.

PATIENCE PERFORCE,

trust:

But call to minde how long Vlisses was, In lingring absence, from his louing make: And howe she deigned then hir dayes to passe, In solitary silence for his sake.

Be thou a true Penelope to me,

And thou shalt sone thine owne Vlisses see.

What sayd I? sone? yea sone I saye againe,

I wyll come sone and soner if I maye:
Beleeue me nowe it is a pinching payne,
To thinke of loue, when louers are awaye.
Such thoughts I haue, and when I thinke on thee,
My thoughtes are there, whereas my bones would
bee.

The longing lust which Priames sonne of Troye,
Had for to see his Cresside come againe:
Could not exceede the depth of mine anoye,
Nor seeme to passe the patterne of my payne.
I fryse in hope, I thaw in bote desire,
Farre from the flame, and yet I burne like fire.

Wherfore deare friend, thinke on the pleasures past,

And let my teares, for both our paines suffise:
The lingring ioyes, when as they come at last,
Are bet then those, which passe in posting wise,
And I my selfe, to proue this tale is true,
In hast, post hast, thy comfort will renew:
Meritum petere, graue.

A LETTER DEUISED FOR A YONG LOUER.

RECEIVE you worthy Dame, this rude and ragged [nowe rehearse.

verse,

Lend wylling eare vnto the tale, which I shall And though my witlesse woordes might mooue you for to smile, [my stile. Yet trust to that which I shal tel, and neuer marke Amongst fiue hundreth Dames, presented to my view, [you. I find most cause by due desert, to like the best of I see your beautie such, as seemeth to suffice, To binde my heart in linckes of loue, by iudge[desire, And but your bounty quench, the coales of quicke I feare that face of yours wyll set, ten thousand hearts on fire.

ment of myne eyes.

But bounty so aboundes, aboue al my desart, As that I quake and shrinke for feare, to shewe you of my smart.

[repent, Yet since mine eye made choice, my hart shal not But yeeld it self vnto your wyl, and therwith stand [not much, God knowth I am not great, my power it is The greater glorye shall you gaine, to shew your

content.

fauour suche. And what I am or haue, all that I yeeld to you, My hande and sworde shall serue alwayes, to proue my tongue is true.

Then take me for your owne, and so I wyl be still, Beleeue me nowe, I make this vowe, in hope of your good wyll.

[change,

Which if I may obtaine, God leaue me when I

His worthie race he (recklesse) doth forget,
With small regarde in great affaires he reeles,
His braynes in brake that whirled still on wheeles.
No counsell graue, nor good aduise can set
For if Byrhena coulde haue helde him backe,
From Venus court where he nowe nusled was,
His lustie limmes had neuer founde the lacke
Had not bene blazed on his bloud and bones,
Of manlie shape: the figure of an Asse,
To wound his will with torments all attones.
But Fotis she,

Who sawe this Lording whitled with the cup
Pourde out apace, and fillde the Mazor rp,
Of vaine delight, wherof he gan to tast:
She greazde this guest with sause of Sorcerie,
With drunken hole: yea after that in hast,
And fedde his minde with knacks both queint and
Lo here the treazon and the trecherie [strange:
For Lucius thinking to become a foule,
Of gadding girles, when they delight to range.
Became a foole, yea more than that, an Asse,

A bobbing blocke, a beating stocke, an owle,
Well woondred at in place where he did passe:
And spent his time, his trauaile and his cost,
To purchase payne and all his labor lost.

Yet I pore I,
Who make of thee my Folys and my frende,
In like delight my youthfull yeares to spend :
Do hope thou wilt from such soure sause defend,
David thy King.
Meritum petere graue.

strange.

Meritum petere, graue.

DAUIDS SALUTACIONS TO BERZABE Wherein are three sonets in sequence, written vppon this occation. The deuiser hereof amongst other friendes had named a gentlewoman his Berzabe, and she was content to call him hir Dauid. The man presented his Lady with a booke of the Golden Asse, written by Lucius Apuleius, and in the beginning of the booke wrote this sequence. You must conferre it with the Historye of Apuleius, for else it wyll haue small grace.

THIS Apuleius was in Affricke borne,
And tooke delight to tranaile Thessaly,
As one that helde his natiue soyle in skorne,
In foraine coastes to feede his fantasie.
And such againe as wandring wits find out,
This yonker woune by wyll and weary toyle,
A youth mispent, a doting age in doubt,
A body brusd with many a beastly broyle,
A presaunt pleasure passing on a pace,
And paynting plaine the path of penitence,
A frollicke fauour foyld with fowle disgrace,
When hoary heares should claime their reuerence.
Such is the fruite that growes on gadding trees,
Such kynd of mell most moueth busie Bees.

For Lucius he,
Esteeming more one ounce of present sport,
Than elders doe a pound of perfect wit:
First to the bowre of beautie doth resorte,
And there in pleasure passed many a fitte,

AS APPEARETH HERE BY AN VNCOURTEOUS
FAREWEL TO AN INCONSTANT DAME.

If what you want, you (wanton) had at will,
A stedfast minde, a faythfull louing heart:
If what you speake you woulde performe it still,
If from your worde your deede did not reuerte:
If youthfull yeares your thoughtes did not so rule,
As elder dayes may scorne your friendship fraile,
Your doubled fansie would not thus recule,
For peeuish pryde which nowe I must bewaile.
For Cresside faire did Troilus neuer loue,
More deare than I esteemde your freamed cheare,
Whose wauering wayes (since nowe I do them
proue)

By true reporte this witnesse with me beare:
That if your friendship be not to deare bought,
The price is great that nothing giues for nought.
Meritum petere graue.

THE STEELE GLAS

A SATYRE COMPILED BY GEORGE GASCOIGNE ESQUIERE TOGETHER WITH THE COMPLAINTE OF PHYLOMENE. AN ELEGIE DEUISED BY THE SAME AUTHOR.

To the Right honorable his singuler good Lord, the L. Graye of Wilton, Knight of the most honorable order of the Garter, George 'Gascoigne Esquire wisheth long life, with encrease of honour, according to his great worthinesse.

Right honorable, noble, and my singuler good Lord: if mine abilitie were any way correspond

And what performance he thereof doth make
I list not vaunt, his works for me shal saie,
In praising him Tinantes trade I take,
Who when he should the woful cheare displaie
Duke Agamemnon had when he did waile
His daughters death with teares of small auaile.

Not skilde to countershape his mournful grace
That men might deeme what art could not supplie,
Deuisde with painted vaile to shroude his face
Like sort my pen shal Gascoignes praise discrie,
Which wanting grace his graces to reherse,
Doth shroude and cloude them thus in silent verse.

Then since I see that rimes can seldom reach
Vnto the top of such a statelie towre,
By reasons force I mean to make some breach
Which yet maie help my feble fainting power
That so at last my Muse maie enter in,
And reason rule, that rime could neuer win.

Such batring tire this pamphlet here bewraies
In rimeles verse which thundreth mighty threts
And where it finds that vice the wall decaies,
Even there amaine with sharpe rebukes it beates
The work think I deserues an honest name,
If not, I faile to winne this sort of Fame.
Tam Marti, quam Mercurio.

WALTER RAWELIE OF THE MIDDLE TEMPLE, IN COMMENDATION OF THE STEELE GLAS.

SWEET were the sauce would please each kind of

tast

The life likewise were pure that neuer swerued, For spiteful tongues in cankred stomacks plast,

THE Nightingale, whose happy noble hart,
No dole can daunt, nor feareful force affright,
Whose chereful voice, doth comfort saddest wights,
When she hir self, hath little cause to sing,

ed,

But what for that? this medicine maie suffice,
To scorne the rest, and seeke to please the wise.
Though sundrie mindes in sundrie sort doe deeme,
Yet worthiest wights yelde praise for euerie paine,
But enuious braines doe nought (or light) esteeme,
Such statelie steps as they cannot attaine:
For who so reapes renowne aboue the rest,
With heapes of hate, shall surelie be opprest.
Wherefore to write my censure of this booke,
This Glasse of Steele vnpartiallie doth shewe,
Abuses all to such as in it looke,

From prince to poore, from high estate to lowe,
As for the verse, who lift like trade to trie,
1 feare me much shall hardlie reach so hie.

NICHOLAS BOWYER IN COMMENDATION OF THIS
WORKE.

FROM laies of loue to Satyres sadde and sage,
Our Poet turnes the trauaile of his time,
And as he pleasde, the veine of youthful age,
With pleasant pen, emploide in louing rime:
So now he seekes the grauest to delight,
With works of worth much better than they shew.
This glas of steele if it be markt aright
Discries the faults as wel of hie as lowe,
And Philomelas fourfold iust complaint
In sugred sound doth shroud a solemn sence
Gainst those whom lust or murder doth ataint
Loe this we see is Gascoignes good pretence,
To please al sorts with his praiseworthie skill,
Then yeld him thanks in signe of like good will.

THE AUTHOR TO THE READER.

To vaunt were vaine, and flatter were a fault But trueth to tell there is a sort of Fame The which I seeke by science to assault, And so to leaue remembrance of my name, The wals wherof are wondrous hard to clime And much too hie for ladders made of rime.

She wraies their woes, and yet relieues their payne,
Whom worthy mindes, alwayes esteemed much,
And grauest yeares, haue not disdainde his notes:
With murdring knife, did carue hir pleasant tong,
Only that king proud Tereus by his name
To couer so, his owne foule filthy fault)
This worthy bird, hath taught my weary Muze,
To sing a song, in spight of their despight, ?
Which worke my woe, withouten cause or crime,
And make my backe, a ladder for their feete,
By slaundrous steppes, and stayres of tickle talke
To clime the throne, wherin my selfe should sitte.
O Philomene, then help me now to chaunt:
And if dead beastes, or living byrdes have ghosts,
Which can conceiue the cause of carefull mone,
When wrong triumphes, and right is ouertrodde,
Then helpe me now, O byrd of gentle bloud,
In barrayne verse, to tell a frutefull tale,
A tale (I meane) which may content the mindes
Of learned men, and graue Philosophers.

And you my Lord (whose happe hath heretofore
Bene, louingly to reade my reckles rimes,
And yet have deignde, with fauor to forget
The faults of youth, which past my hasty pen:
And therwithall, haue graciously vouchsafte,
To yeld the rest, much more than they deservde)
Vouchsafe (lo now) to reade and to peruse, [mind.
This rimles verse, which flowes from troubled
Synce that the line, of that false caytife king,
(Which rauished fayre Phylomene for lust,
And then cut out, her trustie tong for hate)
Liues yet (my Lord) which words I weepe to write.
They liue, they liue, (alas the worse my lucke)
Whose greedy lust, vnbridled from their brest,
Hath raunged long about the world so wyde
To finde a pray for their wide open mouthes,
And me they found, (O wofull tale to tell)
Whose harmelesse hart, perceivde not this deceit.
But that my Lord, may playnely vnderstand,
The mysteries, of all that I do meane,

I am not he whom slaunderous tongues haue told,
(False tongues in dede, and craftie subtile braines)
To be the man, which ment a common spoyle
Of louing dames, whose cares wold heare my words
Or trust the tales deuised by my pen.