TRAGICALL Tales translated by TVRBERVILE In time of his troubles out of sundrie Italians, with the Argument and Lenuoye to eche Tale
Nocet empta dolare voluptus
Imprinted at London by Abell Ieffs, dwelling in the Forestreete without Crepelgate at the signe of the Bell Anno Dom. 1587.
TO THE WORSHIPfull his louing Brother Nicholas Turberuille Esquire.
ALbeit your many and great curtesies bestowed on me, deserue sundry, and no slender thankes from me: Neuerthelesse mine insufficiencie pleading for mine excuse, and d [...]sabilitie dealing in my behalfe, doe hope to receiue from you no lesse good liking for a small req [...]all, than he that ye [...]lds you a treble recompence. Let it suffise that J liue no vn [...]indfull man of your goodness, nor will be found vngratefull for your gentleness, [Page]if euer fortune fauour my desires or allow me mean to make leuell with your good desarts. Till when, I present you this little boke, as well the vndoubted badge of my good remēbr̄ace, as the gretest par [...] of my slender substance. Following herein seabeaten soldiers, and miserable mariners, who in auncient age aster their happy ariuals, acc [...]stomed to hang vp in the temple before their sacred Goddes, their brokē oares, & ragged sayles, with such like reliks, the assured monuments of their lametable fortunes and persit pledges of late escaped dangers. Which cōmendable custome [Page]of those thankefull Ethnicks I both alow for good, and follow at this instant as fully apperteyning to my present [...]late, in dedicating to you these few Poeticall parers, and pensine Pamphlets, the rusul records of my former trauel, in the sorowful sea of my late misa duentures: which hauing the more spedily by your carefull and brotherly endeuour, ouerpassed & escaped could not but offer you this treatise in lieu of a more large liberalitie, & in steed of a greater gift, presuming of good acceptance at your hādes, who haue alwayes been my most assured shielde, and strongest [Page]slay in all my life. Wherefore take these (I pray you) in no worse part than meane them, and at leasure for your pleasure peruse them, excusing my lacke of learning, and brooking my want of cunning, both which defaults and imperfections, might haue bene sufficient to haue staied my hastie hande: but that J euer chose rather to be reputed of straungers vnskilfull, than to be condemned of my best friendes for vngratefull: for the one proceedes for lacke of industrie, but that other growes for want of humanitie. J leaue to trouble you further, recomending you to the Tragicall [Page] [...] delight you, I pray you peruse [...] aught offend you, eftsoone refuse it: if any history deserue reading▪ of curtesie respect it: if any seeme vnworthy, doe boldly reiect it. J fauour not the best so well, as J will wish [...] your trouble in surneying the euill whose indeuour was onely to this ende, to doe you pleasure and seruice, for your auncient goodness [...] towardes me, that am your bounden brother, and wholy to rea [...] yours during life.
George Turberuile
[...] friend [...] Baynes.
M
[...] worde
[...] wish, my det, and thy desire,
[...] booke (my
Baynes) lo here I send
To the at
[...] as friendship doth require,
[...] willes it rather left vnpend,
[...] the same the Authour should not shend:
[...] blush who lust, so thou do like the works,
[...] shall no longer lurke.
[...]r
[...]se ech page as leysure giues thee leaue,
[...] each verse thus ragged as they lie,
Let nothing slip whereby I may receiue
[...] all checke of curio as readers eie:
[...]
[...]ll I know how haut thy muse doth flie:
[...]herefore I yeeld this foule mishapen Beare,
[...] thy choise, to tender or to teare.
Wherein if
[...]ught vnworth the presse thou finde,
[...] or, that seemes vnto thy taste,
[...] to the troubles of my minde,
Wh
[...]se late mishap made this be hatcht in haste,
[...] of care best beauties be defaste:
Lik
[...]se be wittes and freshest heads to sceke,
Which way to write, when fortune list to stre
[...]k
[...].
Who know
[...]y cares, who wist my wailefull woe,
(As thou
[...] to the same)
Or vnderstoode how griefe did ouergrow
The pleasaunt plot which I for myrth did frame
VVould beare with this, and quite me clean of blame
For in my life I neuer felt such fittes,
As whilst I wrote this worke did daunt my wittes
For as the Pilot in the wrathfull waue,
Beset with stormes, still beaten too and fro
VVith boysteous bellowes, knowes not howe to saume
His sielie barke, but lets the rudder goe.
And yeeldes himselfe whither tempest list to blowe
So I amidde my cares had slender skill,
To write in verse, but bowde to fortunes will.
The more thy paine, thy trouble and thy toile,
That must amend amisse eache faulte of mine,
Yet grudge not (Baynes) with share to turne the soile
In sorte as though the same were wholie thine,
The charge whereof, loe here I do refine
For want of health, my friend at large to thee,
Since that my limmes with greef surcharged be.
Apollos lore I quite haue layde aside,
And am enforst his Phificke to peruse:
I hate the Harpe, wherein was all my pride,
I hunte for hearbes, I lothe Mineruas muse,
My want of health, makes me my booke refuse:
The blo
[...]ting rage that erst inspirde my braine,
Satu
[...]s chill
[...]g humour doth restraine.
Wherefore fith I confesse my want of skill,
And am to secke to better this my booke,
S
[...] (Baines) thou runne vnto Parnassus hill,
As Helicon, or else that learned brooke,
Which Pegase made, when he the soile-fosooke:
For well thou knowst, where Clio and the rest,
Dei
[...]une their Lutes, and pipe with pleasant brest.
I can no more, but for thy mickle paine,
Yeeld thousand thankes vpon my naked knee,
And if thou neede the like supply againe,
Assure thy selfe then I will pleasure thee:
So friends vnto each other bounden be.
(
[...]y Baynes) Adew, this little booke of mine,
When thou hast done, may best be termed thine.
Thy friend, George Turberuile.
Ro. Baynes to the Reader, in the due commendation of the Author.
WHat waight of graue aduice, what reson left vnsaught,
What more, of Pallas braine hath tast, than Poets pens haue taught.
Whose povvdred saaes are mixt, with pleasure, and delight:
Aduising this, forewarning that,
[...]irecting still the right.
Which vaine though Grecians first, & Romaines after found:
Yet now the same in English phrase, doth gorgeously abound.
A vertue lately wonne, to this our natiue foile:
By such as seeke, their countrey praise, though to their greater toile.
Among the rest, who hath, employed therein more paine?
Or who? than Turberuill hath found, in verse a svveeter vaine?
Whose quill, though yet it tread, the path of greene delight:
The same vvho vevves, shall find his lines, vvith learned reason dight.
And as to elder age, his stayed braine shall grow:
So falling from, his riper penne, more graue conceits may flovv.
The vvhile, let ech man reape, the pleasure that he lends.
The cost is free, his charge but small, an others wealth that spends.
The subiect here, is such, as differs farre from pelse:
I deeme thee vvise, thy iudgement good, the thing will praise it self.
Qui nihil sperat nihil disperat.
The argument to the first Historie.
THrough wilful loue, and liking ouermuch,
Nastagios state did melt, and without returne
Of like good will: Euphymiu
[...] min
[...]e was
[...]uel
She felt no flame, when he, g
[...]od man, did bu
[...]
But made hi
[...] griefe her gl
[...],
[...] bitter
[...]marre
Might nothing rize or pierce her marble harte.
By friendes aduise at last he parted thence,
Though greatly gree
[...]ed, remouing racke him sore,
To quit the cause of al his fond expence,
And purchase case which he had lost before:
A death (no doub
[...]) it was to put away,
And yet no life with her in place to stay.
Beholde the happ, as he ful pensiue stoode
Amyd a groue adioyning to his tent,
Recounting former toyes: athwart the wood
With cruell curres an armed knight there went,
That had in chace a frotion fresh of hewe,
Whom he by force of sword and mastiues
[...]lewe.
And after death this lady liude againe
Vp start away she ran before the Knight,
For thus the Goddes alotted had her paine,
Bycause she slewe by scorne that
[...]uing wight:
In death he was her plague wh
[...] me
[...]e in life
Enforst to slay himselfe with mutthering knife.
Nastagio pondering in his restlesse thought
As wel the requely, as the cause of all.
Seing that skorne the ladies penance wrought.
For dealing earst so hardely with hir thrall:
Bethought him howe to make a my
[...]rour right
Both of the mayde, and eke the cursed knight.
His plat was thus: he byd in friendly sort
Vnto his tente, to feast and banket there
His auncient loue, that made his payne hir sporte,
Whose mother came and diuers friendes I feare,
Amyds the feast the knight pursude the mayde,
And slevve hi
[...] there, as I before haue sayde.
Which sight amazde the route, but most of all
That virgin coye, so carelesse of the man
Be gonne to quake it toucht her to the gall,
And therevpon hir liking first began.
For after that she woxe h
[...]s wife at last,
Dreading the gods reuenge for rigour past.
IN
Italie there is a Citie, hight
Rauenna, by report as braue a place
As may be found, both fresh & fair to sight
Wherein of yore there was a noble race
Of gallant wights, great choise of men of fame,
But one in chief,
Nastagio by name.
The father of this forward ympe did dye,
Forespent with yéeres, and load with siluer locks,
VVhose laud and fee descended orderly
Vnto the Sonne, with store of other stocks:
Few fathers of this aged mans degrée,
In so good case did leaue their sonnes as hée.
This might suffice to make
Nastagio rich,
But,
where wealth is, there lightlie followes more,
For hée an vncle had, who gaue as mych
At time of death, as father left before:
The wealth of thefe two rych renowmed wights,
Iu little space vpon
Nastagio lights.
Not one in all
Rauenna might compare
With him for wealth, or matcht him for his muck:
He liude at full, not tasting any care,
But tooke his time, and vsde his golden luck:
Not wanting ought that fitted for his state,
By meane of flowing wealth full warme he sate.
This youth his wanton prime without a wife,
Retchlesse consumde, and liude in single sort,
Estéeming that to be the blessed life,
Because he found it stuft with glée and sporte:
As yonkers that at randon vse to range,
Refuse to wed, because they loue to change.
Vntill at length his roauing eies hée kest
Vpon a wench, and tooke so perfect view
Of
Graces that did harbour in her brest,
As streight to liking of this maid he gre
[...]
His fansie fed vpon hir featurde lookes,
In sort as none saue her this gallant br
[...]kes.
Who doublesse was a neate and noble Dame,
Trauersar cleaped was her worthir Sire,
And she herselfe
Euphymia cald by name,
As fresh of hewe as men might well desire:
With her I say,
Nastagio fell in loue,
Whose setled choyse no reason might remoue.
Her christall eyes had lurcht his yéelding heart,
And razde his bending hreast by often glaunce,
Her glittering locks so queyntly coucht by art,
Had brought this youth to such a louing traunce,
As all his care was how to compasse grace,
From her whom he so derely did imbrace.
Then as it is the trade of
Cupids
[...]nghts)
He fell to feast, where lackt no daintie fare,
To come be forraine cates that breede delights,
For no expence this courtly wight would spare.
Hée vsde the tilt on Ienate trapt with gold,
To please his
Donnas eyes with courage bold.
For if she be a noble Dame in déede,
Shée pleasure takes to view a man
[...]e knight.
In armour
[...]lad, bestriding of his stéed:
And doth detest the base and coward wight,
For that the valiant will defend her fame,
When carpet squires will hide their heads withshame.
Thus wasted he the day in Loue deuice,
And spene the nights with costly musikes found,
In hope at length this virgin to entice
To salue his
[...]ore, and care his couert wounde:
Nothing was left in any point vndone,
VVhereby the loue of Ladies might be wonne:
By letters he vnfolder all his fittes,
By message eke imparted all his paine,
His moiumfull lines be
[...]aid his mazed wits,
His songs of loue declarde his passions plaiue:
The rockiest heart aliue it would haue movde,
To sée how well this noble man had loude,
Yet eruell shée, when he had done and saide
The most he might to moue her stonie heart,
To like of him might not at all be waide,
For shée was struck with Cupids Leaden dart,
Whose chilling cold had bound her bowels so,
As in no wise she could abridge his wo.
But how much more the louer made his mone,
Suing for ruth and well deserued grace,
The more shée sate vnmoued, like the stone,
Whom waues do beat, but wag not from his place:
Either beauties pride or stately flocke did force
This haughtie dame from pitie and remorce.
Shée rigorouslie refusde, and tooke disdaine,
So much as once to yéeld him friendlie cheare,
Who for her sake had bid such bitter paine,
As any tender heart would bléed to heare:
And in reward of all his friendship past,
Shée gaue him leaue to spoile himselfe at last.
Wherto through déep dispaire his mind was bēt
In hope thereby to end his wretched woe,
Because he saw her malice not relent,
Who for good will became his deadlie foe:
For in such cuse aye death is counted light,
Where men may not enioy their sweete delight.
His wilfull hand was armde with naked knife,
And euen at point to giue the fatall stroke,
By short dispatch of loathed lingring life,
To ridde his wearie neck of heauie yoke:
But life was swéete, and he to liue, would leaue
The Dame, from whom he might no ruth receiue.
When Fansie saw his raging humour cease,
And Reason challenge rule, and charge againe,
Whereby his fond affection woulde decease,
And hée be quit of all his former paine:
To kéepe him in, and hold his louer fast,
She gaue him Hope, to come by loue at last.
Thus diners thoughts did soiourne in his brest,
Sometimes he meant himselfe with sword to slay,
An other time to leaue to loue was best:
Some other while affection bare the sway:
VVas neuer man belowe the starrie skie,
So loth to liue, and yet so woe to die.
For why? in life he found himself a thrall,
Vnable aye to compasse his delight:
And yet by death there was no hope at all,
For then he was assurde to loose her quight:
So neither life nor death might ease his minde,
That by the Gods was thus to loue assignde.
VVhilst thus
Nastagio sought his owne decay,
By liquorous lust, his friendes and nearest kinn
[...]
Perceiuing how his wealth did wast away,
And that his bodie pinde and waxed thinne:
Did diuers times their friendly counsell giue,
That from
Rauenna he abroade should liue.
For change of place perhaps wold purchase helth
And absence cause his foolish fancies weare:
They did not leaue to tell him how his wealth
And all things els consumde, and melted there.
But scornefull he did scoffe their good aduise,
And had their grauest wordes in slender price.
As louers wont, who fancie nothing lesse
Than speeches tending all to their auaile:
Not much vnlike the lame, for whose redresse.
When counsell commes, they lightlie turne their taile,
Loathing to lend an eare to holsome lore,
Of such as seeke to salue their lingring sore.
Yet they like friends would neuer blin or stint,
To shew him meanes to better his estate:
VVhereby,
As often drops do pearce the flint,
So they at length by many speeches, gare
His frée consent to trauell for a space,
To trie what chaunce would hap by change of place.
Judge you that loue, and can discerne aright,
How great annoy departure bredde in minde
To him that loude a passing proper wight:
(Though not belovde) & now must leaue behinde
The idoll that was shrinde within his brest
Whose rife remembrance lowde him little rest.
But yet away for promise sake he would,
All needfull things were ready for the saius,
Both cates and coyne, with plate of beaten gold:
And for his better comfort, kinsmen came,
Who ioyed to see him part away from thence,
VVhere she abode that caus
[...] his lewde expence.
To fo
[...]a
[...]n
[...] coast
Nastagio now was bent,
But not resolode what speciall place to see,
Eyther
Flounders, France; or
Spaine, I think he ment
For that these seates of ciuile nature be:
To make it short, hée tooke his horse in peast,
And so departs the soyle he fansied most.
They had not trauailde farre, before they came
Vnto a place, that from
Rauenna stood
Three miles or thereaboue the village name
VVas
Classye, there
Nastagio thought it good
To make abo
[...]de for ease and solace sake,
VVherefore he pight his tent, and thus bespoke.
In thank you (friends quoth hée) with all my hart,
I hold my selfe indebted for your paine,
Now here you may (if so you list) depart,
And to
Rauenna shape returne againe:
For I and mine will respite here a spare,
I like the seate, and fancie well the place.
Here doe I meane to make assured stay,
Vntill the rufull Gods doe ease my woe,
And
Capide chase my sorowes cleane away,
I purpose not a foote from hence to goe:
Lo here I pledge my faith to come no more
Vnto the soyle where I receiude my sore.
VVhich promise if I hold, you haue your willes,
VVho gaue aduise and counsell to the same:
There restes no more your pensine friend fulfils
A beauie charge, to flee so faire a Doine,
As to my do
[...]ne, there are not many moe,
To match with her, whose beautie breedes my woe.
But well, content I am, a
[...] your request
To liue exilde, in manner as you see,
I will
[...]o more procure mine owne burest,
By louing her that leat
[...]es to pitte me:
And hauing thus at full doclard his minde,
They tooke their leaues, he pausde and staid binde.
Thus he al plasure lodge, did banket more,
And led his life at greater libertie.
Than in
Ranenna he had done of yore:
Hée did excéede for courtly iolitie,
There wanted no delight that youth doth craud,
VVhich he for coyne or any cost might haue.
And whylom, as his auncient custome was,
For diuers of his friendes he vsde to send,
In gladsome ioyes the wearie day to passe:
VVhereby no loue care might his ease offend:
VVas neuer wight that liude in greater glée,
Nor spent his time in brauer sort than hée.
VVhen May, with motly robes began his raigne,
(A lustie time for euery louing lad)
Nastagio pondering in his busie braine,
The slender hyre that he receiued had,
And foule repulse for all his good desart,
Gan walke abrode, and wild his groomes to part.
VVhereby he might the better call to thought,
The causelesse rigour of the cruell Dame:
VVhose smal regard his former spoil had wrought
And turnde his torments into pleasaunt game:
Along he paced into a gladsome groue,
VVhilst in his head ten thousand fancies stroue.
There stalkte he on, as soft as foote could tread,
In déepe discourse of beautie and disdaine,
Vntill himselfe a mile or more he lead.
Into the Coppyse, not hauing any traine:
So long he staide, as dinner time drew neare,
VVhich he forgot, not minding bellye cheare.
Loe sée the hap, that him did there betide,
VVithin a while he heard a dolefull noyse,
Of one that in the groue full shrilly cryde,
Who séemde to be a virgin by her voyce:
The sodayne feare so much amazde the man,
As streight to leaue his pleasant thoughers he gan,
Vplifted he his head, and glewde aboute
To sée what woofull wight it was and why
She so exclamde, and made such sodaine shoute:
And as alongst the lawnde he kest his eye,
A naked
Nympbe well shapte in euery lym,
With spéedie pace, he sawe come towards him,
Reichelesse she ran through thick & thin amayn,
Bebrusht with bryers her broosed body bled.
The brambles skirmishte had with euery dayne,
Vntrust her haire hoong rounde about her head:
And euer as she ranne athwarte the wood,
Mercy she cryde with open mouth a good.
Two monstrous mastyues eke he sawe that ran
Close by her side, two vgly curres they were,
Who euer as they ouertooke het, gan
Her haunches wish their greedie téeth to teare:
To view (alas) it was a wofull sight,
Such hungrie houndes on naked flesh to light.
He lookte a little more ascance, and vewde
One riding faste, as Ienats legges could goe,
A hydeous knight, to séeming swarthie hewde,
And (as appearde) he was the maydens foe:
For in his hande a naked sword he had,
Whose face was grimme, and he in blacke yelad.
Who gallopt on, and glewde with fell regarde,
Pronouncing threates and termes of hye disdaine,
VVith cruell tooles for murther well preparde:
And cryde so
[...]onde
Nastagio heard it plaine,
That he reuenge of her by death would take,
VVith other thundring words which thoe he spake.
Thus for an houre space, or thereaboute,
In one selfe brake
Nastagio mazed stoode
Perplexed sore, and greatly in a doubte,
Beholding howe the dogges athwarte the wood,
Did chace the wench, and how the wrathful knight
VVith gastly looke pursewde this sillie wight.
So long he gazde, that pitie grew in fine,
And swelling yre incenst his manly brest,
Pricking him on, and making him repine,
To see a fillie daine so sore distresse:
So as vnlesse he rescued her from soes,
She was assurde estsoone her life to lose.
But beoclesse twas to meane to help the mayde,
Not hauing we apons fit, nor sworde, nor launce,
But yet, bicause the case required ayde,
He raught a truncheon from a Pyne by chaunce,
And therewithall against the armed knight
And both his curres he made with all his might.
The horseman when be sawe
Nastagio dent
For her supplie, whom he would reaue of life:
Exclamde alowde, withstande not mine intent
Nastagio, stinte and breede no further stryse,
Forgoe thy force, let mastiues haue their will,
Sith they and I this monster meane to kill.
He scarsly spake the worde, but by and by
The egr
[...] curres vnto her flankes they slewe,
And with her bloud that ran abundantly,
Their monstrous mouths they hastned to imbrewe:
VVithall the knight dismounted from his sléede,
And in he ranne his hungrie dogges to feede.
Nastagio séeing this approcht the knight,
I muse (quoth he) how thou shouldst know my name
VVho neuer earst, eche ether sawe with sight,
But this assure thy selfe, it is a shame,
A man at armes his honour to distaine,
With conquest of a mayde so fowly slaine.
Ablouddie facte, a fimple wenche to kill
VVith cruell sworde, whofe force consistes in flight,
A beastly parte, such mastiues mawes to fill,
With giltlesse bloud, a vill aines nature right.
Thou dealte with her, as though she were a beaste
In forest bredde, not tasting womens breast.
Assure thy selfe as much as lyeth in me,
I meane to garde her, maugre all thy might,
I compte her cleare without offence to be,
She is vnlike to be a guil
[...]ie wight:
I may not brooke such wrong in any wise,
Against my kinde and honour sore it lies.
Wherto the knight to this effect replyder
Nastagio would thou wist and knewst it well,
That I to thée am verie néere allyde,
Both borne and bred where thou & thyne do dwell:
My first descent I tooke of noble race,
Thou knowst my stocke. Now listen to my case.
I lyued, when thou wert but of tender age,
A mortall man, and hight sir
Guye by name,
My lucke was such as fansie made me rage,
And fall in liking with this stately dame,
Whom here thou séest, my loue was nothing lesse
Than that which doth thy yéelding heart possesse.
I likte her well, I helde her verie deare:
But cruell she, so tygrelyke requites
My great good will with such a skornfull cheare,
As lacke or ruthe berefte me my delightes:
Despaire so grewe within my haplesse brest,
As on a time to compasse greater rest,
This fauchion fell, in d
[...]pe despite I drewe,
To stinte my woes which neuer would aslake,
And with the same my sefe I fowly flewe,
In hope thereby an ende of bale to make:
Which wicked déede the Gods detested so,
As I was iudge to hollow hell to go.
And there assignde by rightfull doome diuine,
For shortning of my life to liue in payne,
Where lingring griefes should make my ghost to pine,
For life mispent, the fittest hire & gayne:
With
Plato thus it was my lot to stay,
Woe worth the time that I my selfe did staye.
But listen on within a little space,
This haughtie dame that hastned on my death,
For yéelding me such slender hire and grace,
Who thought it none offence to stoppe my breath,
Likewise did dye, whome mightie
Ioue and iuste,
For her desarte, among the furies thrust.
To quit her shame, in hell she had a share,
With diuelish impes, that whilom wanted grace:
And after that she had remayned thare,
And plungde her limmes in frozen pittes a space,
She was aduaunste vp to the earth againe,
And I with her to bréede eche others payne.
Loe thus the Gods did will it for to bée,
Whose sentence may at no time be vndone.
That she in poaste (as thou thy selfe doest sée)
All bare of roabes before these dogs should ronne,
And I on horsebacke after her should goe,
Not as a friende, but like a mortall foe.
And looke howe ofte I reachte her on the way,
So oft I should dismember all her corse,
With selfe same sworde that did his maister slay,
She giuing cause, though I did vse the force:
And butcherlike to rippe her downe the raynes,
Who for good will, allowde me bitter paines.
And hauing cut her carkasse quite in twayne,
That I should crushe the heart as colde as stene,
Not sparing to dispoyle eche little vayne,
Eche tender corde and string that grewe theron:
And take those other inwarde partes, to féede
My hungrie dogs, to serue their present néede.
This heau
[...]e doome was by the Gods assignde
The cruell dame, for wanting dewe regarde:
She is assurde no greater case to sinde,
This torment is for her entrage preparde:
These curres and I in order as you sée,
Appoynted are her daily scourge to be.
And in this selfe saine groue where now we goe,
Cache Friday neere about this tyme of day,
This wicked wenche bewayles her wretched woe,
And I with helpe of curres my part do play.
The mastiues they doe chace her thwarte the wood,
And I imbrewe my weapon with her blood.
Ech place where she hath wroth my wo ere this,
And yelded griefe in guerdon of good will,
Vnto her plague that place appointed is,
There must I her with bloudie weapon kill:
And marke how many monthes I spent in loue,
So many yéeres must she this penance proue.
Wherefore doe let me put the same in vre,
Which she deserues, and Ioue did giue in charge,
Let her for former pride such paines endure,
As she may smarte, and I my selfe discharge:
An any wise take not her cause in hande.
In vaine it were for man with God to stande.
Nastagio hauing heard the tale he colde,
And waying well the earnest words he spake,
Although he were a ventrous wight and bolde,
Yet gan his trembling limmes with fear to quake:
He had not tho a haire but stoode vpright,
Wherwith he starte abacke, as one afright.
And gazde vpon the girle in woful case,
Marking the rigour that the knight would vse
And practise thereupon the wench in place,
Who was to bide his force, and might not chuse:
His harte it bled within his breast, to vewe,
Howe tho the knight to diuelish choler grewe.
For when he had his tedious processe donne,
Full like a bed
[...] beast in forrest bred,
He gan vpon the silly wretche to ronne,
Who to escape, before the mastiues fled:
With naked sworde he preast to do the déed,
And came behinde, full cowardlyke to spéede.
Bootlesse it was for her away to flye:
The Ienate was too good for her of foote,
And more than that, the tyrant was so nye,
As to appeale for pitie was no boote:
Wherfore with faint, forféebled as she was,
With bowing knee she fell vpon the grasse.
The gréedie houndes estsoone began to bite,
Seazing vpon her carkas with their iawes:
With that comes in the gastly sweating knight,
Who thrust her through, & made no lenger pawse:
Streight down she went, w
t bloudy brest to greund
Vnable to sustayne so great a wounde.
Then backe he put his hand behinde his hippes,
And drewe a shoulder knife of purpose made,
Wherwith the beast the brisket bone vnrippes,
As is the bluddie butchers commen trade:
And out he hewde the liucly leaping hearte,
VVhereof eche wayting mastiue had a parte.
They quickly chopte it vp, and made dispatche,
As carrion curres and rauening whelpes do vse,
That euery filthy morsell lightly snatche,
And being nipt with famine, nought refuse:
As soone as this was doone, the virgin rose,
And was on foote, and to the seawarde goes.
As though there had bene no such matter past,
And by her side the mastiues raune a mayne,
The knight he mounted on his horse in haste,
Not sparing spurres, and cut he drew agayne
The dreadfull sworde, as he had done of yore:
VVithin a while
Nastagio sawe no more.
They vanisht soone as those that went apace,
On neither side was slacknesse to be founde,
The mayde she mounted, being had in chace,
Life made her leape, euen as the Hare doth bound:
The hungry dogs, that hunger starued weare,
Layde on as fast her fleshye flankes to teare.
The rustie knight he gaue his horse the rayne,
And followde harde, as men for wager ronne,
Vpon desire to plague the wenche againe,
VVho carst to him so great a wrong had denne:
Thus famine, feare, and fell reuenging minde,
Made mastiues, maid, & knight their legs to finde.
Nastagio hauing séene this pageant plaide,
Stoode still in part to pittie movd withall,
In part with strangenesse of the sight dismaide,
Began to ponder with himselfe, and call
To minde afresh, how that the knight had told,
Ech fryday that he might the like behold.
VVhich fieted well be thought for his intent.
It might perhaps turne him in time to good:
VVherefore he markt the place, and home he went,
Leaning a signe vndoubted where he stood,
Till time he were dispozde to put in dre,
That newe deuise, his quiet to procure.
Retirde vnto his tent, his man he sends
Vnto
Rauenna, out of hand to will
His nearest kin, and best beloued friends
To visite him in proofe of their good will:
VVho being bid, came posting streight away,
To whom
Nastagio thus began to say:
Mine auncient friends, you counseld me of yore
To shun the shamefull loue, that whylom I
Bestowde on her, that me tormented sore,
And plagude me so as I was like to die:
You warned mée to flie my pleasant foe,
within whose brest no tender ruth might grow.
And more than that, you friendly did aduise
That I should part my countrey, to aucide
My monstrous charge, that dailie did arise
And mount so
[...]ie as I was much anoyde,
Now friendes, the wished time is come, for I
Am readie here vnto your best to plie.
I yéeld you heartie thanks in humble sort,
In great good part your bolsome reade I take:
I craue no more, but that you will resore
Vnto my lodge on Friday next, to make
Good chéere, bring
Paule Trauersar then along,
And eke his wife, or els you do me wrong,
In any wise let not the Matron leaue
That daintie peate her daughter deare behind,
I meane in friendly manner to receiue
My friendes as then: such fare as you shall find,
Accept in grée, faile not to come, I pray,
And bring with you these parties at the day.
So many as were present there in view,
Both gaue him thankes, and promist not to faile,
Themselues to come, and bid the residue,
VVhich they performde, the sute did soone preuaile
VVith all the guestes, saue with that rockie maide,
VVho scornd his feast, and gladly would haue staid.
But yet at length with much ado she went,
The presence of her parents led her on,
VVho being come vnto
Nastagios tent,
VVith courtly grace he greeted euerie one,
Reioycing there to sée so braue a traine,
But her chiefe, that bred him all his paine.
Iust vnderneath a very statelie Pine,
That shadowed all the troupe in compasse round,
The table stood, where all these states should dine:
To tell you truth, it was the selfe same grounde,
VVhere earst the knight had had the maid in chace:
The feaster prayde ethe one to take his place.
And so they did, regarding their estate
That worthie were the highest roome to holde:
The fourine was fraught, vpon the bench there sat
Euphymia, so as shée must néedes behold
From first to last all thinges that fortunde tho,
There was no shift,
Nastagio meant it so.
I leaue to descant of their daiutie fare,
(Set bankets-made by Courtiers lacke no cates,)
We may presume the seruire there was rare,
Because the board was virond round with states:
So much the more because his mistresse came,
VVhom hée had sound so ioy and queint a dame.
VVhen second course was servde in order rowine,
Euen then the blooddie Tragedie began:
The Sewer set the meate no sooner downe,
But by and by was heard of euery man,
A yelling noise that Echode in the skies,
The wofulst sound that man might well deuise.
VVhereat ech one that sate at meate did muze,
Demaunding who that wretched wight should bée,
And asaing what should meane that sodain newes,
They heard a voyce, but coulde no creature sée:
They vaunst themselues; & stood mée bolt vpright,
Because they would the sooner haue the sight.
VVithin a while, ech one might plainly viewe
A naked Nymph with mastiues by her side,
And eke an vgly knight that did pursue,
And posting on a Croyden Ienate ride:
It was not long before they proched neere
The place, where as was held this royall cheere.
VVherein among the gazing guests she flewe,
Exclaiming there for ruch with open armes:
with that regrece and tender pitie grew
within their breastes, to rescue her from harmes:
To whom the knight cryde, let alone the maid,
Reciting that which he before had said.
He shewde at large, both who the partie was,
And did vnfold the cause of all her woe,
And why the sentence of the Gods did passe
In cruell sort vpon the mayoen so:
Which pocesse made them muze and marueile much,
She as none durst the knight or curres to touch.
Then he behaude him as he did of yore,
Slashing the Lady with his fauchion fell.
The dogs receivde their pittance as before:
who fed vpon the heart, and likte it well:
As many men and viomen as did view
This wofull sight, and both the parties knew.
And eke the houses whence they did descende,
And wist the cause of all this cursed case,
But now sir
Guye for faithfull loue was shend,
And how the cruell maiden wanted grace:
with one consenting minde lamented so,
As out brast teares in witnesse of their woe.
VVhen that the knight had vsde the matter thus
In blooddie sort, as you haue heard it told:
Amongst themselues the feasters gan discusse,
And diuersly debate from young to old,
From first to last, what lately hapned there,
Toucht all with dread, but most that dame did fear
VVhom good
Nastagio lovde, and tendred much
Because she thought within her guiltie minde,
That her in chiefe this tragedie did teuch,
For foule disdaine and being so vnkinde
To him who for good will deserued ruth,
And could atchieue but scorne for all his truth.
Then first of all resorted to her thought,
what rockie heart and brasen breast she bare
The courteous Knight, her loue that dearly bought,
And who for her had langstuisht long in care:
And hereupon as there shée sate in place,
Shée thought herself the wench that was in chase.
Full sore she feard her flanks, & thought shée sawe
Her friende pursne her on his fretting steed,
And how he did his wrathful weapon draw
To take reuenge of that her cursed deed:
And meant besides his hungrie hounds to fill
with flesh of her, for want of due good will,
So passing was her dread, as then there grewe
A déepe desire within her mellow breast,
Her louing friend in gentle wise to rewe:
VVhereby her selfe might purchace quiet rest,
And scape the scourge and penance for her pride
Bestowde on him, who déepe in fansie fride.
VVhen finisht was this feast and royall cheare,
And euery guest returned backe again
Vnto her home,
Euphymia did appeare
Tormented sore, and vext with monstrous paine,
T
[...]e sodaine feare of what shée saw of late,
Had planted in Loue, in place of former hate.
The silent time that others doe bestowe
From heauie cares and troubles of the day
To quiet sléepe did bréed this Ladies woe,
VVho might not chase those déepe conteites away:
No wished winke could enter in her eye,
Vnto her pillow fansie sate so nie.
VVhen day drew on, and
Phoebus with his waiue
Had cleard the pole, and darknesse put to slight,
She felt a fresh supply of pleasant paine,
And wept the dayes as shee had watcht the night:
Nastagio stacke so firmely in her breast,
As for her life shée could not compasse rest.
Wherefore shée calles a chamber maid of trust,
(A wittie wench, and one that knew her good)
And told her that in all the hast she must
Vnto
Nastagios tent in
Classy wood:
To let him wit, that if he would vouchsaue
Her honest loue, he might his purpose haue,
For shée was fully bent without delay
To stoupe vnto his will, if so it were
His pleasure, then with spéed to come away.
The maid departs, and being entred where
Nastagio was, shée told her mistresse minde
From point to point, as dutie did her binde.
All haile (good sir) quoth shée, in luckie houre
And blessed time I viewe thy louely face:
Mine vnexpected comming to thy boure,
And preassing here thus ouerbold in place,
Is by my ioyfull newes to wright thy case,
Whose noble minde in loue hath melted long,
As to thy pains, so to thy open wrong.
Sufficeth now thy sad and solemne cheare,
Discharge those cankred cares that fret thy mynde,
Lay sorrow quite aside, which thou too deare
Hast bought, by means my Mistresse was vnkind
[...]
Pluckt vp thy spirites, hencefoorth be sure to finde,
As great good liking at my Ladies hand,
As thou wouldst wish, she means thy frend to stand.
And for a proofe of what I vtter now,
Loe the lines that flatly do vnfolde
Her yelding necke, that to thy yoke doth bowe,
With such good will as may not well be talde,
So faire a frend is worth her weight in gold.
Thus much by mouth my mistresse wild me say,
Therest (I iudge) this paper
[...]ill bewray.
The Ladies Letter of pittie to her afflictd friend, to whom she had been cruell
AS thou wilt muze to reade,
so I might blush to write
These lines of loue, who for good will
haue fed thee with despite
And from the day when thou
becamst a thrall in loue,
Could neuer spare one sparke of grace
that was for thy behoue:
Till now, both cleane against
mine honour and mine vse,
A Ladie, and a mayden both,
I sende thee termes of truce.
But listen well vnto
the tale that I shall tell.
Ere rashly thou my kindnesse deeme,
and thinke I vse thee well.
For Lions seldome sewe
vnto the sillie sheepe,
No porter to their captiues crouch,
whom they in chaines doe keepe
Few Ladies of estate,
few Dames of hie degree,
Doe bow vnto their vassals willes,
as I doe now to thee.
But knowe that though I write
the wordes of great good will.
Yet I regarde mine honour aye,
and kéepe my countnance still.
No lust procurde my lynes,
my credite to impaire:
No fleshie fitte my fancie forst
to speake
Nastagio faire.
But seeing how in seas
of sorow and distresse,
Thy body bathde for loue of me:
I could not doe no lesse,
But seeke to salue thy harmes
by pitying thine anoy,
VVho, to possesse my liked limmes,
bereft thy selfe if ioy.
I saw howe for my sake
thou wasted hadst thy welth,
And planting battrie to my fort,
wert retchlesse of thy health:
Deuising how to raze
the bulwarke of my brest,
And scale the walles of my good will,
whom thou didst fancie best,
I plainly did perceiue
(as Louers soone will see,)
Howe thou forsookest thy natiue soyle,
and all for loue of me:
Quite carelesse of thy coyne,
thy friendes and yeerely rents,
Not forcing stately builded bowres,
nor gallant garish rentes:
Which when I flatly found,
from fansie to procéede,
(Although thou thoughtst me ouerproud)
I pitied thée in déede.
Yea
Ioue shall be my iudge,
when thou beganste to sewe,
And in
Rauenna wert inragde,
and first to liking grewe:
Thy courtly grace was such,
so comly was thy corse,
And all thy partes so pleasde mine eyes,
as I had had remorse,
And bended to thy bowe,
saue that I dreaded guiles:
My fearefull youth hid me beware,
of mens mistrustfull wiles.
Who faine to frie in loue,
and melt with fansies flames:
When their deuise is only how
by craft
[...] to compasse dames.
I reade in auncient bookes,
how
Iason playde the Iew,
And to the Queene that savde his life,
in fine was found vntrue:
Not forcing her a figge,
who for his sake forwent
Both aged syre, and tender babes,
and crowne by due descent.
Againe I calde to minde
how false
Aeneas fled,
And left the curteous
Carthage dame
fast sléeping in her bed:
Whose bountie earst had bounde
by det and due desart,
VVhen weatherbeaten he arrvide,
this trayterous Troyans hart.
Then
Theseus came to thought,
and pranking
Paris eake:
VVho like vnfaithfull fickle men,
their sworne vowes did breake.
Fayre
Oenons wofull writ
can witnesse of the tone:
Thother from
Ariadna fled
and left her post alone.
VVith sundrie suters mo,
who being bound to loue,
Saunce quarell good, or matter why,
their likings did remoue:
Renouncing to their shames,
those Ladies, who did rewe
Their base estates, and did relieue
the men they neuer knewe.
These partes procurde my pawse,
And wilde me to beware,
Least I by giuing rash consent
to loue, were trapt in snare.
My loue was like to thine,
I fryde with egall fire:
But nature helpes vs to conceale
the sparkes of our desire.
Kinde aydes vs to conuey
our fittes in finer wise:
For honours sake, than men, who shew
their fancies by their eyes,
VVhich if we Ladies did,
Defame would ring her bell,
And blaze out armes in colours base
although we meant but well.
You men like Marchants are
that set their wares to showe,
VVhereby to lure the lookers eyes
that by your wyndowes goe,
And sundrie times in steade
of right and costly clothes,
You vtter trash, and trifling stuffe,
which euery chapman lothes.
But we like Goldsmithes deale,
that forge their plate within:
VVhose hammers plie the Anuil aye,
and yet no working seen.
No smoke nor smoother flies,
for any to beholde,
Vntill the rude vnperfite masse
be brouhht to burnisht golde.
We worke, but all within,
our hammers are not heard:
We hotly loue, but kéepe it close,
for feare our match be marde,
For who esteemes the mayde,
or holdes the virgin pure:
That standes a stale for euerie guest,
and stoupes to euerie lure?
Yea, be she maide or wife,
if once her lookes be light,
And that in sundrie suters tales
she place her deepe delight:
Downe is her cre dite cut
with hatchet of mishap,
Her hooour hewde in peeces straight,
by meane of open lap.
O Goddes, what griefe were this
vnto a noble minde?
How would it vexe an honest Nymph,
whose credite clearely shynde?
For offer of goood will,
with meaning not amisse:
To beate the badge of
Helen, or
of
Creside, for a kisse?
Then ought not we (I pray)
that noble maydens are,
So guide our tender steppes of state,
as vertue may prefarre,
And place vs in the ranke,
that is for Ladies dewe?
Should we lende light beliefe to loue?
or euery futer rewe?
So might we reape the crop
of care, and foule defame:
VVhere earst we neuer meant to sowe
the sinfull séedes of shaine.
I write not this of all
that louing suters bee,
Or in such sort, as though I thought
the like deceit in thée,
As earst in
Iason was,
or in the wandring
Prince,
And sundrie other Lordings mo,
that haue bene louers since.
One Swallow is no signe
that Sommer time is come,
No more must all Cupidos knightes
be cast because of some,
Birdes are not plumde alike,
yet all birdes in kinde:
So men are men: but yet in some
more fickle partes we finde.
I counte thée no such one
as lightly will remoue:
Thy lingring sute, my long delayes
confirme thy faith in loue.
VVhom sith I finde so firme
and stedfast in desire,
As neither lowring lookes, nor lacke
can make thee once retyre,
Or folter in thy fayth,
which thou hast vowde to me:
Proceede in loue, but hast thée home,
that I thy face may sée.
Plucke vp thy manly minde,
and sprites forspent with woe:
Drie vp the deaw that from thine eyes
and drearie chéekes do flow:
Doe barbe that boysterous beard:
that ouergrowes thy face:
Either cut, or kembe thy feltred lockes
to mende thy manly grace.
Put on thy golden gyte,
and former fresh aray:
Bestride thine auncient stately stéede
and quickly come away.
Backe to
Rauenna ride,
euen there to purchase ioy,
Where thou ere this (the more my blame)
hast liude in great anoy.
Forgo thy solemne walkes,
bandon
Classie wood:
Leaue off to leade thy life in lawndes,
imbrace thy townish good.
Thou art no vowed Monke
in Cloyster close to dwell:
No Aucker thou enioynde with Beads,
to hyde in simple Cell.
But thou a comelie knight,
in field a Martial man:
And eke in time of peace, a wight
that rule
Rauenna can.
Whefore as I enforst
thy bale and causelesse care:
And was the onely the that made
thée mourne, and languish thare:
So (good
Nastagio) nowe
let me reuoke thée thence:
That hande that did the harme ere this
nowe vse in thy defence.
I shot, I must confesse,
the dart that gaue the dynt,
For which, lo here the blesseful balme,
thy deadly griefes to stint.
Surceasse thy wofull plaintes,
discharge thy darke dispaire:
The golden beames of my remorse,
shall cleare thy cloudy ayre.
VVhen angry faowning foes
encounter in the fildes,
VVith murdering mindes, the stronger slaies.
when once the weaker yéeldes.
Vp goes the wrathfull sworde
into his sheath againe:
The yéelding of the tone, doth cause
that neuer a man is slaine
If weakest thus may winne
by stouping to the strong,
In combate fell for life and death:
thou doest mee double wrong,
That hold in virgins hand,
thy bale and eke thy blisse,
And am thy Quéene, and only ioy,
and frankly offer this:
If thou my kindnesse scorne,
and rather makste the choyce
To spill thy gallaunt prime in plants,
than with thy friendes reioyce.
Thou seest how I do sue,
to whom thou for suedst grace.
Sith I doe pitie thy distresse,
to hight thy dolefull case:
Dispatch without delay,
treade torments vnder foote,
That mirth within thy mourning minde
may take the deeper root.
The banquet latelie made,
where I beheld my chéere,
And marckte thy moode from point to point,
in whome did plaine appeare
A kinde and constant heart,
not bolstred vp with gyle:
Enflamde my liuer so with loue,
as I was forst to smyle.
And had by outward shewes,
bewraied thée my good will,
Saue that my mother present was
who markt my countenance still.
I sawe, when we approcht,
the tent amid the wood:
How all thy guests reioyst thée, but
twas I that did thée good,
My presence bred delight,
with thy blooming brest:
And to dissemble liking thou,
didst welcome all the rest.
I markt at table how.
thou shlie cast thine eie,
On me askance, and caruedst too
my mother by and by:
As who would say, behold
the meate I meant to thée,
I am enforst to giue it here
least they my fansie sée.
And when I raught the wine,
and dranke my thyrst to quell,
In self same péere how thou would pledge
I yet remember well.
I saw, when after meat
wée parted home againe,
How all thy former frolicke fit,
was quickly changde to paine,
My comming brought thee blisse,
my parture made thée pine.
My beatie for the time enflamde
and heat that heart of thine.
I saw (what wilt thou more)
my presence was thy life,
And how mine absence set thy wits
at cruell warre and strife,
Then sith thine eyes are bent
to féed vppon my face,
And that the want of my good will
hath made thée runne this race:
I rew thée now at last,
I pitie thy distresse,
I yéeld that thou the castle of
thy comfort now possesse.
I am no Lions whelpe,
I suckt no Tigers teat,
In spoyle of such as sewde for loue,
delight I neuer set.
I neuer pleasure tooke,
in forcing foe to death.
Much lesse my tender heart wil brooke
to stoppe
Nastagios breath.
Time giues assurance good
of thine vnfained trust:
Thou bearst no treason in thy brest,
thou hast no lechers lust.
Whom sithence I haue tride
in loue so perfect true:
To quit thy faith, I am thy friend,
reseruing honour due.
If marriage loue thou meane,
then franke consent I giue,
To yeeld thée vp
Dianas bowe,
and loue thée whilst I liue.
In
Iunos ioyfull yoke,
to ioyne and draw with thee:
It likes me well, there rests no more
but that my frends agree.
Small sute shal serue the turne,
for if they doe not yéeld:
Then I my selfe enright thee with
the conquest of the fielde,
My selfe do kéepe the key,
where lies the iewell, which
Is thy delight, and onely ioy
whom thou desirst so much.
But no mistrust I haue,
thy motions are so good:
Thy flocke, and state, so noble, as
thou shalt not be withstood.
Wherefore (O makelesse men)
set all delayes aside,
Thy Ladie loues, and is content
to be thy bounden bride,
Retire, thou retthlesse wight,
whose lingring woundeth twaine:
Two noble hearts shall thinke them blest,
when thou returne againe,
These wordes I wrote in bed,
where oft I wisht for thée:
Mine honour bids me pawse at that,
as yet it must not be.
Farewell, with
Nestors yéeres,
God sende thée happie daies:
Remember, thou that louing mindes
can broke no long delaies.
Alas, for thée I die
ten thousand times a day:
My fits be fierce, my griefe is great,
wherefore dispatch away.
I wish thée
Daedals wings,
or
Perseus praunsing stéed,
Or els the Cart that
Phaeton rulde,
but better farre to speed.
In heart I am thy wife,
if that content thy will,
Once more adeu, thy lingring long,
thy faithfull friend will spill,
Thy long beloued in RAVENNA. EVPHYMIA.
Guerra ei mio stato, dira, e di duol piena.
Vegghio, penso, ardo, piango.
EFtsoone replyde the knight, with friendly face,
With gladsome heart, & trembling tong for ioy:
Faire Nymph (quoth he) thy comming to this place
Delights me much, and quits my great annoy.
The thing, whereto thou saist I shall aspire,
Is that which long
Nastagio did desire,
Thy message likes my minde excéeding well,
And sith thy Ladie deales so friendly now
With me her thrall, forget not thou to tell,
That by the Gods I make a solemne vow,
Not to abuse her honour or defile
Her noble name by any wanton wile.
My purpose is, in good and godly sort,
To take her to my lawfull wedded wife,
And so vnto the Lady make report,
I sweare my selfe her husband during life:
Doe giue mg Loue this Amathiste from mée,
As pledge that I ere long with her will bee:
And for thy paines, loe here a slender summe,
But better this, than no reward at all:
I meane to friende thée more in time to come,
Farewell (faire swéete) accept my guerdon small:
The maid had money, thanks, and leaue to part,
Whose answere made her Ladie light of heart.
And thereupon withouten longer stay,
Vnto her friendes shée brake her whole intent,
As touching marriage, and withall did pray
With willing mindes that they would giue consent,
Vnfolding her effection to the man,
And how in heart that onely course she ran.
The aged parents of this willing wight,
Perceiuing how their daughters minde was set,
And knowing eke the fansie of the knight,
Triumpht for ioy, and thought it sinne to set
Such honest loue, or hinder marriage bande,
The short is this, they wedded out of hand,
A marriage day no sooner gone and paste,
There were not in
Rauenna man wife,
If you had fitted all from first to last,
In greater glée that wasted all their life:
She shewde he
[...] selfe not halfe so hard before,
But being matcht, she loude him ten times more.
And not alone this one good turne befell
Nastagio, through this sodaine forced feare,
But diuers moe that there about did dwell,
Bepitied those that louing hearts did beare:
And such as for good will had rigour showen,
No more for foes, but louers would be knowen.
The Lenuoy.
THrice happie those I deeme aboue the rest,
That ground good will, and sixe affection so,
As in the end it fall out for the best,
Not broken off by fortune, nor by foe:
Seedes w
[...]ely sowen will prosper well and growe.
But where aduise and wholsome counsel wants,
Trees may not proue, they perish in the plants
Who makes his choice to loue in tender age.
And scornes the skill of such as tune hath taught,
And headlong runnes at riotin his rage,
Is like the birde in net by fowler caught,
Bringing himselfe and all his wealth to naught:
It cannot be but such as counsel scorne,
Must needes at length be vtterly forlorne.
The sicke that leathes to listen to his cure,
And seekes no meane his maladie to cease,
To die the death, for lacke of helpe is sure.
The carelesse man is full of wretchednesse:
[...]o raging loue brings balefull end, vnlesse
The patient plie, and lend a bending eare,
Vnto his friend, that willes to forbeare.
VVhich seldome when in frantike youth is found,
In case of loue vvhere pleasure strikes the stroke,
They hate the plaister that should heale the vvound,
And like the beast runne willing to the yoke,
That with his straightnesse sundrie times doth choke.
The least a
[...]oy that fraile defires bestow,
Is wracke of wealth, if quite the carcasse goe:
Yea diuers times goodes, life, and al decayes,
Through foolish luste, and wanton witlesse wil:
So many be the dristes and double waies:
That craftie dames doe put in prattise still,
As some they sotte, and other some they kill.
They little force, how raging louers rewe,
So they themselues in peace the pageant vewe:
Not much vnlike the wilie witted boy
That tiles his trappe to take the subtile foxe,
Who clappes his handes, and makes the greatest ioy,
When he pecceiues fale Raynard in the stockes,
And for his labour giues ten thousand mockes:
So craftie Dames contented are to lute
Men on to loue, but scorne them being sure.
Their pranking beauties pricke them on to pride,
Their feitured limmes bedeckt with natures die:
Makes them followe rigour for their guide,
And ouerlookes their friendes with haughtie eye,
Who for their loues are euen at point to die:
Without regarde of spoyle, or of expence,
Deeming them selues quite cleare of all offence.
As in this processe plaine is set to viewe,
Wherein a heauie mistresse playde her parte,
Right well content to let
Nastagio rewe,
And for good will to reape disdaine and smarte,
That loude her from the bottome of his hearte:
Who though were ritche, and noble by descent,
Yet might not make her marble minde relent,
By lingring loue she made his monie mealte,
As waxe doth weare against the slaming fire:
Through her disdaiue outragiously he dealt,
Vasting his wealth to compasse fond desire,
A great deale more than reason did require:
She was the cause, for had not fancie bene:
He would more neare vnto his profite seene.
But vvomens beauties bleare the clearest eyes,
Their feeble force makes vveake the vvisest vvittes,
Their limber chaines the sturdie Champion ties,
The grauest sage is thrall to louing fitts,
The rockiest brest vvith bolt Cupido hittes:
And vvho so thinkes to scape most cleare avvay,
Is soonest caught, and makes the longest stay.
I coulde accompte
Cupido for a God,
When I respect his puissance and his might,
If in his shaftes he were not found so odde,
But would in case of liking deale aright,
And force faire daines their louers to requite.
But commonly vvhentmen in tansie burne.
Then womens hartes are most vnapt to turne.
When man doth rage, his Ladie lies at rest,
When he laments, she liues at quiet ease,
She coldely loues, when he doth fancie best,
And when she powtes, yet he must seeke to please,
And make faire wether in the roughest seas:
Yea, and perhaps, at last when all is done,
As farre to seeke as when he first begonne,
As proues this noble man who hauing spente
No slender summes in seruice of his loue,
And barde himselfe, by racking of his rent:
Yet could by no desert good lyking moue,
In ruthlesse brest no pitties plantes might proue,
Till feare of harmes her late repentance wrought,
She could to clothe by no deuise be brought:
But when in fine this bloody broile she sawe,
And plainely vewde, amid the open groue
The Ladies plagues: then was she pincht with awe
Of like successe then little
Cupide stroue
Within her bulke, because that she had woue
The web that wrought
Nastagio all his woe:
And thereupon she lette to be his foe.
Then fell she flatte to fansie out of
[...]ande,
Than sent she messege to bewray her mynde,
Then did she let
Nastagio vnderstande,
How that she meant no more to be vnkinde,
But willing was her selfe in matche to binde:
Whereby vve see that sundry things are done,
By force of feare, vvhich vvit had neuer vvonne.
But sure good vvill of feare that takes his grounde,
But badly proues, a fansie forst in harte
Full lightly fades, and seldome vvhen is sounde,
With euery heate tis ready to departe,
It doth resemble colours made by arte.
The franke consent in loue tis euer best,
Whom meere affection breedes in yeelding brest.
Faire Ladies, beare with what I vtter here,
Concerning women, and their deepe disgrace,
I gyrde the coye, I leaue the curteous cleare.
And this I say:
Who favvnes vpon the face
Of any dame, and reapes a scornefull grace:
Were she as braue as Paris Ladie vvas,
For louing so he proues himselfe an Asse.
Who serues a sot, and bovves at euery becke,
Without the guerdon that to loue is devve,
And playes his game at chesse to gayne a checke,
Deserues the mate that doth the checke enfevve,
Because he scornes his mischiefe to eschevve:
And she that hath a perfite friend to trust,
Deserues a plague, if she be found vn
[...]ust.
You stately Dames, that peacocklyke do pace,
Through pride abusing such as are your thralls,
Enforcing them for lacke of better grace,
Vnto their bane, which sundrie times befalles,
Not finding lalue to cure their griefull galles:
Euphymias plagues imprinte in hee defull mynde,
And looke for like, if you be found vnkynde.
Ama chitama.
Minor paena Tantall ne linferno
Pate, che chi di donna sta al gouerno.
The Argument to the second Hystorie.
NIcocrates a cruell tyrant flewe
Sir
Fadimus, who had vnto his wife
One
Aretafila, of gallans hewe,
And after, (hauing reft the husbāds life)
Did wedde this dame who though were made a queene
Might not forget the murther she had seene.
No loue deuise, no iewels fet from farre,
Could so reclaime this noble Ladies minde,
But that she would aduenture him to marre,
Who slevv her knight, whereat she so repinde:
By poisoned drinke she meant to do the deede,
But that was found, it might not vvel succeede.
The tyrants mother
Caluia, tygreleeke,
Procurde her plagues, and torments diuersly,
For that the Queene to slay her sonne did socke,
But vvisely she did slacke this crueltie:
And made him thinke her sirupe vvas to proue,
Where she might forte in him a greater loue.
Which shift allovved, she more in credit grevv,
The king forgaue, but she could not forget,
But once againe deuisde a drifte anovve,
VVhich as she thought, might lightly haue no let
The king a brother had, a vvifull vvight,
Bente all to loue, and he
Leander hight.
This Ladie bare by
Fedimus of yore,
A daughter faire, vvhom she by practise sought,
To couple with
Leander euermore,
Which macht at lēgth with much ado was wroght
Then all the mothers skil, and daughters drifte,
Was by this youth, the king frō crown to lifte.
By day the Queen the daughter did perswade,
The wife by night did play her part so well,
As in a while these two
Leander made
To vndertake to rid this tyrant fell:
No dew regard of bloud, no care of kinde,
Could stay the fact, this Princoxe was so blinde.
The king was slaine by cruell brothers hande,
The realme releast of such bloudie foe,
Leander then did gouerne all the lande,
The hope was great that matters wel should gee:
But whē this youth had once atchiude the state,
He scornde the Queene, & al her friends forgate.
Puft vp with princely pride, he wore the crown,
And lawlesse liude, so neare his brothers trade,
As needefull was to seeke to put him downe:
And thereupon the Queene this practise made,
She hirde for coyne, a noble man at armes,
To slay her sonne, to salue her countries harmes.
This warlike Captaine came from Libie lande,
Who tooke by force this tyrant coward king,
And gaue him vp into his mothers hande:
A Noble dame that compast twice to bring
Her realme to reste, and rigour to subdewe.
Lo here the summe, the processe doth ensewe.
VVIthin
Cyrene earst
there dwelling was a Dame
Namde
Aretafila, of birthe
and noble bloud she came,
Elator was her Syre,
a man of great renowme:
Sir
Faedimus her husband hight,
the chiefe in all the towne
For noble minde and wealth:
this Ladie was so well
With bewtie dighte, as she the reste
not onely did excell
For feature of her face,
that was full fayre to looke,
But eke for graue
Mineruas giftes,
and cunning in her booke:
Her sacred giftes were great,
her wisdome was as rare,
As was her face, for fewe with her
in learning might compare.
What time this Ladie liude,
a tyrant fierce and fell,
Nicocrates, possest the lande
where did this matron dwell.
Who many of the men
that in the Citie were,
Did do to fowle and shamefull death,
he kept them all in seare.
[...]
In colour of the dead,
who cause he did not trust
The bearers with his naked sworde
the bodies vsde to thrust
Through coffin where they lay,
to make the matter sure:
This great outrage of his, the Queine
no longer coulde endure,
But verie much mislikte
these Tyrants trickes, and had
Compassion of her natiue soyle,
and woulde béen very glad
With hazard of her life
to rid this monster quight,
For hatred which shée hare to him
that murthred so the knight
Whom shée full dearely loude:
and albeit the king
Made very great account of her,
yet did shée minde the thing
Which shée concerude before
and purposde in her breast,
And till shee had atchieude the same,
could neuer liue at rest.
And though the Prince his power
this dayly greater grewe,
Had bred the Subiects to dispayre
their fréedome to reuewe,
Or euer safe to liue
within their natiue land,
VVhere such a cruell king did holde
the scepter in his hand:
Yet did this noble dame
conceiue a greater trust,
To finde a time to worke her feate,
which eyther doe shée must
And so at fréedome set.
her countrie men againe,
And venge her louing husbands death,
or let them all be slaine,
As hée, good knight, had béene.
To pricke her on the more,
Shée cald to minde the practise of
a
Theban dame before,
That wise
Faeraea hight:
for doing of the which,
The valiant women wan renowme,
and was commended much.
VVhom shée had great desire
to follow in this déede:
But when shée saw for lack of aide
and helping hands at ueed,
(VVhich the the
Theban had,)
shée could not doe the léeke:
Shée meant to doe it with a thing
that was not farre to séeke.
Deuising by a driuke,
to rid the Tyrants life,
Who siue her busband by deceite
and forst her to his wife.
A poyson she preparde,
whereby as I shall tell,
In present perill of her life
this ventrous Ladie fell.
For still her purpose failde,
and being in the end
Discouered, and the matter found,
which shée did then pretende,
Dissembling could not serue
to salue the sore againe.
For what good heart she bare the king
did then appeare too plaine.
The Tyrants mother eke,
that Madame
Caluia hight.
Not louing
Aretafila,
(a dame of great despight)
Full fit to bréede a babe
of such a blooddie minde,
(For children commonly are like
vnto the mothers kinde)
Perswaded, that to death
this Ladie should be done,
As one that did pretend the spoyle,
and slaughter of her sonne.
But what the great good will
to her the Prince did beare,
And answere bold that shée had made
with vsage voyde of feare,
Before the mother Quéene,
who there in open place,
Accusde her of her murther ment,
there standing face to face,
Did quit her from the death.
But when the proofe was such,
And euidence so plaine appearde,
so that shée mought not much
Excuse her of the fact,
but that the poysoned cup,
Was made by her, and meant vnto
the king to drinke it vp:
There
Aretafila,
before the Iudges face,
In presence of the Prince her spouse,
did thus declare the case.
My Soueraigne Lord and Loue,
I cannot doe no lesse,
But, that this cup I did procure,
before thée now confesse.
My selfe the syrrope made,
and meant to giue it thee:
But this I will protest againe,
not knowing it to be,
A venim rancke and vile,
but verily did thinke
By cunning to deuise this cup,
and make a craftie drinke
To cause a man to loue:
for knowe you this, that I
Am spited at, of sundrie that
my marriage doe enuie.
It gréeues a number, that
you beare me such good will,
It is a gall to some to see
that I shoulde haue my fill
Of treasure and attyre
and be a Prince his wife,
And they themselues to liue vnknowne,
and lead a priuate life.
I knowe they cannot well
my haphy state endure,
But that they will at length deuise
your friendship to allure,
And cause you cast me off:
which was the cause that I
Did brewe this drinke to kéepe good wil.
I thought it good to trye
By art to stay a friend,
whom I by fortune wonnes
And if so be I did offend,
you cannot deeme it donne
For malice, but good will,
for hatred, but for zeale:
VVhy should I then condemned be
that neuer meant to deale
But as a louing wife:
And if your pleasure be
I shall bée punisht for my fault,
yet doeaccount of me
Not as a witch, that woulde
bereaue you of your life,
But one that by enchauntment thought
to make your Loue your wife,
And match her in good will
that doth extréemely loue:
And who, to be belovde alike,
dyd meane this sleight to proue.
VVhen thus the Matron had,
with manly mouth and grace
Ypleaded for her selfe, the Prince
to whom pertaind the case,
VVell liking this excuse,
woulde not in any wise
That shée, who was his wife, shoulde die:
but this he did deuise,
That there shée should be rackt
till time shée would confesse
The truth, and what shée meant thereby
in open place expresse.
When torment readie was,
and rack there set in place,
Then cankred
Caluia, plaide her part,
and laid her on a pace,
Vntill shée wearie woxe:
shée longed for her blood,
Which made her earnest in the case,
and plague the Quéene a good.
But
Aretafila,
as one that forced nought
Of all the paines shée had indurde,
discouered not her thought:
She nothing would confesse,
but kept it in her minde,
And hereupon deliuerde was.
Nicocrates could finde,
No due desart of death.
Then grew within his breast
A great remorse for rigour showne
to her he loued best,
Whom he without offence
had put to cruell paine.
Wherefore within a space the king
began to loue againe:
And fansie her as fast,
deuising sundry shiftes,
To winne her olde good will, he gaue
her many goodly gifts.
She could not want the thing
the tyrant had in store,
Who then but
Aretafila,
whom he had rackt before?
And she that was full wise,
by countnance and by the are,
Did make as though she did embrace
and helde the tyrant deare:
But still in store she kept
within her wrathfull minde,
Remembrance of reuenge, till she
fit time and place might finde.
And in her head she cut
the patterne of his paine,
How, if occasion servde she mought
auenge her husbande slaine.
By
Fedimus she bare
whilste he yet liuing was,
A daughter that for honest life
and beautie braue did passe.
And so befell it, that
the king a brother had,
Leander namde, a wilfull youth,
and eke a wanton lad,
Much giuen to the loue
of light alluring dames,
To whom, as to a byting fish,
a bayte this mayden frames.
To take him by the
[...]ppe,
by sorcerie she wrought,
And cuppes that cause a man to loue:
whereby this youth she brought
Into her subtil net:
thus was
Leander caught
By loue deuises, that the Quéene
vnto her daughter taught.
This damsel hauing woonne
Leander to her lure,
So traynde him on, as she at last
the Princesse did procure
The tyrant to request,
to yéelde him his desire,
As touching mariage of the Mayde,
that set his minde on fire:
Who when
Leanders loue
and purpose vnderstoode,
To
Aretafila to breake
the same he thought it good.
She willing was thereto,
as one that wrought the wile:
Nicocrates perceiuing that,
denying it a while,
Yet graunted at the length:
not willing to be seene
An enemie vnto the mayde,
the daughter of the Quéene,
When all good willes were got,
the mariage day drew neare,
Vntill
Leander wedded was,
he thought it twentie yéere.
To make the matter thord,
I leaue for you to scan,
Both of the maydens rich attyre,
and iewels of the man.
I leaue the musike out,
I let the banket go:
I speake not of the noble men
that were at wedding tho.
I write not of the wine,
nor of the daintie cates,
Assure your selues there wāted naught
that fitted royal states.
When wedding day was done,
the wife to chamber went,
And after her
Leander came:
where they in pleasure spent
The night, as custome is,
and maried folkes do vse:
And selfe same pleasure night by night
from that day forth ensues.
The lately wedded wise
behaude her selfe so well,
That still
Leander tén times more
to doting fansie fell.
Which when she vnderst
[...]de,
a wench of wily witte,
To set her purpose then abroch,
she thought it passing fit,
A fyled tale she framde,
and thus begun to speake:
Mine own (quoth she) the great good wel
I beare you, makes me breake
My minde and meaning nowe:
The carke and care I haue,
Is causer that I will you from
your brothers sword to saue
Your life, whilste yet you may:
you sée his monstrous miude,
And how his hatefull tyrants heart
is all to blood inclinde.
You know his cruell déedes,
I shall not néede recite
The sundry men that he hath slaine
vpon a meere despight:
You viewe the gorie ground,
where yet the bodies lie,
You sée how tyrant like he deales,
you sée with daily eye,
Such vndeserued deathes
as wo it is to tell:
In my conceite, if you should séeke,
his spoyle, you did but well.
It were a worthie déede,
and well deseruing prayse,
To murther him, and reaue his realme,
that so his subiects slayes.
To rid your natiue soyle
of such a monster, may
Not onely gaine immortall fame
that neuer shall decay:
But winne you such good will,
in countrie and in towne,
As by the meanes thereof, you may
attaine the royall crowne,
Which now your brother weares
against the peoples will,
Who would (no doubt) elect you prince,
if you the tyrant kill.
To quit so good a turne,
and noble deede withall.
But if you let him raigne a while,
I feare, at last you shall
Repent your long delay:
your state is neuer sure,
As long as he, the mouster lines,
he will your bane procure.
What thraldome like to yours?
howe wretched is your life?
Haue you forgotten how you sude
to him, to take a wife?
Fie, shame,
Leander, fie,
I greatly disalow,
That you who are his brother, should
vnto your brother bow.
Put case he owe the crowne,
is that a cause that you
May not go marry where you list,
but must be forst to sue
So like a boy, for lea
[...]
to choose your selfe a make?
Oh that I were a man, I would
enforce the beast to quake.
Leander, if you loue
or make account of me,
Bereaue the monster of his life:
my mother longs to sée
The slaughter of her so,
that siue my father earst.
VVith these her wordes
Leander felt
his heart so throughly pearst,
As vp from bed he flew,
with minde to murther bent:
To sucke his brothers blood, ere long
this wilfull marchant ment.
Leander had a friend
whom he did loue as life,
Callde
Danicles, to whom he rode
and tolde him what his wife
Had willde him take in hande,
wherein his ayde he must
In whom especially he did
repose assured trust.
Leander with his friend,
when time and place did serue,
Nicocrates the tyrant slue,
as he did well deserue.
And hauing done the déed,
achieude the kingly Crowne,
He strake the stroke, and ruler was,
and gouernde all the towne.
Thus he in office plaste,
puft vp with princely might,
Not forcing
Aretafila,
his mother law awhit,
Nor any of hir blood,
once hauing got the raigne,
Did all the worlde to vnderstande
by that his high disdaine,
That he his brother slue
for rancour and despight:
Not for desire his Countrey soyle
from tyrants handes to quight.
So loath some all his lawes,
so straunge his statutes were,
Such folly in his roysting rule,
as made the people feare.
Their former foe to haue
bene raysde to life againe,
VVho was not many dayes before
by this
Leander slaine.
VVhen
Aretafila
sawe howe the game did go,
And that
Leander in his sway
did vse the matter so,
And proudly rulde the realme,
estéeming her so light,
VVho hoped by his brothers death
the countrie had bene quight
Releast of tyrants rage:
when she perceiude (I say)
Howe haughtily his heart was bent,
she meant her part to play:
In ridding of the realme
of such a cruel king,
That kept his subiects so in awe,
and vnder yoke did wring:
A fresh report was blowne
of one
Anabus, bred
In
Libie lande, a Martial man
that all his life had led
In face of foraine foes:
with him this wily dame
Did practise, and such order tooke,
as he with army came
Leander to subdue:
who being nigh at hand,
With mightie troupe of warlike wights,
to ouercom the laud:
The Quéene, his mother lawe,
as one that were dismaide,
To worke her wile,
Leander
[...]al
[...],
and thus to him shée said:
Loe here (good sonne) you see
how nie your mightie foe,
Is come to bid you battaile, and
your Captaines are (you know)
Not to be matcht with his:
behold what men they are:
Well skild in feats that touch the fielde,
and traind in trade of warre.
Your souldiers are but shéepe,
for battaile farre vnfit:
Besides their pollicies are great,
your Captaines haue no wit
To deale in such a case
that toucheth Princes state:
Againe, there commes no honour by
such brawles, and broyling hate:
Consider with your selfe,
you scarssy haue as yet
Good footing gotten in your raigne,
vnstable (sonne) you sit.
And like to take a fall:
whereof if womans braine
May giue good counsaile to the wise,
I would (I tell you plaine,)
Your foe and you were friendes:
I would allow it well,
If you with Captaine
Anabus
to truce and concord fell.
I doe presume on this,
and dare to vndertake,
That you shall safely come to talke,
by meanes that I will make
With him that is your foe:
the wordes his mother spake,
Leander liked verie well
and in good part did take.
Destrous of a parle.
but ere the pointed day
Of talke betwixt the Captaines came,
she sent a Poast away,
A messenger of trust,
Anabus to entreate,
That when
Leander Iss
[...]de out,
then he should worke his feate,
And either slay him there,
by force in open fielde,
Or vnto her, the cruell king
in chaines a captiue péeld:
In recompence whereof
She made a large behest,
Of gold that she would franklike giue:
whereto this greedie gest,
The
Lybian man of warre,
full gladly lent his care.
Leander (as the nature is
of Tyrants) stood in feare,
Deferring day of parle,
vnwilling foorth to goe,
But Ladie
Aretafila
still lay vpon him so,
As very shame at last
did further this intent:
And shée, to egge him on the more,
made promise if he went.
To set her foote by his,
and looke the foe in face:
Which moude
Leander very much,
and mended well the case.
So out at length they passe,
disarmd he and his,
As one that meant to treate of truce,
for so the custome is.
Anabus seeing this,
to counter him began,
And with his power approched neare:
Leander fearfull man
Would gladly made a st
[...]p,
and gazde about the place:
To viewe his gard that should assist
and helpe in néedfull case.
But how much more he seemde
to linger on the way:
So much the more his mother lawe,
by words, that shée did say
As touching his reproch,
of fearefull cowards heart,
Did pricke
Leander, onward still,
not letting him to part.
At Length the Lady, when
of force he would haue staid,
Vpon the wretched dastard wight
his féeble fingers laid:
And by the ayde of men
whom there shée had in place,
She brought him baund both hand & foot,
before
Anabus fare.
And captiue gaue him vp,
to liue in lothsome holde,
Vntill the Quée
[...], as promise was,
hée payd him all his golde.
Then he eftsoone retyres
vnto the towne againe,
Declaring what successe she had
and what a spitefull paine
Shée tooke or eare shée could
that blooddie beastlie king
Depose and rid him from the realme,
and so to bondage bring.
The people passing glad
that he was so displaste,
Did make a common purse, to pay
the
Lybian Duke in haste:
Who hauing told the crownes,
did send
Leander backe,
Vnto the Quéene: and shée enclosde
the monster in a sacke,
And causd him to be cast,
from off a mountaine hie,
Into the Sea, to drowne the beast
that wel deserude to die.
Then
Calnya, shée was caught,
and to a piller tied,
And there the cruell croked queane,
with flaming fagots fried,
Till all her aged bones,
to ashes were consumde,
That oft in youth with Ciuet swéete
and Amber were perfumde.
When all this broile was done,
the townesmen in a ranke,
Knéeld downe to
Aretafila,
and highly did her thanke,
For freedome got againe,
with perill of her life.
I neede not here expresse the ioyes
of maiden, man, and wise.
For all reioyst alike,
[...]ot one in all the towne,
Nor countrie, but was glad at heart
that they had wonne the crowne
Into their hands againe,
and shapte the Tyrants scourge,
Then gan they all with one consent
the aged dame to vrge,
With helpe of chosen men,
to gouerne all the land:
For vantage of the publike weale,
she tooke the charge in hand.
Because we lightly see
when Peeres and Princes faile,
Then runnes the common welth to wreck,
as shippe without a saile.
But when she saw the realme
at good and quiet stay:
And vnderstood that commons did
with willing minds obay
Vnto their lawfull heads,
the Senate she bethought,
To take the gouernment a fresh:
her selfe vnfit she thought
To deale in case of state,
then tooke they all the charge,
And did the Ladie from the crowne,
and troubles quite discharge.
Thus hauing rid the realme
of two such blooddie foes,
Into a Nunnrie, there to ende
her life this Ladie goes.
Where she deuoutly dwelt,
and to her praiers fell:
And as shee liude in vertue earst,
so dide shee very well.
The Lenuoy.
VVHo sits aloft in sacred Princes seate,
And wieldes his realme by loue and not by dread
Whose puisant hand by
[...]idnesse doth intreate
The silly rowte that vnder him is led:
Shall safely raigne, and hold his scepter sure,
A courteous king doth lightly long endure.
But who so raignes in threatning tyrants throne,
Bathing in blood his haughtie hungrie chaps,
And rules by force, is surely ouerthrowne.
The Goddes assigne such Soueraines sory haps.
It may not lost, that so exceedeth reason,
The truest hearts, by force are brought to treason.
A pleasant porte doth rule a raging horse,
When harder brakes doe breake the mouth too much,
And makes the colt to s
[...]eare with all his force:
Rough handed Surgeons make the patient grutch.
The Pilote that by skyll the sh
[...]p doth guide,
And not by myght, makes vessels brocke the tyde.
A lawlesse pecre by law deserues to die,
True iustice
[...]ayes the blooddie home their hyre,
And blood mispilt for vengeance aye doth crie,
[...]xtalionis doth the lyke requyre:
As in this tale that h
[...]ere my Muse hath told,
Of brothers two, each man may well behold.
Could
Dyonisius deale with greater force?
Or searefull
Phala
[...]s with more despite?
Than did
Nycocrates without remorse
That s
[...]ew hys
[...]ily subiects lawlesse
[...]ight?
Did not
[...]ander deale in monstrous wise,
Whom brothers blood might not aloue suffyce?
Prease hither Peeres, wh
[...]se heads with crownes are clad
Who hold the kingly scepters in your hands:
Behold the end that blooddie tyrants had,
A
[...]rrour make of these to rule your landes:
With all, see heere a Ladies manly minde,
Whom God to wreake this bloodshed had assignde.
Marke how the fyrst was blinded all with blood,
The husband slayne, and sundrie moc be
[...]de,
To wed the wife this monster thought i
[...] good,
Note how the Gods herein theyr scourge dyd hide,
For who but he woulde trust a wronged wyght,
Or place her in his naked bed at night?
Looke how
I
[...]ander lewde by wyle was wonne,
And led by lust to worke his brothers woe:
And
[...]e than that see how this beast did runne
A wicked race and woxe his mothers foe.
Note how the heauens made leuell yet at last,
And plagude by d
[...]ath his blooddy dealings past.
Aut sero,
Aut citius.
The argument to the third Historie.
GEntile loude one
Nicoluccios wise,
Faire
Catiline, a matrone graue and wife:
Whom to corrupte sith he might not deuise,
He parted thence to leade a grauer life.
For she was bent to scorne such masking mates,
As houerd still about her husbands gates.
Within a while this
Nicoluccio,
(His Ladie great with childe) was forst to ride
In haste from home, and leaue her there as guide:
Whome sodayne griefe assaylde by fortune so,
As Phisicke, friends, and all that sawe the chance,
Did yelde her dead, she lay in such a traunce.
The senslesse corse was to the Church cōueide,
And buried there with many a weeping eye:
The brute was blowne abrode both farre & nye.
Reporte once spread, is hardly to be stayde.
Gentile hearing how the matter went,
His Ladies losse did bitterly lament.
At length when teares had well dischargde his woe,
And sorrowe slakte, a friend of his and hee,
Tooke horse, & rode by night, that none might see
Whether they ment, or wherabout to goe.
To Church he came, dismounted from his horse,
He entred in, and vp he tooke the corse,
With full intent to dallie with the dead,
Which he in life by suite could neuer winne:
He colde, he kist, he handled cheeke and chinne.
He left no limme vnfelte from heele to ehad:
So long he staide, at last the infant steerd
Within her wombe, whereby some life appeerde.
By fellowes helpe he bore the body thence,
Home to his aged mother where she dwelt:
Who moude to ruthe, with her so frendly delt,
As to reuiue her, sparde for expence,
She could not vse her owne with greater care,
So choyse her cheere, so daintie was hir fare.
VVhen time was come for nature to vnfolde
Her coferd ware: this dame was brought a bed,
And by
Gentiles meanes had happily sped:
And he forthwith a solemne feast did holde,
VVhere, to the husband, both the wife and boy
S
[...]rrendred were, to his exceeding ioye.
BOlogna is a towne
of
Lumbardie you know,
A citie very brauely builte,
and much set out to shewe:
Where as in auncient dayes
a famous knight there dwelde,
Who for good giftes and linage both
all others farre excelde:
A man commended much,
Gentile was his name.
This worthy gallant fell in loue
by fortune, with a dame
That
Catilina hight,
one
Nicoluccios wyfe,
A passing faire, and featurde wenche,
and ledde an honest life,
And loude her husband so,
as she did little waye
The frendship of enamored youthes,
nor ought that they could say.
This Gentleman that sawe
the Ladies faithfull breast,
And how he might by no deuice
to him her fansie wrest,
Nor enter in her grace,
whom he did loue so well,
Nor by good seruice gaine good will,
to déepe despaire he fell.
And hereupon vnto
Modena he retyrde,
And bore an office in the towne,
as one there to desyrde.
It fortunde on a time
when
Nicoluccio rode
From home, as touching his affaires,
and that his wife abode
A thrée myles off the towne,
where he had buylte a graunge,
To make her mery with her friendes,
and eke the ayre to chaunge:
Then being great with childe,
not many wéekes to goe:
This Lady had a great mishap,
as here my pen shall showe.
A griefe, I wote not what,
with such a sodayne force
And monstrous might, befell the dame,
and conquerde sore her corse
As in the Ladies limmes
no sparke of life appéerde,
And more than that, an other thing
there was, that most discheerde
Her kinsfolkes then in place:
for such as had good sight
And skill in Physike, déemde her dead,
and gaue her ouer quight.
And thereupon her friends
that wiste howe matters went
By her report in time of life,
and howe that she had spent
Not full so many monthes
as giue a babée breath,
And make it vp a perfect childe:
when once they sawe her death.
Not making farther searche,
in case as there she laye,
Vnto a Church, not farre from thence,
the carkasse did conuay,
And gaue it there a graue,
as Ladies vse to lye.
The bodie being buried thus,
a friende of his did hye
Him to
Gentile straight,
to tell him of the newes,
Who though was fardest frō her grace,
yet could none other chuse
But sorrowe at her death.
When greatest gréefe was past,
And that he had be thought awhile,
thus out he brake at last.
Loe (Lady) lo, (quoth he)
nowe art thou dead in graue,
Nowe (Madame
Catilina) I,
who during life could haue
Not one good frendly looke,
nor sweete regarding eye,
VVill be so bolde to steale a kisse
as you in coffin lie.
Nowe booteth do defence,
you cannot now resist:
VVherefore (assure thée) Lady nowe,
thou shalt be sweetely kist.
Howe dead soeuer thou arte,
nowe will I take delight.
And
[...]uing tolde his tale, the day
withdrewe, and made it night:
Then taking order howe
he mought, that none might sée,
Dispatche and goe vnto the place,
his trustie freud and hee,
Vpon their geldings mounte,
and neuer made a staye
Vntill they came vnto the Church,
where dead the Ladie laye:
Where being lighted off
their horses, in they goe,
And vp they brake the coffyn straight,
and he that loude her so,
Laye by the Ladies side,
and clapte his face to hers,
And lent her many a louing kisse,
and bathde her breast with teares,
Lamenting very sore.
But as we daily sée,
The lust of man not long content,
doth euer long to bée,
Proceeding farther on:
but moste of all the rest,
The fonde desire of such as are
with raging loue possest.
So he that had resolude
no longer there to staye,
But doe his feate, and home agayne,
thus to himselfe gan saye:
Oh, sith I nowe am here
why should I idle stande?
Why doe not I this breast of thine
imbrace, and féele with hande?
I neuer after this,
shall touch it so againe,
Nor neuer mynde,
Gentile thus
proceeding in his vaine,
Into her bosome thrust
his hande beneath her pappe,
And staying there a little space,
did féele a thing by happe
Within her wombe to wagge,
and beat against her brest:
VVhereof at first he woxe amazde,
but after repossest
Of wittes and sense againe
a further triall hee
Did make, and then he found the corse,
not thorough dead to bee,
Though little were the life,
yet some he knew for trouth,
To rest within the Ladies limmes:
wherefore the gallants both,
From out the coffyn tooke
this lately buried corse,
And vp they leapte in all the poast.
and layde her on the horse
Before the saddle bowe,
and home in haste they ride,
Both to recouer life againe,
and fearing to be spyde.
Thus closely was she brought
within
Bologna walles,
Vnto
Gentiles house, where he
vpon his mother calles,
Requesting her to helpe,
the case required haste.
His mother being graue and wyfe,
receiude the corse as fast
As she good matron mought:
which déede of pitie done,
Both who she was, and what had hapt,
demaunded of her sonne:
Who tolde her all the newes,
and how the fortune fell,
Which when the matron vndrstood,
and wist the matter well:
To ruth and mercy moude,
(as is a womans guise)
Shée makes her fire, she heats her hathes
and so the carkas plyes,
VVith chasing vp and downe,
and rubbing euerie vaine:
As shée at last had made the life
and senses come againe:
Her wandring wits retyrde,
that earst had béen astray,
And being thus reuiude, at length
thus sighing gan shée say:
Alas, where am I nowe:
what place is this (quoth shée?)
Gentiles chearfull mother saide,
a place full fit for thée.
VVith that shée somewhat woxe
aduisde, but wist not where
Shée was bestead, when that at last
she sawe
Gentile there:
Amazed in her minde,
requested of the dame
To tell her of the case, and how
vnto her house she came.
Gentile thereupon
the whole discourse begonne,
And did vnfold from point to point
how euerie thing was done.
Whereof she wofull woxe
and pensiue for a space.
But yet at length shee gaue him thankes
for all his former grace
And curtesies imployde:
and as he euer bore
A true and faithfull heart to her
in all her life before,
And as he was a man
in whom good nature were:
So did shée craue him that shée might
not be abused there:
But safely be conuaide
vnto her graunge againe,
And to her bushandes house vntouchte
without dishonours staine.
To whom
Gentile thus
replide: Well dame (quoth hée)
How great soeuer the loue hath béen
which I haue borne to thée,
Before this present day,
I doe not purpose now,
Nor after this at any time,
(since God would this allowe
Me grace to saue thy life,
and raise thée from the pit:
And loue which I haue alwayes meant
to thée hath caused it:)
I purpose not, I say,
to deale in other wise,
Chanif thou were my sister deare,
this promise shall suffice.
But this good turne that I
haue done to you this night,
Dath well deserue, that you the same
in some respect requight.
VVherefore I shall desire
that you with willing brest,
Wyll friendly graunt me my demaunde,
and yéeld me one request.
Whereto the humble dame
agréed, and was content,
If so shée coulde, and honest were
the sute
Gentile ment.
Then spake the courteous knight,
Well (Madame) this is true,
That both your parents and your friends
of
Boline, thinke that you
Are buried low enough
in coffin closlie layde,
None tarries you at home as now,
they all doe déeme you dead,
VVherefore my small request
and simple sute shalbe,
That with my mother here to stay
yée will vouchsafe, and me,
In secrete and vnséene,
vntill such time as I
May to
Modena goe and come
againe, I meane to hie.
The cause that makes me craue
and aske this lingring stay,
Is, that in presence of the best,
and chiefe that beare the sway
VVithin the towne, I minde
to giue you as a gift,
And to present you to your spouse,
this is my only drift.
The Ladie knowing that
Gentile was her friend,
And saw that honest was his sute,
did quickly condescend:
Though greatly shée desirde,
new brought to life againe,
To sée and comfort those her friends
that mournde for her amaine:
Shée promist on her faith,
with her to tarrie there.
And yer her tale was througly told,
her time was come to beare
The Babe wherewith shée went,
shée must to trauaile straight
The Matron euer at an inch
did on this Ladie waite:
And vsde the matter so,
as in a day or twaine,
She was deliuerde of a boy,
and ouercame her paine.
VVhereat
Gentile ioyde,
and eke the dame that had
Such great good hap and passing lucke,
did waxe excéeding glad.
The knight disposde his things,
and vsde the matter so,
As shée had béen his wedded wife:
and thereupo did goe
Vnto
Modena, where
an office he had borne,
And there he staied vntill such time
as all his yere was worne.
And selfe same day that he
accompted on, to make
Returne vnto his mothers house
at
Boline, he bespake.
That diuers of the states,
and chiefest men that were
Within the towne, should be his guestes.
there was of purpose there,
That
Nicoluccio, who
did owe this gentle dame.
As soone as to his mothers house
this lustie gallant came,
The master of the feast
dismounted, in hée hyes:
Where, when among his other guestes,
the Ladie he espies,
And eke her sucking sonne,
that hung vpon her breast,
Hée was the meeriest man aliue:
Then plaste he euery guest
In order as their state
and calling did require,
There wanted not a deintie dish
that Courtiers could desire:
VVhen washing time drewe nye,
and euery man at boorde
Had vittled well, and all was whiste,
and no man spake a worde:
The Ladie being taught
her lesson long ere that,
And well instructed in the case,
and knowyng what was what,
Gentile thus begunne
his solemne tale to tell:
My Lords and guestes (quoth hee) I like
the order passing well
That men of
Persie vse:
for when they make a feast,
In honour of their friends, whom they
doe loue and fansie best,
They bid them to their house,
and set before their eyes
The chiefest iewell which they haue,
and good, of greatest price,
What thing soeuer it be:
his wife, with whom he sléepes,
His daintie daughter, or his wench,
whome hée for pleasure kéepes.
He nothing hides as then,
or locks from open sight:
Affirming by this déede of his,
that likewise (if he might)
He woulde vnfold the heart
that lyes within his breast,
Which custome I in
Bologne minde
to practise to my guest.
You honour this my feast
with noble presence here,
And I will play the
Persians part:
looke what I hold most deare,
And chiefly doe esteeme,
or fauour in my heart,
Or euer shall regard or weigh,
will show you or you part.
But first I shall request
or ere I bring it out,
That you will héere decide a case,
and rid me out of doubt
Which I my selfe will moue.
There is a noble man,
Who hath a seruant in his house
that doth the best be can
To please his masters minde,
hée doth at nothing stick:
This trustie painfull seruant falles
at length excéeding sicke,
The tetchlesse master, not
regarding him at all,
Nor forcing what by such difease
his sernant may befall,
Conuayes him out of doore,
in open streat to lie,
To sinke or swimme, to mende or paire
to liue or els to die.
A Straunger commes by happe,
and hée to mercy moude,
To see the poore dise asde soule
so slenderly beloude,
In danger of his death,
to lie amids the streat:
A place for such as are in paine.
too cold and farre vnméete:
Doth be are him to his home,
and takes such tender care
Of him, and plies him so with fire
and comfortable fare,
As both recouers limmes
and gettes his former strength,
And settes this féeble scruant vp
vpon his legges at length:
Now gladly would I learne
which of these both doth best
Deserue to haue this seruaunt, who
was lately so distrest?
Where he that ought him first
and gaue him off in grief,
Or he that pitied him in paine
and holpe him to relief?
And if the maister, who
so cruelly did deale
In time of sicknesse, will the man
that did his seruant he ale,
To yéelde him vp againe,
where he by lawe and right
May well with-hold the seruant, whom
he holpe in wretched plight?
The gentlemen among
themselues debated harde,
But drewe in one selfe string at length
the matter was refarde
To
Nicoluccio, who
(because he could full well
Discerne of matters, and his tale
in skilfull order tell)
Should giue the verdit vp.
He highly did commend
The vse of
Persia, with the rest
concluding in the end,
VVhich was, that he whom first
this silly soule did serue,
Of right could lay no lawfull clayme:
full ill he did deserue
A maisters name, that when
his seruant was at worst,
VVould turne him off, and let him lie:
but he, that when the furst
Had played this cruell parte,
did curteously entreate
The sicke and outcast, ayding him
with Phisicke and with meate,
He mought by law and righte,
no preiudice at all
Done to the first, enioy the man,
and him his seruant call.
Then all the other guestes
that at the banquet were,
Affirmde the same that
Nicoluccio
had pronounced there:
The knight who moude the case,
as one that was content
VVith such an answere, and the more,
for that with him it went,
Concluded, that he thought
as all the other saidé:
And now (quoth he) I thinke that I
sufficiently haue stayde.
Now time it is that I
performe my promise made,
In that I meant to honour you,
as is the
Persians trade.
VVith that he calls to him
a couple of his friendes,
Familiar, and of greatest trust,
whom he in message sendes
Vnto the Ladie, that
was clad in braue araye,
VVithin a chamber, willing hir
that she would come her way,
To cheere his Royall guestes,
with presence of her selfe.
The Ladie taking in her armes
that litle puling else,
That was so lately borne,
came in, and thother too
Attending on her, and as earst
Gentile willde her doe,
She sate her downe beside
a guest, a Noble man,
And then the Knight that made the feast
his processe thus began.
Loe, Lordings, here beholde
the thing whereof I spake,
This is the iewell, whereof I
such great accompt doe make,
And euer doe entend,
of nothing else so much
I force, as this: now iudge your selfes,
where it be worthy such
Regard as I bestowe:
marke euery member well:
With that the states, to honor of
this featurd Ladie sell,
And praisde her very much,
affirming to the Knight,
That sinne it were not to esseeme
so fayre and braue a wight.
The guestes begonn
[...] to gaze,
and some there were in place,
That would haue sworne, that she had ben
the very same she was,
Saue that they knew that she
was buried long agoe.
But most of all the other guestes,
that
Nicoluccio,
The husband of the Dame,
this louely Lady eyde:
And when
Gentile did by chanuce
and fortune steppe aside,
As one that had desire
to question with the Dame,
No longer able to withhold:
demaunded whence she came,
Where she a stranger were,
or els in
Bologne borne:
The Lady knowing who it was,
should she not bene forsworne,
Would to her husband tolde
and opened all the case:
But to discharge her promise made,
she helde her peace, with face
As modest as she mighte.
Some other asked, where
That little pretie boy was hers
which she at breast did beare?
And other did demaund,
where she were ought allyde,
Or were
Gentiles daughter deare?
she not a word replide.
With that the feaster came,
your iewel sir (quoth some
That sate at borde) is passing faire.
but is too séeming dombe.
VVhat? is she so in déede?
whereto
Gentile said:
It yéeldes no slender token of
her vertue that she staid
And helde her tong as now.
Declare (quoth they) to vs
VVhat Dame she is, to which request
Gentile answearde thus.
I will with all my heart
declare the truth (quoth he)
If you, vntill the whole discourse
be told, will promise me,
Not once to moue a foote,
but euery one to kéepe
His place: whereto they all agréed,
and gan to swe are by déepe
And very solemne othes
to complishe his request.
The table being taken vp,
the kéeper of the feast
Sate by the Ladies side,
and thus began to tell:
This woman, is the seruant true,
that serude her master well,
Of whom I spake right now,
when I your iudgements craude
This is the seruaunt ilbeloude,
that when she had behaude
Hir selfe in eache respect
as fitted such a one,
VVas shaken off, and turnd to grasse,
in stréetes to make her moane:
VVhom I, to pitie moude,
did succour as I might,
And by my care and handie helpe,
from present death did quight:
And mightie God, that sawe
the great good heart I bare,
Restord her from that loathsome corse
vnto this bewtie rare.
But to the ende you may
more plainely vnderstand
How these aduentures me befell:
I purpose out of hand
In short discourse to shewe
and open all the case.
Then gan he to vnfold his loue,
and how he sude for grace
Vnto this worthy dame,
whose bewtie pearst his brest:
And passed so, from point to point,
vnripping all the rest,
Distinctly from the first:
which made the hearers muse,
To listen to this long discourse
of strange and wondrous newes.
And hauing tolde the whole
as I before haue pende,
Both how he loude, and how she died,
thus closde he vp the ende.
Wherefore (my Lordes) quoth he,
vnlesse you haue of late
Ychangd your thoughts & minds anew
since you at table sate:
And chiesly you, (and points
to
Nicolnccio) she
Whom here you view, of right is mine,
and only due too me.
No lawfull tittle may,
or rightfull clayme belayde
To chelenge her from me againe,
was no man there that sayde
A woorde, but all were still
to heare those matters paste,
And for desire to learne the rest,
and what he meant at laste.
Good
Nicaluccio,
and all the rest beside
That present were, and eake the dame
no lunger could abdie,
But out they burst in teares,
and wept for pities sake.
With that
Gentile standing vp,
the little babe did take,
And bare betwixt his armes,
and led the Ladie eke
By one hand to her husbandwarde,
and thus began to speake.
Stand vp (good Gossup mine)
I doe not héere restore
To you your wife, whom both her friends
and yours refusd before,
And as an outcast scornd:
but frankly giue this dame
My Gossup, and her little childe
that of her bedie came,
To thée, for this of troth
I know, the babe is thine,
Begot by thee, I christened it,
it beares this name of mine,
And is
Gentile calde:
and my request shall bee,
That through thrée months, this Ladie hath
béen soiornesse with me,
Thou wilt no lesse estéeme
of her, or worse good will
Bestow on her, than though shée had
with thee continued still.
And by that selfe same God
which foreed me to beare
Such loue, as by that loue to saue
her life, to thée I sweare,
That, neither with her friends,
nor with thy parents, shée,
No, not with thée her spouse, she coulde
in greater suretie be
As touching honest life,
than with my mother deare:
Assure thy selfe, shée neuer was
abusde, nor tempted héere.
This processe being tolde,
Gentile turnde him rounde
Vnto the Ladie (dame quoth he)
you know, I had you bounde
By faith and lawfull oath:
I quit you héere of all,
And set you frée aboorde againe,
and goe againe you shall
To
Nicoluccio, and
with that both wife and brat
To
Nicoluccios handes he gaue,
and downe
Gentile sate.
The husbande did receiue
his wife with willing hande,
And eke the babe: and how much more
he in dispayre did slande
Of hauing her againe,
whom hee accounted dead:
The greater was his ioy and mirth
when he so happily sped.
In recompence whereof,
he yeelded to the Knight
Gentile, for his great good turne,
the greatest thankes he might.
And all the rest beside,
that were to pitie moude,
Gentiles nature did commend:
hée dearely was beloude
Of all that heard the case,
and feasted there that day.
Thus will I leaue the matron, and
her sonne at home to stay.
These matters ended thus,
ech guest his horse did take,
And parted from
Gentiles house,
that did the banket make.
Home rode the man and wife
vnto their grange with spéede,
The cheare which was at her returne,
and welcome, did excéede.
The people maruailde much,
that shée who buried was,
Cuuld liue againe, and euer as
shée through the stréetes should passe,
In
Bolyne men did gaze,
and greatly view the dame.
And from that day
Gentile still
a faithfull friend became
To
Nicoluccio, and
the parents of his wife,
VVhom hee by vertue of his loue
had raisde from death to life.
Lenuoy.
VNbrideled yonth is prickt to pleasure aye,
And led by lust to tollow fan
[...]es fyts:
Vnsaufull heads runne retchlesse on their way,
Like wylfull coltes that broken haue their bats:
Not lookyng backe, till foultring foote doe faile,
And all consumde that was for their auaile.
Vnhappy they, by scathe that purchase skyll,
And learne too late how youth dyd lead awrie:
Vnluckie men for wit that follow wyll,
And foule delights in golden prime apply:
More wisedome were ech one to wed a wife,
Than marryed daines to lure to lewder life.
For though that nature let vs runne at large,
And all things made by kynde to common vse:
Yet man must lende an eare to ciuill charge,
That points a baine for euery foule abuse:
And bids
(beware pollute no marriage bed)
Without offence let single life be leed.
As honest loue by custome is allowde,
(Both law and reason yeelding to the same
In single wyghts) so parties being vowde
To marryage yoke assaulted are with shame:
Both God and man such sluttysh sutes detest,
The lawfull loue is euer cou
[...]ted best.
Which makes me blame
Gentiles rash assault,
On
Carilina fayre, from former vowe
Whom he pursude to tharge with heauie fault,
And sought to linne to make this matron bowe:
Yet grace at last preuailde in both so well,
As shee stayd chaste, and he to vertue fell.
His foule dessre his lewde and lustfull mynde,
Was cause of lyfe, and wrought a double pleasure:
This b
[...]ried dan
[...]e in pit to death had pynde,
Had he not l
[...]ude, and like her out of measure,
Thus
[...]l sometime is cause of good successe,
And vvicked meanings turne to happines.
Had some rash yinpe beene in
Gentiles case,
So farre inflamde wyth Beaurie of a danie,
And after that had had so fyt a place
To worke his will, and done a deed of shame,
I doubt inee much, hee would haue reapt the frule,
By leaue of force of all hys paynefull sute.
Here all were blest; the mother well reuiude,
The infant borne, the matron full of ruth:
Thrice happy he for bring so truly winde,
Gentile worthie praise for ioyall truth.
All louers may hereby example take,
And learne of him blind fansies to forsake.
The argument to the fourth Historie.
TWo Knightes did linke in League of great goodwill,
At length the one corrupts the others wife,
And traitourlike procurde her vnto ill,
Which vile abuse bred deadlie hate and strife,
And was the cause this leacher lost his life.
For why, the Knight to whome this wrong was wrought
This tratour slue, when he full little thought.
The murther done, he gaue his Cooke the hearte
Of him that had conspirde this filthie feate,
And made him dresse it curiouslie by arte,
And gaue his wife the same at night to eate,
VVho fed thereof, and thought it passing meate:
But when she knew, the heart, the hap, and all,
She loathde to liue, and slue her selfe by fall
Quid non cogit amor?
VVHilome in
Prouance were,
as they that knew the same
Doe make report, two Courtly knightes,
both men of worthie fame:
Ech knight his Castle had,
well furnisht euery way,
With store of seruants at a becke
their pleasures to obey.
The tone
Rossilion calde,
a bold vndaunted knight,
The second, egall to the first,
sir
Guardastano hight:
VVho being men at armes,
and passing well approude
For valiant courage in the fielde,
like faithfull brothers loude,
They dayly vsde to ride
to Turneies both yfeare,
To tilt, to iust, and other feates
perfourmde with sworde and speare.
Their garments eke agréee,
and were of egall sise:
To shew the concorde of their mindes
vnto the lookers eys.
And thus though either knight
his seuerall maner held,
And either ten myles at the least
from others Castle dwelde:
Yet hapneth it at last
that
Guardastano fell
In liking wyth
Rossylions wife,
and loude her verie well.
A dame of beautie braue,
renowmed very much,
Whose featurde face and goodly grace
the knight so neere did touch:
As hee reiected quight
the faith he should haue borne
Her husband, and his trustie friend
that was his brother sworne.
Hée vsde his gestures so
vnto this gallant dame
At sundrie times, that she at length
his friend in loue, became,
And liked well the knight
and so began to place
Her fansie, as shée nought so much
did tender or imbrace
As
Guardastanos loue:
Shee euer lookt when he
Would frame his humble sute, and craue
her secrete friende to be.
Which fortunde in a while:
for he bewraide his case,
And she lesse wise than wanton, streight
did yéeld the Louer grace.
There neaded flender force,
so weake a fort to winne,
For she as willing was to yeelde,
as he to enter in,
And thus for twice or thrice,
the lustie louers delte
In
Venus sport, whose frying hartes
with
Cupids coles did melte.
But in this loue of theirs,
they did not vse so well.
The matter, but the husband did
the smoke by fortune smell.
Of that their silthy flame:
who highly did disdaine
That such outrage and soule abuse
his honour should distaine,
Whereby his former loue
to mortall hate did growe,
And then he purposde with himselfe
to slay his deadly foe
That fowlie so abusde
a Knight that gaue him trust.
Meane while came tidings that in France
the
Lystes were made
The Trump proclaymde the tilte
Rossilion out of hande.
To
Guardastano Castle sent
to let him vnderstand
The newes: and eake withall
did will his man to say,
That if he would the morrow next
vouchsafe to come away
Vnto his house, they would
conclude vpon the case
Full friendly
Guardastano did
the messenger imbrace
And told him that he would
(if God did lende him life)
The morrow night come ouer, to
Rossilyon and his wife,
Which answere when the knight
receiued had he thought
The tuncapprocht, wherein to slay
the traytor knight, that wrought
Such salfehoode to his friend
I leaue you for to scanne
The thousand thoughts, the broken sleeps
and fancies of the man,
That such a murther meant;
and ekes the knightes desire
Who thought it long besore he came
in place to quench his fire
When morning came the knight
well armed from foote to crest
Tooke horse, and had a friend or two
whom he did fancie best,
Well mounted on their steades:
they had not ryd a myle,
Before they came vnto a wood,
a place to worke their wile.
There lay he close in wayte
within the cops, whereas
Full well he wist that
Guardastan
of very force must passe.
There hauing staide awhile,
a farre he might discry
The Knight vnarmde, with other two
that rode vnarmed by,
As one that feard no fraude,
nor any force at all,
VVHen that
Rossilyon did perceiue
him iust against the stall
VVhere he on horsebacke sate
full ready for the chase,
A vallie fit to worke his feate:
with grimme and gastly face
He sets his spurres to horse
and put his launce in rest,
And gallopt after, crying loude,
thou knight and trayterous gest,
Now be thou sure to die,
in penance of thy fact:
And with the word, he strake him through
the shieuered launce it cracke
Against the broken bones,
and thorough pearst his corse.
Vnable
Guardastano then
for to resist the force,
Or once to speake a word,
fell downe vpon the blowe,
And presently gaue vp the ghost,
the speare had spoyld him so.
With that his friends amazed,
and very much in doubt
What this should mean, stood still a space,
at last they turnd about
Their nagges, and sparde no spurres,
vnto the Castle ward
Of
Guardastano, whence they came,
feare made them gallop hard.
When thus
Rossilion sawe
his foe bereft of life,
He left the saddle, and withall
drewe out a shoulder knife,
And ript me vp the brest
of him that murdred lay:
Which done, with egrehands he pluckt
the trembling beart away,
Wherein the treason lodgde:
and hauing there by chance
Or els of purpose, (skilles not which)
the pendant of his launce,
He wrapt it vp therein,
and willd his man to looke
Vnto the carriage of the same:
the heart his seruant tooke.
Then hauing straightly chargd,
that none should dare to say
A word of that which they had séeme
and he had done that day:
He mounted on his horse,
and in the euening rode
Vnto his Castle backe againe,
and there the knight abode.
His wife that hard him say,
that
Guardastano came
That night to suppe with him at home,
and looked for the same,
Did wonder at his stay:
and being one dismayde,
How hapt that
Guardistano commes
not now (good syr) she saide.
To whom the knight replyde,
be sent me word right now
He could not come to day, good fayth
his let I doe allowe.
The Lady wofull woxe,
and lowring gan to looke,
Rossilyon lighted from his horse
sent one to call the Cooke:
VVho being come in place,
take here (quoth he) this heart
I slue a Bore of late by ha
[...],
herein bestow your arte.
Do make some daintie dishe,
according to your skill,
And serue it vp in filuer place:
dispatch you know my will.
The cooke receiude the heart.
and made a running messe
Of meate thereof, as men are wont
that curious cates can dresse.
He minst it very small,
not sparing any cost,
For why, the knight his maister, did
alow him with the most.
VVhen time of eating came,
Rossilyon sate him downe,
And eake the Lady, who for lacke
of
Guardastan did frowne.
The meate was brought to bor
[...]e,
than he that ganne to thinke
Vpon his murther lately done,
could neither eate nor drinke.
At length the cooke sent vp
that other messe of meate,
But he, as one that had no liste,
did will his wife to eate,
And set the dayntie dishe
for her to feede vpon.
The Lady, somewhat hungrie, fell
vnto the cates anon.
And felt it very swéete,
which made her féede the more,
She rid the dishe, and thought it had
bene of a sauage Bore.
Rossilyon, when he sawe
her stomacke was so good,
And that the meate was all consumde,
the dishes emptie floode:
How thinke you wife (quoth he)
how like you of your meate?
Good sir (quoth she) I like it well,
I had good liste to eate.
No wonder (quoth the knight)
by God, although this cheare
Do wel content thée being dead,
in life thou thoughtst it deare.
The Lady hearing this,
stoode still, as one dismayd
[...]
Vpon the wordes, when pause was past,
vnto the knight she sayde,
VVhy? what is that (good sir)
which you haue giuen me
To sup withall? who answerde thus:
I doe protest to thée,
The foode whereof thou fedst,
was
Guardastanos heart,
Whome thou didst so entierly loue,
and playdst the harlots part.
Be bold it is the same,
this knife his belly ripe,
And from the rentes with these my hands,
the traytors heart I stript,
And crackt the strings in twayne
to ease my heart of woe
That could not rest contented, but
by murthring such a foe.
The Lady, when she heard
that
Cuardastan was flayne
Whom she had loude, to aske where she
lamented, were in vayne,
Coniecture of her cares,
imagine her distresse.
It last (quoth she) thou cruell knight,
(I can not tearme thée lesse)
Hast playd a wicked part,
and done a curs
[...]
[...],
In flaying of a
[...] man.
(O bloudy
[...] fact)
A wight that word not me,
twas I that earned death,
If any did deserue at all
the losse of vitall breath
Twas I that did the deed,
I loude, I doe protest,
And did of worldlie men, account
that worthie knight the best.
How might he death deserue
who loyall was to thée?
But (mightie Gods) it is your will,
and pleasure now I see,
That these so noble cates,
the heart of such a wight,
In chiualrie that did excell,
a passing courteous Knight
As
Guardastano was,
shoulde be my latter meale,
And that I should with baser meates
no more hereafter deale.
Wherefore (good faith) quoth she,
I doe not loath my foode,
And therewithall vppon her legges
the louing Lady stoode
Before a windowe, that
was full behinde her féete,
And sodainly from thence she fell
into the open stréete.
Which déede no sooner done,
the window was so hie,
But out of hand, her breath was stopt,
and so the dame did die
With carkasse all to crusht,
by reason of the fall.
The knight her husband séeyng this,
(who was the cause of all)
Stoode like a man amazde.
and then misliked sore
Both of the Ladies losse, and eke
the murthres knight before.
And being then adrad,
and standing in a doubt
Of
Counte Prouince, and the rest
that bordred thereabout:
He sadled vp his horse,
and roade in post away:
The night did fauour his intent.
As soone as it was day,
Twas all the countrey through
that such a dame was dead,
And presently vpon the fact
the knight him selfe was fled.
Then they that seruants were
of eyther castle, came
With bitter teares, and tooke the dead,
the knight, and take the dame,
And in the castle Church,
in marble hewde for twaine,
They buried both the murthered knight,
and eke the Ladie slaint.
With verses on the graue,
to shew both who they were,
And what was cause that
Guardastan
and she were buried there.
The Lenuoy,
THE Poet that to Loue did pen the path,
And taught the trade
Cupidos yinpes to traine,
Within his second booke aduised hath,
That who so lookes, and would be willing taine,
To keepe his loue vnto himselfe, he must
Neither brother, friend, nor yet companion trust.
And hereupon his grounded reason growes,
That ech man seekes to serue himselfe in chiefe:
And he to sight that friendliest countenance showes.
Yet for his flesh will soonest play the theefe.
As stolne Deare in taste exceedes the gift
So gallantst gaine is that which commes by shyft.
In greatest trust, the greatest treason lyes,
Where least we feare, there harme we soonest finde,
In open foe each man full quickly flyes,
Hee woundeth most that strikes his blowe behinde:
But little hurt the open Adder workes,
The Snake stings sore, that in the couert lurkes.
The barking Hound hath seldome hap to bite,
His mouth bewrayes his meaning by his crie:
No byrde vpon the open twig
[...] doth light,
The naked Net ech foolish foule doth fiye:
The hidden hooke is hee that doth the feate,
Of sugred bane the wiliest mouse will eate.
Who feares no fraude, wyth ease you may biguyle,
The simple minde will soone be ouergone:
He takes least barme that doubtes deceyt and wile,
And dreading thornes, doth let the Rose alone:
The Trumpets sound bewrayes the Foe at hand,
And warning giues his furie to withstand.
The glewing grome that fyghts before becommes,
Is eyther voyded,, or by sleight subdued;
The way to wynne, is not to beate the drummes,
For threatning throates are easily eschued:
The surest meane to worke anothers woe,
Is fayre to speake and be a fryend in showe.
Had not this knight reposde assured trust,
Vpon his fryend, that loude him as his life,
Could he so well haue serude his fylthie lust?
Or leysure had so to abusde his wife?
No, had he thought such treason hyd in breast,
He would haue lookte more nearely to hys gu
[...]st.
But louing well, and meaning not amish,
He lowde him scope, without suspect of ill
To come and goe, to vse the house as hys,
A perfect shewe of very great good wyll:
Both purse and plate, both lands, and lyfe, and all,
(Saue wife alone) lay pledge at euery call.
Which makes his fault, and foule offence the more,
That dyd this deede and wrought this trechery.
Against his friend that loude him euermore,
And thought him void of vice of lechery:
Good nature deemd that
Guardastan could not,
For fleshly iust so deare a friend forgot.
But see, how synne once seasing on the minde
Doth muffle man and leades him quight a
[...]ay:
It makes him passe beyoud the boundes of kynde,
And swerue the trade where truth and vertues lay,
Refuling friendes, reiecting lawes, and right,
For greedy care to compasse foule delyght.
And as the man herein deserueth shame,
For stoupyng so to base and beastly vice,
So are those dames exceedingly too blame.
Whose glaueryng glee to lewdnesse doth entice:
Who frame their lookes, their gesture tongs and tale,
To serue their turne in steede of pleasant stale,
Two sorts I fynde deseruing trust aleeke,
The mounting minds that sue for hygh estate,
And such againe as sensuall pleasures secke,
And hunt the haunt of euery louyng mate:
Both which to come by what they like and loue,
Renounce theyr friends, and scorne the Gods aboue.
But marke yet well the sause that doth ensue,
Such stoine flesh, is bytter as the gall,
Great are the plagues to such disorders due,
From skyes reuenge and fearefull scourge doth fall:
The dome diuine although it suffer long.
Yet strikes at last, and surely wreakes the wrong.
For
Heleus rage king
Menelaus wife,
The Stories tell how
Priam and his towne
Confounded were, and how for broyle and strife
In wrongfull cause, the walles were battered downe:
Full many a knyght in battayle spent his blood,
And all because the quarrell was not good.
So when this Traitor knight had fed his fyll,
Vpon
Rossilions wyfe, and wrongde his friende,
By foule abuse: in guerdon of his ill,
The wrathfull Gods brought him to wretched end
To quit hys glee, and all his former sport,
He dyed the death in most vnhappie sort.
And shée, who falst hée faith and marriage heste,
And double penance for her pleasure past,
For fyrst she eate his heart she fansied best,
And desperately did kill her selfe at last.
Note here the fruttes of treason and of lust:
Forbeare the like, for God is euer iust:
Nihil proditore tutum.
Amore,
Puo piu che ogni amicitia, et che ogni honore.
The Argument to the fift Historie.
THe Lumbard
Albyon conquered
Cunimund,
And after death of him inioyd the state,
And married with the Ladie
Rosamund,
The Princes daughter whom he slue so late:
Whose skull he did conuert into a pot,
Because his conquest should not be forgot.
His custome was at euerie feast hee made,
To drinke therein for pompe and foolish pride,
And on a time his Queene he gan perswade
To doe the like: whereto she nought replide
But so much scornd his offer of disdaine,
As straight she drew a plot to haue him slaine.
A noble man that Don
Ermigio hight,
With on Parradio by the Queenes deceate,
Were wrought to kill this mouster if they might,
And by the sworde they meant to doe the feare:
And so they did within little while,
VVhen least the king mistrusted anie guile,
Vpon his death,
Ermigio out of hand,
Espousde the ladie
Rosamand to his wife,
Which when longums chaunst to vnderstand
He practisde with the Queene to reaue his life,
To thend that he might marrie with his dame,
Who gaue consent to do this deade of shame.
With venim vile to worke she thought it best
Which when
Ermigio dranke, and found the drist,
By force be draue the Queene to drinke the rest
Who seeing that there was none other shift
The pay son supt, and took it patientlie.
As iust rewarde for both their villanie.
Parradio eke whose helping hand did further
The
Lumbards baue, and brought him to his death
For guerdon due to him, to quit the murther,
First lost his eies, and after that his breath
That men might see, how trulie God doth
And plague offences, lightlie with the like.
AMong those warlike wights
That earst from
Almaine came,
And other northly parts besides
Those men that beare the
Of
Lombards chunst to light
In
Italy and there
Two hundred yéeres and somewhat more.
The only rule did beare
Throughout that realme which we
Now
Lombardie do call:
Vntill such time as
Charles the
Great
Had dispossest them all,
And draue them theuce by force.
And meane of knightly might?
What time (I say) it was their lot
In
Italy to light.
One
Alboine was their chiefe,
A man of monstrous wit,
And valiant in the feate of armes
For martiall practise sit.
This
Alboin ere his came
To
Italy, had slain
Ring
Cunimundus and bereft
Hina of his princely raigne.
And not content with death
Nor hauing helly full
Of noble blood, cut off his bead
And of the clouen skull
Did make a quaffing cup
Wherein he tooke delight
To bouse at boorde, in token of
His pompe, and former fight.
This
Cunimundus had
A daughter passing faire,
Rosmunda hight, that was his ioy,
And should haue bene his heire,
If he had kept his crowne,
And not bene conquered so:
But being slayne, his daughter was
A captiue to his foe,
This Captaine kept her thrall,
And ment it all her life:
Till loue at last this Lumbard forst
To take her to his wife.
When marriage day was past,
And he to battell fell,
And conquering of Italie
He loude his wife so well,
As she might neuer parte:
But like a warlike dame,
She euer logde in open campe,
Where so her husband came:
Who sundrie cities tooke,
And conquerde many a towne,
By force of sworde, and Lyonlike
Went ramping vp and downe.
Vntill at length he came
To
Pauoy, where of olde,
(As in the chiefest place of all)
The kings their courte did holde.
When full thrée yéeres and more,
This Lumbarde there had layne:
Vnto
Verona he remoude,
With all his princely trayne.
And presently preparde
A solemne banket there,
To seast his frendes, and others that
Of his retinue were.
Amids which princely cheere
And royall feast, the king,
Did will the wayter on his cup,
That he to boorde should bring
The mazare that was made
Of
Cunimundus head:
And hauing it in presence there,
(Where he with wyne were sped,
Or else by malice moude,
I wote neare what to thinke)
But hauing it in place, he gaue
His Quéene the cuppe to drinke.
The cuppe her fathers skull,
O wilfull witlesse acte,
Which no man well aduisde would do,
But one that were distracte.
The Quéene perceiuing this
In mockage to be ment
Of
Alboyne, as it was in déede,
And sawe his lewde entent,
And how he skofte the king
Her father in the same,
Was stuft with raging rancour streight,
And blusht for verie shame.
In sorte that all hir loue
Which she had borne before
Vnto her husbande, grewe to hate,
She loathde him tenne times more
Than euer she had loude
Or fansted any wight:
And thereupon resolude to doe
A mischiefe, if she might,
And to reuenge by death
Of
Alboyne, monstrous man,
Her father
Cunimundus bloud,
Loe here the broyle began.
For
Rosmonde all in rage,
Consulted with a péere,
Ermigio calde, a courtly wighte,
This noble man to stéere
To murther of the Prince,
I leaue her wordes vnpende,
This noble hearing whereunto
Her long discourse did tende,
Declarde the Quéene his mynde,
And vttred his conceite,
And said
Parradio was the man
That must dispatche the feate:
Without whose helpe (quoth he)
I wote neare what to say:
I thinke him such a one as dares
Such ventrous parts to play.
Your grace were best to proue,
If he consent, you shall
Not fayle of me, but stande assurde
To haue me at a call.
Forthwith the Quéene did cause
Parradio to appeare:
Who after sundrie offers made,
And wordes of courtly cheare,
To moue him to the spoyle
Of
Alboyn, thus replyde:
In vayne your grace doth goe aboute
To haue the king destroyde
By these my giltlesse handes,
That day shall neuer be,
I truste, the world shall neuer proue
So foule a fact by me,
As to procure the death
And murther of the king:
Of treason vile, to haue a thought
To practise such a thing.
Leaue off your lewde entente,
Or séeke some other wight
To worke your feate, I neuer yet
In slaughter tooke delight.
The Ladie hearing this,
Hnd hauing earnest zeale
To worke her will, reiecting shame,
Bethought her howe to deale.
There did at selfe same time,
Vpon the Quéene awayte,
A proper wenche, of comely grace,
Full fitte to make a bayte
To take such louing woormes
And hang them on the hooke,
Whose greatest pleasure is vpon,
A courtly dame to looke,
This gallant likte her glee.
Her gesture, and her face,
And by deuice did bape at last
To purchace priuie grace.
Meane whyle the subtile Quéene
That found this louers haunt,
And knew he daily plyde her mayde,
Thereby to make her graunte
And yelde him his desire,
Thus thought it best to worke,
In selfe same place where they did méete,
In secrete sorte to lurke,
As though it were the wenche
With whome he would debate,
And so perhaps she might both checke
And giue the foole a mate.
Which hapned so in déede:
For on a certaine day,
The Quéene to compasse this her crafte,
Put on her maydes aray,
And in the wonted place,
Where they did vse to talke,
Bestowde her self. When night was come
Forth gan this gallant walke,
And to the standing came
Where lay this lodged doe,
Whome he had thought to be the mayde,
But it was nothing so.
Streight he in wonted wyse,
As custome was of yore,
Pronounste his painted termes of loue,
And flattred mo
[...] and more,
Bewraying all his thoughtes,
And ripping vp his harte
Vnto the wenche (for so he deemde)
And playde the Louers parte.
Ten thousande wordes he spake,
And tending all to loue:
Whome after all his long discourse,
The Quéene did thus reproue.
Parradio doest thou knowe
With whome thou standest here?
Who thus replyde in louing wyse:
Yea that I doe (my deare)
And namde the selfe same mayde,
Who was his friende in déede,
With whom he had conferrde of loue,
In great good hope to spéede.
What sir? you are beguilde,
I am not she you wéene:
No seruing mayde assure thy selfe,
I am (quoth she) a Quéene.
And
Rosmond is my name,
Nowe doe I knowe thy minde,
And priuie am to all thy guyle,
Thou shalt be sure to fynde
Of me a mortall foe:
Nowe make thy choyce of twayne,
Where thou wilt spoyle y
e king my spouse
Or thou thy selfe be slayne,
For this outrage of thine,
Which thou hast done to me:
Leaue off delayes, dispatche with spéede,
It may nane other be.
Parradio hearing this,
And pondring in his thought
To howe extreme a poynt by wyle
Of
Rosmond he was brought:
Resolude to slay the Prince,
And ridde him of his lyfe:
And for the better working of
His feate, did vse the wyfe
The diuelish Queenes deuise,
And
Don Armigios ayde.
And in this sorte these wicked folkes
The cruel pageant playde:
The king, as custome was,
Because the day was hotte,
To take a nappe at after noone,
Into his chamber gotte.
Where being softely layde,
The place was voyded strayte,
And eurte groome had leaue to parte
That vsually did wayte.
To yelde the king his ease,
Thus dealte the suttle dame.
And to be sure to haue her will,
She shifted thence with shame
Her sleepie husbandes sworde,
VVho then in slumber lay,
For that he should by no deuise
Haue powre to scape away,
This done, the cruel wightes
(Of whome I spake before)
VVith bloudie mindes, and armed hands
Approched to the doore:
And vp they thrust the same,
And softly entred in:
And stole vpon the heauie prince,
That slumbring long had byn.
Yet wrought it not so well,
For all their théeuish pace,
But that king perceiude them when
They came vnto the place:
Who mazed in his midde,
And chargde with sodaine feare,
To see these two suspected wights
To prease in presence there:
Gate him vp with Lions rage,
From Cabbin where he slept,
And to his sworde, for safegarde of
His life and honour, leapt.
But out, alas, the Quéene
Had reft the weapon thence,
Which earst the Prince was wont to vse.
And weare for his defence.
The Ruffians that in rage
For blood and mischiefe sought,
Bestowde their blowes vpon the kyng.
That no such practise thought:
And so bestirde themselues
His weapons being bad,
As in a while they slue him there,
And so their purpose had,
Vnwist of any wight,
The murther was vnseene,
And knowne of none, but of the two,
And of the cursed Queene,
When this deuise was wrought,
Ermigio out of hande
Did seyze vpon the Pallace, with
Intent to rule the land.
And thought to wed the Quéene,
And so he did indeede:
Whereto the Quéene and all the rest,
That fauourde her, agréede.
Imagine of their ioyes,
Whom filthie sinne did linke,
What pleasure they in kingdome tooke,
I leaue for you to thinke.
But sure in my conceite,
Where murther brings the wife,
There wealth is woe, lust turnes to loath,
And liking growes to strife,
But turne I to my tale,
That plainly may appeare,
What hap befell, and whether they
Did buie their marriage deare:
The Lumbards paiute that
Their king was fouly slaine,
And that by meane thereof they might
Their purpose not aitaine:
But should bée forst to flee,
Or worser hap to haue
By longer stay, their chiefest goods
And iewels for to saue,
Trusst vp in fardell wise,
And so conueide by stealth
The Ladie
Aluisenda thence,
(And eke good store of wealth.)
Who daughter to the king,
But lately murthred was,
Not by this wife, but by the first:
Away the Lumbards passe,
Vnto
Rauenna, where
As God and fortune woulde,
Longinus tho Licuetenant to
Tyberius, courte did holde:
Great
Constantine his sonne,
Whose Empire stretched wide,
And vnder whom
Longinus had
In trust those Realines to guide.
This Captaine entertainde
Them in good louing wise
And did the greatest friendship vse,
That he mought well deuise.
It fortunde so at last,
(The cause I wote not well)
Longinus to good liking of
The Ladie
Rosmonde fell,
Whose fausie grew so great
Vnto the featurde wight,
As marrie out of hand he would
To further his delight.
To bring this match about,
He practisde with the dame,
And gaue aduise that she shoulde take
In hand a déede of shame.
The murther of the man
That vsde her as his wife:
There was no choyce, but shée must reaue
Ermigio of his life.
The Quéene that cleane had cast
The feare of God away,
And awe of men, not weying what
The world of her might say:
And thirsting for estate,
Whereto she hoapte to clime:
Preparde a poysoned drinke for him
Against his bathing time,
And made in wise, she gaue
A holesome Gossups cup.
Which he should finde excéeding good,
If he would drinke it vp.
Who hauing no distrust
Of wife, or diuelish drift,
With willing hands vnto his mouth
The poysoned pot did lift:
And drank a gréedie draught
His former heat to quell:
It was not long before the drinke
Vnto his working fell:
VVhich when he felt to rage
And boyle within his breast,
And knew himselfe vnto the death
VVith venim vile possest.
He drew his desperate sworde,
In choler and despite,
And draue the Quéene to quaffe the rest,
And empt the vessell quite.
VVhich done, at one selfe time,
Both he and eke his Quéene,
Did end their liues, that hastners of
King
Albyons bane had béene
Oue poysoned syrrupe slue,
This cursed couple tho,
VVhose beastly liues deserude so vile
A death for lyuing so.
VVhich when
Longinus heard,
And how that matters went:
The Ladie
Aluisinda streight
Vnto
Tyberius sent,
And all her treasure eke
That earst her fathers was.
VVithall,
Parradio who did ayde
To bring these feates to passe.
Who heing there in place,
In eruell sort was slaine,
And ere he dyde, was reft his eyes,
To put him more to paine.
Nullum peccatum impunitum.
Ogni peccato a morte a'l fin Ihuom meua.
The Lenuoy.
LO heere the fatall end of murther done,
Such blooddie factes deserue no better hyte:
[...] the threede that of such wooll is spon,
Marke well their lot that mischtese doe conspire,
It lighthe doth vpon their heads retire:
And th
[...]ie that are the workers of the deed,
Though long forborne, at last no better speed.
See, to reuenge when
Rosmond once began,
Incenst there to vy wrath and deepe disdaine,
She could not stint by murther of a man,
Nor leaue, although she saw her husoande slaine,
But thought she woulde attempt the like againe:
Her vise conceite was blinded all with blood,
She could not turne about to see the good.
Soldst once in sinne, and washt in waues of ill
She
[...]amsht ruth, and pitie flong aside,
Yelding hey sel
[...]e to spoyle the flaughter still,
Whom she misukte, should streight haue furehe dide.
[...] flames of wreake withyn her bowels fride:
[...] being caid to hie and princelie state,
In foule attempts, she could not want a mate.
Worth whyle to note how such as beare the sway,
And sit in seat of royall dignitie,
The righteous Gods without respect, doe pay,
And plague them for their hellish crueltic,
With losse of honour liues and iolitie:
And such as are their ministers in ill.
Either gallowes eates, or fatall sworde doth kill.
Crude'ltasta spesso in donna bella.
The Argument to the sixt Historie.
THE king of
Thunise had a daughter faire,
Whose beauties brute through many countries ran:
This Lady was her fathers only heire,
Which made her loude and likt of eury man,
But most of all the king of
Granate than,
Began to loue, who for he was a king,
By little sute, this match to cloth did bring,
The promise past betweene these noble states,
The rested nought, but onlie her conuey
In safetie home, for feare of rouing mates,
Who would perhaps assault them by the way:
Wherefore the king
Cicils pledge they pray,
Who gaue his word and Gantlet from his hand,
Not to be vext by any of his land.
Away they went, the ships forsooke the shore,
And helde their couse to
Granate warde amaine,
When sodeinly
Gerbino (who before
Had lovde the Queen, & did his match
[...]
VVith Galies came this royall prize to gaine:
The fight was fierce, a cruell battaile grewe,
But he at length most likelie to subdue.
VVhen Sarizens saw the force of blooddie foe,
And that they must surrender vp the dame,
Maugre their might, & needs their charge forgo:
VVhat for despite, and vvhat for verie shame,
Aud partly to discharge themselues of blame,
They kild the Queene,
Gerbino looking on,
And threvve her out, for fish to feed vpon.
To venge vvhich deede, and cursed cruell acte,
He slue them all, not leauing one aliue,
VVith fire and svvord the Sarizens he sackt,
For that they durst so stouthe vvith him striue
And did his loue of life and light depriue.
Yet backe againe to
Cicill Ile retyrde,
Missing the marke vvhich he had long desyrde.
VVhē nevves vvas brought vnto the aged king
The Grandsire, hovv his nephevv vvilfullie
Had broke the league, and done a heinous thing,
Committing spoile, and shamefull Piracie:
Although he loude
Gerbino tenderlie,
Yet did adiudge him to the death, because
He did prefer his lust before the lavves.
King
William, by report of such
As dwelt within his lande,
VVho second Prince of
Cecil, held
The Scepter in his hand
Two babes h
[...]got vpon his Quéene,
A male, that
Ruggier hight:
And eke a daughter,
Custance cald,
A Dame of beautie bright.
This
Ruggier, whilst his father liude,
By fortune had a Sonne,
Gerbino namde, of whom this tale
Especially doth runne.
VVho by his Grandsyre nonrisht vp
And nurtred from a boye,
At length became a proper man,
And was the Princes ioye.
His courteous nature wonne renowne,
His valiant courage knowne
Not only in
Cicilia was:
But brute abroad had blowne
The fame thereof to foraine realmes.
His praise doth passe the boundes
Of all the Ile, where he was bred,
And in
Barbaria soundes:
VVho to the Ring of
Cycill payde
Their tribute money then:
VVhich great renowne of
Gerbins name
Vnto the eares of men
Was brought that euery one extolde
His vertues to the skye:
Who but
Gerbin
[...] all abrode,
Whose fame like his did flie?
Among the rest that heard reporte
Of
Gerbin, was a dame,
The daughter of the king of
Tunise
(I wotte not well her name)
But as (the men that sawe her vaunte)
Shée was the fairest hewde,
And trimmest shapte, that euer kinde
Had cast or creature vewde
Whose body-was no brauer deckte
With louely limmes without
Thā was her mynd with maners fraught
And vertues round about.
This Lady hearing noble men
Oft reasoning of renowne
That
Gerbin wanne, by worthy déedes,
And how his fame did drowne
That chiualry of all the rest:
And that his courage was
So great as he inmanly feates
All other knightes did passe,
Delighted very much therein,
Shee likte the talke so well,
And stood so long deuising of
H
[...] prowesse, that shée fell
To like
Gerbino, though vnséene:
Shée felt her brest to frie
With fancies flame, and was of him
Enamord by and by.
So that it did her good at harte
To heare of
Gerbines fame,
And tke her selfe among the rest
To publish out the same.
As willing as shée was before
To beare of others talke,
So glad this Lady woxe at last.
To haue her toung to walke.
The playnest proofe of great good will
That lurking lyes in brest:
For when the minde doth like, the mouth
Can neuer be at rest.
And on the other side, as fast
This peerlesse Princesse fame
Was noysde abroad, and so in fine
To
Cicill Ile it came:
There was hir beautie bruted much,
As other where beside:
So long till
Gerbin through reporte
Of his fayre Lady fride.
And felt himselfe enlaste in loue,
And tangled in the net:
That willie
C
[...]pid earst to take
His louing Lady see.
This heate did
[...]aily gr
[...] to mor
[...]
Within the gallantes brest,
And did torment him so within,
That he to purchase rest,
Deuisde an honest lawfull skuse
To parte from
Cicill Ile,
And gat him leaue to trau
[...]le vn
[...]
Tunise for a while,
Vpon desire to se
[...] the dame,
Whose fansie bound him thrall:
And gaue in charge vnto his fyende,
And folkes he went withall,
As much as euer lay in them
To further his intent,
As euery one should thinke it best:
And tell her what was ment
Of
Gerbines parte, and how he loude,
Enduring bitter payne
For her, and from the noble Quéene
To bring him newes againe.
Of whom, those men that had the wit
To handle matters well,
Went Merchant like vnto the court,
Fine iewels there to sell:
Which they of purpose brought from hon
And Ladies vse to bye,
As rings, and stones, and carkenettes,
To make them please the eye,
And by this practise in they gotte
Within the Pallace gate,
And made their shew, and marchātlike
In euery pointe they sate,
To spye a time to moue their sute
Vnto the noble Dame:
Who, in a whyle that they had bene
In place, by fortune came,
And twharted where
Cicylians sate,
Vpon desire to sée
Such iewels as might like her best,
Now here began the glée:
For one that had a fyled tong,
And durst his tale to tell
And looke a Ladie in the face,
Vnto his purpose fell.
And after reuerence done, began
To say in sobre sorte,
That
Gerbin willd him to repaire
Vnto her fathers courte,
To sée, and to salute her grace,
Whom he did tender more
Than all the Ladies on the earth,
That he had séene before.
Her loue had pierst his noble brest,
And cleft his manly harte:
And he was well contented with
The stroke of
Cupides darte.
Both he, and all the wealth he had
Was hers to vse at will,
Requesting her to take in worth
Gerbinos great good will:
I can not pen the tale he tolde,
So well in euery place,
As he, perhaps, pronounst it then:
The gesture giues the grace.
But this you may assure your selfe,
He dealte so orderly,
As néeded: for the Princesse did
Receiue him thankfully:
And did accept his message well,
With answere to the same,
That as
Gerbino burnt in loue,
So shee did fr
[...]e in flame,
And felte as hot a coole as hée
Within her tender brest:
If inward loue, by secretache,
And griping might be gest.
And to thend het former talke
Vnfayned might appeare,
Shée sent
Gerbino such a ring,
As shée did holde most deare.
A iewell of no slender prieè,
The value did excell:
This message being vorne him backe
Did like the Louer well,
The token highly was estéemd,
No richesse mought haue pleasde
His fansie halfe so well, as that,
For why? his smarte was easde.
And after that, he sundrie tymes
Sent freindly lynes of loue,
And tokens to the Princesse, by
The man that first did moue
The sute, and brake the matter vp:
Deuising how he might,
And ment him selfe to talke with her,
If fortune fell aright.
But matters being at this hande,
And luckely begonne:
Deferring off from day to daye
The thing that should bene done:
Whilst
Gerbin melted with desire
His Lady to imbrace:
And she againe did long asmuch
To sée her louers face.
It so befell, the king of
Tunise
His daughter spowsed had
Vnto the Prince of
Granate, which
Did make the Lady sad.
She woxe the wofulst dame aliue,
For being matched so:
It did not only grieue her, that
Shée was compeld to go
So farre away from
Gorbin: but
The thing that nipte her nere,
Was, that she feard she neuer should
Haue séene her louer deare,
Once being p
[...]ried from the place
In all her life againe:
And hereupon she willing was,
And would bene very fayne
To scape the King her fathers handes,
And liude with
Gerbin aye:
She beate her braynes, deuising meanes
By stealth to runne away
Likewise y
e knight was cloyd with care,
And liude a wofull man.
Her mariage knowen, his valiant brest
To throbbe and ake began:
Was neuer wight in greater woe,
Nor angry moode than he:
At length when care was somewhat past,
He thought his helpe to be,
And only ayde to rest in force,
Wherefore he did entend
By strength of hand to win his lone,
When so the king should send
Her home vnto her husbandes reahne:
Loue had possest him so,
As, he the Princesse to enioye.
Through fire and floudes would goe.
The king of
Tunise hauing heard
Some inckling of good will,
That was betwixt the knight and her,
And doubting of some ill
That
Gerbin would pretend: befides,
Well knowing that he was
A valiant wight and one that did
Full manly prowesse passe:
When time was come to send the quéene
Vnto her husbands land,
By letters which he sent, hée let
King
William vnderstand
His meaning and his full inteent,
And did request beside,
To haue assurance at his hands,
That he would so prouide,
That not a man within his Realme
Should hinder his pretence,
Nor
Gerbin make resistance, when
He sent his Ladie thence.
The hoarie graue
Cicilian king,
That loden was with age,
And wist not of his daughters idue,
Nor yet
Gerbinos rage,
Nor déeming that the kings demaunde
Did tend to such effect,
Did frankly yeld his sute, as one
That did no ill suspect.
And for assu
[...]ance of the fame,
To rid the prince of feare,
He sent his Gentlet, for a pledge
That things confirmed were.
Who hauing such assurance made,
Let builde a mightie barks
In
Carthage Haue
[...] and did ri
[...]
The same with earnst carke.
And finely finisht vp the ship.
In minde, without delay.
Vnto
Granata, by the Seas,
To send the Quéene away.
He wanted nothing saue the time
To complish his intent:
Meane while the want
[...]n Princes, that
Knew her father ment,
And smelling out his purpose, causde
Her man in poast to goe,
Vnto
Palermo couertly,
To let
Gerbino knowe,
Both of the Ladie
[...] late contract.
And that by ship shée must
Within a while to
Granat got,
To serue her husbands lus
[...].
Wherefore tell
Gorbine, if he hée
The man in deed (quoth shée)
And such a valiant Knight at armes
As he hath bragd to mée,
And often boasted of himselfe
Or beare me halfe the loue,
He made in wise: he knowes my minde,
I shall his courage proue.
The messenger that had the charge
Did as the Quéene had wild:
And made returne to
Tunise, when
He had her hest fulfild.
When
Gerbin had receiude the newes,
Both of her going thence,
And also that his Granstre gaue
His gloue for their defence
That should co
[...]ey the Princesse home
Vnto her husbands land:
He doubtfull woxe, and wist not what
Was best to take in hand.
But waying well the Ladies wordes
Whom he did most imbrace:
To make a proofe of faithfull loue
In such a doubtfull case,
Vnto
Messina streight he went,
And there two Gallies made:
And armde them well with valiant men,
And skilde in Rouers trade.
And to
Sardinia did conuey
Him selfe, and all his route:
Entending there to make his stay,
And linger thereabout,
Till time the Quéen by shipping came
Which was within a space:
For why
Gerbino had not long
Continude in the place.
But that he might perceiue aloofe
One vnder saile that came,
And had but slender gale: he knew
It streight to be the same
Wherin the Quéene his mistresse went:
The Gods would haue it so,
For at that instant slender was
The winde that there did blow.
Then (quoth
Gerbino to his mates)
If you be valiant men,
(As I haue thought you all to bee,
And doe account you:) then
There is not one among you all
I dare auowe, but earst
Hath béen in loue, or presently
With
Cupids shaft is pierst:
And certainely withouten loue
Within the breast of man,
No goodnesse growes, as I doe déeme
Nor any vertue can.
And if you loue, or euer did,
Then lightly may you gesse
The great desire, and burning loue
That doth my heart oppresse.
I doe confesse I am in loue,
And
Cupid causer was
That I procurde you hither now,
To bring my will to passe,
And vndertake this present toyle.
The yonder ship you see,
And in the ship doth rest a dame,
The only ioy of mée.
And eke besides my Ladie deare
Whom I would haue so faine,
Great wealth there is, to quit your toiles,
An easie thing to gaine.
Small fight (no doubt) will serue the turne,
If you will play the men:
Which bootie, if wée may atchieue,
(My mates) assure you then
I only will the Ladie gaine,
That is my only care:
As for the goods, I am content
Among your selues to share.
Wherefore (my friends) attempt the fight,
Let courage neuer faile:
The Gods you sée are willing, that
We should the ship assaile.
You see she hath no gale to goe,
She can not passe away:
Fight fréely, all the spoyle is yours,
You shall be made to day,
There néeded not so many wordes
Their willing hearts to win:
For why encountring rat
[...]er than
Their liues they would ha
[...] bin
The bootie bred the great desire,
They thought his tale too long:
The gréedie lust of pray did pricke
Those lustie Lads along.
Wherefore as soone as he had told
His tale, the trumpets blewe:
And euery man his weapon caught,
And to the oares they flewe,
And to the shipwarde on they weat,
With all the speede they might:
The men aboord that see them come
Preparde them selues to fight.
For why they could not scape away,
The Gallies were so neare,
And eke the winde so slender was
To cause the ship to steare.
When
Gerbin did approch the barke,
He wild the chiefest men,
That were the guides, and rulde the ship,
To come aboord him then,
Vnlesse they ment to fight it out,
The
Sarizens that saw
Both who they were, & what they would,
Said that they brake the law
Which earst the Prince of
Cicill made
Vnto their Soueraigne, and
To make the mattir plaine, they shewde
The Gantlet of his hand:
Loe here King
Williams Glone (quoth they)
Behold it here in sight:
This is your Pasport, nought yée get,
Vnlesse it be by sight.
Gerbino hauing earst descride
The beautie of the dame
Aloft the Poope, began to frie
And melt with greater flame
Than euer he had done before:
For then her feature séemde,
Farre fresher than in all his life
The lustie louer déemde.
And there upon inraged thus
By beautie of the Quéene:
He gaue his froffing answere, when
He had the Gantlet séene:
Good faith (quoth hée) I neede no gloue,
My Faulcon is away:
I haue no vse to put it to:
But if without delay
You doe not yéeld the Ladie vp,
Prep are your selues to sword:
For sure, vnlesse I haue my will,
You shall hée layde aboord.
And present
[...] vpon the
[...]
Without a farther talke,
The arrowes flew
[...] from
[...],
The bullot stones did walk
[...]
A cruell fight
[...]
On eyther part a space:
But when
Gerb
[...]
[...] at longth
His force could take no place,
Helades a Lyter all
[...],
And with his gallies went
Full closely to the migh
[...]ie ship,
They seeyng his intent,
And knowing this, of verie force
That they must yéeld, or die
[...]
Did make no more
[...], but causde
The Princes by and by,
(That vnder harth
[...] s
[...]bbing sate
Gerbinos only lone)
To leaue her teares,
[...] her selfe
Vpon the decke aboue.
Who, as vpon the foreship sto
[...]de
In presence of them all,
The hellish houndes, the
Sarizens,
Vnto the Knight did call,
And ful before his face, they s
[...]u
[...],
With many a blooddie blow
The Ludie, crying out for grace:
And hauing done, did throw
Her carued carkasse from the ship
Into the brackishe flood:
And to
Gerbino therewithall
Exclaymde, and cryed a good:
Loe, take sir Knight, we yéeld her vp
Vnto thy crauing handes,
In sort as lyes in vs to doe,
And as the broken bandes
Which thou hast (wretchlesse man) despisde,
Deserue: now doe thy best.
Gerbino, hauing viewde the déed,
And wayed within his breast
The tygres harts, and bloudy mindes
Of those that slue the dame,
Did make no more adoe, but close
With dreadlesse courage came
A boord the ship, and there begon
Without respect of grace,
Full Lion like, that lackes his pray,
When bullockes are in place:
To doe those wicked slaues to death,
He did not fauour one.
Some re
[...]t he with his eger téeth,
He set his nayles vpon
Some other, breaking all their bones,
To glut his hungry hart,
That longd for vengeance of the fact.
Then gan he play his part,
With sharpe and cruell sword in hand,
As one without
[...]emorse:
He seard me one, and scotcht an other,
And mangled euery corse.
Meanwhile the flame began to grow,
And kindle all about
The bloudy barke, and bodies slayne,
The sparkes began to spout.
The knight to saue the taken spoyle,
Did cause his water men,
To beare away such bootie as
Serue their purpose then.
Which done, he left the burning ship,
And to his gallies goes,
With wofull conquest of the Mores
That were his mortall foes.
Then willd he all the Ladies limmes
That in the water were,
To be vptaken, péece by péece,
Not one to tarry there.
Which bones he long bewept with teares,
That in abundant wise,
For very griefe distilled were
By lymbeckes of his eyes.
And after many dolefull plaintes,
And profes of louers paine,
Returning home vnto the Isle
Of
Cicille againe,
He causde her body to be tumbd
In
Ʋstica, an yle
Full sore against
Traponus soyle.
And then within a whyle,
He hyed him to his natiue home,
A man of heauie hart,
Meanewhile the king of
Tunise, that
Had tiding of the part
That late was playde, attyred all
In blacke, his legates sent
To
Cicill, to the king to shew
His grace, how matters went,
And all the order of the fact,
And let him vnderstand
How that his nephew broken had
By rash attempt, the band.
Whereof king
William wrothfull wor,
And séeing that he must
Of force, or shew himselfe a Prince,
Or not be counted iust:
He made
Gerbino to be tant,
And kept in yron gyues.
His nobles could not change his minde,
And purpose, for their liues.
He iudged his nephew to the death,
And loosing of his lyfe:
There past not many dayes, but that
Gerbino felt the knife,
And did eudure his grandsires wrath,
Who rather wisht to sée,
His nephew murthred, than him selfe
A faithlesse King to be.
And thus these two vnhappy wights
Without the fruites of loue
Had shamefull deathes, as you haue heard
By this discourse aboue.
Lenuoy.
VVHo works against his soueraigne Priuces word,
And standes not of the penaltie in awe,
Well worthy is to feele the wrathfull sword,
And dye the death appointed hy the law:
No fauour is to such offendours due,
That, eare they did amisse, the mischiefe knew.
For Princes willes are euer to be wayde,
The statutes are the strength and stay of all,
When lawes are made, they ought to be obayde,
What royall Peeres, by pledge, or promise, shall
At any time confirme to friend or foe,
Must stable stand, the law of armes is so.
For they are second Gods in earth belowe,
Assignde to rule and strike the onely stroke,
Their crownes and scep
[...]ers, be of perfect shew,
That all estates are vnderneath the yoke:
What they shall say, or doe in any case,
By dutie ought to take effect and place,
Wherefore who dares aduenture vp so hie,
And proudly presse to alter kings decres,
Not fearing what may light on them thereby,
Nor forcing what they shall by folly leese:
Of law deserue the hardest point to byde,
For scorning those whom God appoyntes to gyde.
When royal Rome dyd flourish in estate.
In auncient age, the Senate bearing sway,
The lawes were so seuere, as who forgate
To liue vpright, and doe as they did say:
Was presently committed to the blocke.
Without respect to blood, or noble stocke,
Some in exile were sent to foreine landes,
Leauing their wyues, and little babes behinde,
Some sonnes were slayne euen by the fathers handes,
Who fauouring right, forgot the sawe of kinde:
Iustice in Rome bore then so great a sway,
As no man durst good orders disobay.
We reade of one, a ruler graue and wyse,
Who made a law, and that to this effect,
That he should be berest of both his eyes,
Whom any of adultery might detect:
And bring good profe that it was so in deede,
Vpon which acte, the sages all agreed,
It so befell, his sonne against the law
Did first offend, that first deuisde the same,
Which fortune when the wofull father sawe,
And that his sonne could not auoyde the blame:
For iustice sake did thus deuise to deale,
To giue example in the common weale.
Where as the law expressely willde, that he
Who did offend, should be bereft his sight,
The father with his sonne did so agree
As each did loose an eye the fauite to quite.
Wherein the father shewde himselfe seuere.
And yet as ruthfull as the law could beare.
O worthy wight. O ruler fit to raigne,
That rather chose his chude to punish so,
And eake himselfe to byde some part of payne,
Than parciaily to let offences goe:
A double tumbe was due vnto his bones,
For being iust and ruthfull both at once.
King
Romulus who let the citie builde,
And fonnder was of all that royall race,
That none should ouerleape his rampire wild,
Which
Remus did the fortresse to disgrace:
Which when his brother saw in mockage ment,
With wrathfull sworde be fiue him ere he went.
So here this aged Prmes of
Cicilie,
When he had plegd and pawnd his honor downe,
Though lesse offence to slay by crueltie,
His nephew, than to stane his kingly crowne:
For iusti
[...]e is the chiefe and only thing
That is requirde and lookte for in a king.
Wherefore what Peeres, and Princes once haue wild,
No subiecs should endeuour to vndoe:
For kings will looke to haue their bestes fulfild,
And reason good that it should aye be so.
As beastes obey the leftie Lyons looke,
So meane estates must puysant Princes brooke.
Ill fares the barke amid the broyling seas,
Where euery swayne controlles the maisters skill,
And each one stires at heline him selfe to please,
And folowes not the cunning Pylots will:
So realmes are rulde but badly, where the base
[...]ill checke the chiefe, that sit in highest place.
The Argument to the seuenth Hystorie,
AMerchāts daughter loude her brothers boy
That kept the shop, of linage basely borne,
Which grome became the damsels only ioy,
Whereat the brothers tooke no little scorne:
That he who was a youth of no account,
Presumde vnto their sifters bed to mount.
So deepely sanke disdaine within their brest,
As nought saue death their malice might assuage
Those stately merchants mought not be at rest,
Till time they had dispatcht the sillie page:
Wherefore they all, with one consent agreed,
To murther him, & so they did in deede.
Whose absence long did grieue the tēder maide
That wept the dayes, & spent the night in teares,
Not knowing where he was, nor why he stayde:
It so fell out in fine, the ghost appeares
Amyd her dreame, of him that so was slaine,
And bid her stint her teares, that were in vaine.
He wried his wounds, he shewde the shameful
He told the traytors treason, & the traine
That wroght his bane, & whēce their malice rose blows
And where his mangled carkasse they had laines
Which proces tolde, he vanisht out of sight,
The wench awoke, a heauie wofull wight.
To trie the truth of what her vision spake,
She got a mate of trust, and on she hide
Vnto the place, a perfect view to take:
VVhere after search, the body she espide,
The body of her friend so lately dead,
VVhose hmmes she buried, bearing thence the head,
VVhich head she plasht within a Basell pot,
VVell couered all with harden soyle aloft,
Her daily vse was to lament his lot,
That so was slayne: she wept and sorrowed oft:
So long, vntill her brothers stole away
The Basell pot, wherein her louer lay.
This second griefe compared to the furst,
That she (poore wench) had suffred for hir friend,
Increast her cares, and made her hart to burst,
VVhose life did whole vpon the pot depend:
The merchants, when they sawe their sister ded.
For feare of lawe, in poste their countrey fled.
OF yore within
Messyna dwelt
Thrée brothers, marchant men,
Left wealthie by their fathers death,
Who died by fortune then.
This marchant had beside his sonnes,
A daughter, very young,
Elizabeth by name, in whom
With beautie, nurture sprong.
Which nymph, as nature furnisht had
With séemely shape to view:
So in her tender breast, a troupe
Of honest maners grew.
Which gifts of course are wont to cause
Good liking, and good will
But yet for all these vertues rare,
This virgins lucke was ill,
Or els her brothers cruell were:
For she was ripe to wed.
And yet without a married mate,
Her lustie prime shée led,
It fortunde so, at selfe same time
This damsels brother had
A yonker, that did keepe the shop,
A very handsome lad.
Lorenzo was the prentise name,
To whom they gaue the charge
Of shop and warchouse, all was his,
To buie and sell at large.
This ympe being verie neate and frim
Of person, and of wit,
And passing pleasure in deuise,
A man for follie fit:
By gesture and demeanure, set
This damsels heart on fire,
Who but
Lorenzo with the wench
[...]
He was her chiefe desire.
When thus the virgin livde in loue,
This prentise did perceiue,
By noting her from day to day,
He then began to leaue
His forraine haunt at game abroade,
And only bent his breast
To loue of her, of whom he saw
Himselfe so sure possest.
Thus lyking grew from lesse to more,
The faggot equall was
That burnt within these loners breasts,
And brought the match to passe.
For why there were not many dayes,
Before the wench and he
Gaue full assurance of good will,
It might none other be.
Ech felt the fruite of former gripes,
Ech louer found such swéete
In
Venus ioyes, as sundrie times
At pointed place they méete,
And sport as the maner is
Of wanton
Cupids crue,
That more respect the present toyes,
Than troubles that ensue.
And thus in play they spent the time,
But loue giues such a flame,
As few, or none, haue reason howe
To quench, or hide the same.
For why the light bewraies it selfe
Vnto the lookers flight.
So farde it by these louers two,
For on a certaine night
As shée (good wench) was hasting to
Lorenzo, where he lay:
Her eldest brother chaunst to sée
And tract her on the way,
And knew for certaine that she went
Vnto the prentise bed:
But like a wittie man he held
His peace, and nothing sed.
Although it was a death to him
So foule a fact to knowe,
Yet reason, and good nature did
Perswade this marchant so.
As after sundrie doubtfull thoughts
That wandred in his hed,
He was content to hold his tong,
And so he went to bed.
I leaue to descant of his dreames:
But sure I scarce beléeue
He slept at case, who sawe a sight
That so his heart did greeue.
When morning came, & stars did start,
The man that saw the déed
The night before, rose vp, and gate
Him to the rest wich spéede
And tolde his brothers what had hapt:
And after long deuise,
And counsell had vpon the case:
Because their sisters vice
Should purchase them no open shame,
Nor yet their linage blot:
They purposde so to deale in things
As though they wist it not:
Vntill such time as fortune serude,
Without mistrust or blame,
To rid away the partie that
Had doone them all the shame:
Meane while they bore a merie face,
And shew of friendly heart,
To outward sight, vnto the man
That plaide so vile a part.
The better to reueuge the wrong.
For that an open foe
Is easie to be voyded, when
His lookes his rancour shew.
Which made them laugh in wonted wne,
With him that had defilde
Their sifter, till such time as they
The leacher had begilde:
Which hapned in a little space.
For being in this glée,
The brothers did deuise to take
Their horse, and ride to sée
The countrie for a day or twaine:
And as the Prouerbe goes,
The moe the mertier is the feast.
And thereupon it rose,
They prayed
Lorenzos companie
For sport, and solace sake.
Who though would gladlie stay at home,
His wonted myrth to make
With her that was his only ioy:
Yet graunted his consent
To goe abroade, suspecting no
Such mischiefe as they meant:
These merchants, and the prentise thus
Their prauncing Ienates tooke,
And brauely out of towne they rode
In all the hast to looke
A place wherein to doe the déede,
I meane
Lorenzos death.
They had not iourneied farre, before
Whey came vnto a Heath
Besides the way a desert where
No trauell was in dre.
And being brothers there alone,
They thought themselues as sure
As needed, to dispatch a man,
That no such force did feare.
The short is thus, they made no wordes,
But slue
Lorenzo there.
Mine author writes not of his wounds,
But reason giues it so,
That in reuenge of his abuse
Ech brother had a blow:
Whose body thus bereft of life,
They buried in such sort,
As no man saw the fact, nor none
Could euer make report.
The Prentise slaine, the carkasse laide
In graue, the warchant men
Vn
[...]
Messyn
[...]hence they came,
Returned backe agen.
And to dissemble this their déede,
They bruted all abrode,
That lately in affayres of theirs
The youth
Lorenzo rode,
And trauaild touching marchants gain:
Which made the tale the more
Of credite, for because he vsde
To doe the like before.
Elizabeth, at last, that saw
The lingring of the man,
And that he staid beyond his time,
To languish fore began.
And as the custome is of loue,
To déeme ech houre a day,
Ech day a yéere, ech yéere an age,
When louers are away:
So shée that thought his absence long,
And livde in bitter paine,
Did question with her brothers, of
His comming home againe.
Demaunding when the time was set,
And when the day would be,
That shée
Lorenzo safe returnd,
From forreine coast should see.
To whom her brother thus replide,
With countenance curst and grim,
What doest thou meane to question thus?
Hast thou to doe with him
For whom thou doest demaund so oft:
Good faith, vnlesse thou leaue
These termes in time, thou shalt from vs
An answere fit receaue
And well agréeing to thy déedes.
Which bitter gyrde did nip
This silie maide, as she eftsoone
Began to byte her lip.
And wore the wofulst wench aliue,
Nor after durst to make
The like demaund againe, for him
That suffered for her sake:
But spent the day in dole
[...]ll plaints,
And sobde in secrete wise,
The bitter torment of her breast
Brast out and bathde her eyes,
With sundrie showres of trickling teares
Distilling by her face,
She often cald him by his name,
And wild him home a pace.
Lamenting much his long delay,
Whom shée did loue so well.
Whilst thus the maiden stoode on termes,
Vpon a night it fell,
That after manie hartie sighes,
And sundrie cryes,
For lacke of
Lorenze, slumber came
And shut her aking eyes.
Who was no sooner falne a sléepe,
But dreames began to grow
Within her raging retchlesse braine:
Then séemd to open shew,
Her murthred friend to stand in place,
VVith vsage pale and wan,
And chakes with buffets blown out.
The garments of the man
Were all to rent, his robes were rag
[...]:
And, as the wench did gesse,
Lorenzo in her dreame bespake
Her thus. Thy deepe distresse
(O faithfull friend) I well perceiue,
I see my long delay
Doth cause thy cryes: for my returne
In grief thou pynste away:
My absence is the cause of care,
Thou doest accuse thy friend
Of longring, and thy beauy playnts
A sée, can haue no end.
Wherefore (I say,) dry vp thy teares,
That flowe like floudes of rayne:
Lament no more, I cannot come,
Though I would nere so fayne.
For why, the day thou sawste me last,
Was ender of my life:
Thy brothers, whilst I rode with them,
Slewe me with sodaine knife.
And therewithall he shewde the place
Where dead his body lay:
And willd her wéepe for him no more,
And vanisht so away.
The wench aw
[...]oke, and credite gaue
Vnto this dreame of hers,
Which made her to bemoyst her face
And bosome all with teares:
Full bitterly shée did bewayle
The murther of her loue.
When morning came, &
Phebus beames
The darkenesse did remoue,
Not daring to disclose the thing
Vnto her brothers, shée
Did mynde to goe vnto the place,
Of purpose there to sée
Where that her dreame wer true, or no,
Which troubled her the night.
And being that this Damfell was
At libertie, and might
For pleasure wander out, and home,
In company of one
A woman frend, that wonted was
To walke with her alone,
And priuy was of all her déedes:
As rathe as she might rise,
With mother nurse she gate her out,
And to the heath shée hyes:
Where by couiecture lay the coarse
Of him that murthred was.
As sone as they ariued there,
She scrapt away the grasse,
And swéepte the parched leaue aside:
And where at first she founde
The hardest soyle, and stoniest bancke,
Began to delue the grounde:
Shée had not digged any depthe,
But lighted by and by,
Vpon her louers wofull corse,
Vnwasted that did lye
And vncorrupted in the graue:
Whereby the mayden knew
That all the vision which she sawe
The night before was true.
Whereat shée waylde and wept a good,
But knowing that the place
Was farre vnfit for sighes and teares,
Which could not right the case:
Shee would haue gladly borne away
The carkasse, to haue layde
It in a decent tom be at home,
Saue that shée wanted ayde.
Wherefore she drew me out a knife,
Wherewith away she swapte
Her louers head, and vp the same
In linnen cloth shée lapte:
And couered vp the corse agayne,
And gaue the head to beare,
Vnto the nurse, her trustie frend,
That was of purpose theare:
Shée tuckt it in her apron close,
(As women vse to doe)
And so vnséene, from thence vnto
Messina home they goe.
Where being come, and entred to
Her chamber with the head:
Shée shut the doore, and on the same
So long her teares did shed:
Vntill with bryne shée all besprent
It, as it lay in place:
And now and then among her cryes,
Shée all bekist the face.
Which done, shée tooke an earthen pot,
Wherein she vsde to sette
Her Basill, or her Parsely séede,
The best that shée mought gette.
Whereto in foldes of silken lawne
She put
Lorenzos skull,
And after that, with garden soyle,
She pourde the pitcher full:
And strewde her finest Basill séede
About alofte the same,
From whence like Orenge water, sinell,
Or Damaske roses came.
And daily after that, she sate
Imbrasing of the Canne,
And culling of it in her armes,
As though it were the man,
Whom she entirely loude before:
And after kissing, then
She would to teares, and sighing sobbes,
From sighes, to teares agen.
Continuing so, vntill such time
As shée had watred all
The Basill, with the dreary droppes,
That from her face did fall:
So that at length by tract of time,
Or grossenesse of the ground,
By reason of the rotting head,
The Basill did abound,
And gaue a passing pleasant smell.
The wench did neuer leaue
This folly, till the neighbours chanste
Her practise to perceiue.
Who, (when her brothers muzed that
Her bewtie did decay,
And that into her hollow browes
The eyes were suncke away.)
He spake then thus, we stand assurde,
It is her daily gise,
To goe into the garden, where
The Basil pot it lyes:
And there to wéepe in wofull wise,
A wretched wench to see:
The brothers when they heard the tale,
And hauing willd that shée
Should leaue that fonde and foolish trade,
But saw it booted not,
Did make no more adoe, but hid
Away the Basill potte
Which, when she hapt to come againe,
And not to finde it there,
Full earnestly began to craue
The same with many a teare:
And being barde thereof, begon
To wexe diseasde, and all
Her sicknesse time, for nothing but
The Basill potte did call,
Her brothers not a little muzde
To heare her strange request,
In crauing of the potte, and ther.
Vpon did thinke it best
To sée the same, and make a search:
Who hauing powred out
The earth that was within the potte,
Est soone espyde a cloute,
And in the cloth, the head inwrapte,
So freshe and fayre to vewe,
As it to be
Lorenzos head,
By curled he are they knewe.
Which set them in a sodaine dumpe,
And made them greatly dread,
The murther would be brought to light
By reason of the head:
And hereupon they hid the skull,
And layde it in a graue,
And from
Messina went by stealth
Them selues from death to saue:
Entending, being fled the towne
If they might passe vnspide,
From thence, in poste, vpon the spurte,
To
Naples straight to ride.
And thus I leaue the merchant men
Their iourney forth to take,
Who after sped, I wote nere howe:
But thus an ende I make:
The silly wench, amid her griefe
Did neuer leaue to crye,
To haue the Basill pot againe.
But when shée did espie,
That all her calling was in vayne,
Her teares did neuer blin
To issue from her cristall eyes,
Till timy the harte within
For very anguish, brast in twaine.
Then
Clotho came to rid
The mourning Damsell of distresse,
And brake her vitall thrid.
Loe here the lotte of wicked loue,
Behold the wretched end
Of wilfull wightes, that wholy doe
On
Cupides lawes depend.
Vn puoco dolce multo amaro appaga.
Lenuoy.
If all the earth were paper made, to write.
And all the Sea conuerted into ineke,
It would not serue to shew
Cupido, might:
No head can halfe his bloudy Conquests therske:
Vnto his yoke he forceth euery wight,
No one away dares for his life to shrinke.
Who most contends, the widest wound receaues,
For
Cupid then by force his freedome reaues.
The sage who sayde, that (loue exceeded all)
Pronounst the troth, and spake as we do fynde:
He wist full well, that euery wight was thrail
Vnto the God that feadreth is and blinde:
No Poet him, but Prophet may we call,
For that of loue so derely he definde:
For
Cupid with a looke doth wound moe hearts,
Then thousand speares, or thousand deadly dartes.
Which
Caesar sawe, who fundrye Realines subdude,
Whereby his faine did reach the stately startes,
For when that he fayre
Cleopatra vewde,
He fell to loue, for all his ciuill warres:
In aged brest his youthfyll wounds renewde,
Where
Cupids scourge had left him sundry scarred.
That learned
Marcus, so rendwinde for wit,
For
Faustine fayre was rid with louing bit.
Eake
Annybal of Carthage manly wight,
That past the
Alpes to come to
Italy,
Whose puissance put the Romane hoast to flight:
For all his force and prudent pollicy,
Did stoupe to loue, surprisde with deape delight,
Of one, a wench bred vp vnciuill
[...]y:
And many moe, as fierce as he in fielde,
Cupido forst with tender bowe to yeelde.
And not alone this Archer masters man,
But by this power, doth pierce the golden skies,
And there subdues the greatest now and than:
Such subtill driftes the Godhead doth deuise.
As when that
Ioue lodde
Leda, like a Swan,
And prickt his plumes to please his Ladies eyes:
Another time became a milke white Bull,
And all to steale away a countrie Erull.
Who hath not hearde how
Phebus Da
[...]hne lovde?
Bow mightie
Mary was bound in
Vulcans chaine?
And eke how
Ioue his greatest cunning provde,
When be became a galden showre of rayne.
Endymion he was passingly belovde
Of
Phebe, who with him had often laine:
On
Latinus hyll, the gastly God of hell,
Pluto him selfe, did like
Prolerpine well.
May
Neptune boast or vaunt aboue the rest?
Dyd he not loue as other Gods haue done?
Hath
Cupid neuer rasde his rockie breast?
Could he for all his waues dame
Venus shunne?
No, he hath been, by pangs of loue opprest,
The water nymphs his godhead oft haue wonne,
No storme could stint, nor frosen flood remoue,
Nor water wast his flames of burning loue.
To banish him no wile, or wit anailes,
No heart so hard, but melts as doth the waxe,
To cure his wound all learned Phisicke failes,
It burnes the breast, as fire consumes the flaxe:
The fort of force must yeeld when loue assailes:
Ech rebels mind with lingering siege he sacks.
No towre so high no castle halfe so strong.
But loue at last will lay it quite along.
And looke who once is tangled in his net,
And beares his badge fast fixed in his brest,
By no deuise or gile away may get,
But foorth he must, and march among the rest.
By nature so the law of loue is set,
As none hath will or power from him to wrest,
No griefe so great, no toyle or trouble such,
That faithfull louers thinke to be too much.
No counsell giuen by friend, no feare of foe,
No rulers rod, no dread of threatning law,
No wracke of wealth, nor mischiefe that may grow,
Can cause the wight that loues, to stand in awe:
As flattly doth this former story show:
Where you a wench so deepe in fansie saw
As naught saue death might bring her woes to end,
When she had lost her faitfull louing friend.
Wherefore this wrong was great they did this maide:
The brothers were a litle not too blame,
That would the weneh from fixed fansie staid:
And thought by force to quench her kin
[...]ed flame.
Loues heate is such, it skornes to be delaide.
With greater ease you may a Tiger tame,
Than win a wight whose liking once is set,
Either to forgoe a friend, or to forget.
Amor vine [...] ogni cosa.
The Argument to the eight Historie.
VVHen
Aristotimus did strike the stroke,
In
Elyesus, and did weld the Mace
As King alone, so heauie was his yoke,
That subiects thought themselues in wofull cace:
For greedie gustes that gapt for giltles blood,
Were best esteemde, and most in fauour stood.
Ech villaine vile that vaunted of his vice,
Ech loathsome leacher longing for his lust,
Was mounted vp, and held in hiest price,
Sinne sate at bench, extortion counted iust,
The best might bear no palme whilst he did rain,
He banisht some, & some with sword were slain.
Till Gods at last detesting murthers done
Iucenst the hearts of sundrie noble wights,
For due reuēge, vnto his realm to ron,
where matchte with suche, as were his housholde knights
VVith one consent this blooddy beast they slew,
Amid the Church for Gods themselues to view.
The woful Queen, the murthring mōster wife,
By fame assurde of dolefull husbands death,
To flee the force, bereft her selfe of life,
Enuying that her foes should stop her breath:
Two Ladies eke, the daughters of the king
Had leaue to die, who hung themselues in string,
VVHat time the proude and puisant Prince
Antigonus, in hande
The
Macedonian Scepter held
And gouernd all the land:
There livde one
Aristotimus,
A beast of blooddie kinde,
That all to monstrous murther did
Imploy his Tigres minde.
Who, when by fauour and by force
Of
Antigon the King,
The state of
Elyesus to
His yoke and becke did bring:
Full tyrantlike he strake the stroke
And hauing got the crowne,
Gaue vp himselfe to loathsome lust,
And brought the subiects downe,
That earst in fréedome long had livde.
So mightie was his raigne,
As to resist his cruell parts
Men thought it all in vaine:
What foul abuse was then vnwrought?
What rigor left vntride?
What wicked prancks & pageants plaide
whilst he the realme did gide?
His cankred nature all inclinde
To slaughter and to blood,
To kill the poore, and giltlesse soules,
It did this monster good:
And to this murthring minde of his,
He ioynde the vile aduise,
Of barbarous people, that to blood
This tyrant did entise:
The beastliest men that liuing were
Alone he did not place
In office, to controle the rest,
(Which was a cursed case:
That such vnciuill brutish beasts
Should rule a Princes land)
But choze them for his persons garde,
To haue them neare at hand.
Of all the vile vnkindlie partes
That he aliue did play,
I note but one aboue the rest,
Wherein I minde to stay,
To set this viper out to view
[...]
That all the world may see
What plagues in store for cruell Kings
By Gods reserued be:
Who though to drinke in golden cup,
And feast with daintie fare,
And for a time abound in blisse,
Yet end their liues in care.
And steed of former sugred sops,
They swallow bitter gall,
And from the top of kingly throne
Abide the shamefull fall.
There dwelt within this tyrants realm
A Citizen of fame,
A man of wealth and great estate,
Phylodimus by name:
Who father was vnto a wench
For feature that did passe,
An A perse, among the rest,
And nurtred well she was.
Faire
Micca was this maidens name,
Whose beautie did excell.
This Tyrant had a Souldier, who
Did like the virgin well,
One
Luzio, a roysting Roague
In fauour with the king,
That to the end he might the maid
Vnto his bias bring,
A messenger dispatcht vnto
The father, straight to will
Him yéeld his daughter to his hands,
His pleasure to fulfill.
He let him vnderstand his lust,
The father séeing such
A foule demaund, and shamefull sute,
Was vexed very much,
And gripte with anguish of the minde:
But hauing wayde the case,
And knowing that this ruffian stoode
So in the princes grace:
And highly was estéemde of him:
Be gonne to be afraide,
And thereupon his wife and he
Thought good to send the maide:
Whom they perswaded as they might,
For safetie of her life.
To yéelde the Souldier vp the fort,
Withouten farther strife.
But shée (good heart) that lesse esteemde
Her life, than spotlesse name,
Well nurtred vp from tender youth,
And aye, in feare of shame,
Fell prostrate at her fathers foote,
Vpon her fainting knées,
Imbracing him with bitter teares,
The sutes she made were these:
That he would neuer see her spoilde
Of such a varlet vile,
Nor let a cutthrote souldier so
His daughter to defile:
But rather let her die the death
With fathers willing knife:
Than yéeld her vp to
Luzios lust,
To leade a strumpets life.
She was content with any lot,
So she might scape his hands.
Whilst hearing thus his daughters plaints
The wofull father standes:
And with the mother wayles the hap,
And pities of the maide,
Not knowing what to doe therein:
The Leacher that had staide
And lookt for
Miccas comming long,
Impacient of his flame
And beastly heat, to fet the wench
Himselfe in person came:
Puft vp with déepe distaine and wrath,
And fiild with enuious yre,
That she did linger there so long,
VVhom he did so desire.
VVho béeing come vnto the house
VVhere did this damsell dwell,
And seeing her at fathers foote:
For rage began to swell,
And much misliking her delay,
VVith fierce and frowning face,
Controlde the wench, and bid her rise
And follow him a pace:
And must I Damsell come (quoth hée)
Mought message not suffice?
Doe way delayes, leaue of those teares,
And wype your wantons eyes:
Dipatch and come along with me,
Doe linger on no more.
VVhereat the wench renude her plaints,
As she had done before:
And made no hast at all to ryse,
But sate vpon her knées:
Which
Luzio séeing, all in rage
Vnto the mayden flées,
And strips her naked as his nayle,
And beate her round about,
A thousand stripes he gaue the girle,
That had not on a cloute
To saue the burthen of a blowe
From off her tender corse.
But sh
[...]ée continde on her minde
For all the villaynes force,
Not weying all his blowes a beane,
A mayde of manly harte:
For though the beast had beate her sore
Shée made no shewe of smarte:
Nor yelded any sighing sobbes,
In proofe of inward payne,
But valiantly abid the scurge,
And ready was againe
To doe the like, more rather than
To yelde to such a slaue,
Or make him owner of the holde
Which he did long to haue:
The wofull parentes vie wing this
With griefe, and dewed eyes,
Were greatly tho to pitie moude,
And out they made their cryes:
With sute of
Luzio, there to leaue,
And beate the mayde no more.
But when they sawe they nought preuaild,
Their aged lockes they core,
And out on God and man they call,
Their daughter voyde of blame
To succour, being sore distrest,
Euen then at point of shame.
Which sute, and yelling crye of theirs
Did make the monster mad:
And set him farther in a rage,
That earst so plagued had
The mayden
Micca voyd of gilt.
With that he drawes his knife.
And in the aged fathers sight
Bereaues the wench of life.
Out gusht apace the purple blood
From
Miccas tender limmes,
In such abundance, as about
The place the mayden swimmes:
A perfit proofe that all the zeale
Which
Luzio bore the wench,
Did only growe of Leachers lust,
Whom wrath so soone could quench.
For had he grounded lust on loue,
Or fanside
Micca well,
He would not so haue slaine a mayd,
Whose bewtie did excell.
Farewell to thée
Dianas Nimphe,
Thy vertue was so great,
As well thou didst among the gods
Deserue to haue a seate.
For
Lucrece could haue done no more,
Than yeld her selfe to dye,
And in defence of spotlesse fame
A tyrants hand to trye.
What kingly hart, what princely brest?
Nay more, what manly mynde
Could sée, or suffer such a facte,
Against the lawes of kynde?
Would any man of womans milke,
Endure so foule a déede,
Not yelding him that playd the parte,
A gibbot for his méed:
And yet this butchers bloody rage,
This tyrant could not moue
To hate him ought the more, but eke
The good that did reproue
The filthy villayne for his vice,
The Prince did make away.
For some of them with cruell sworde
He out of hand did slaye,
And other some he forste abrode
As banisht men to rome
Eight hundreth at the least, into
Aeolia fled from home,
For succours sake, to saue their liues,
And scape his hatefull hande,
Who only sought the spoyle of such
As dwelt within his lande:
Where hauing certain months remaind
These exile wightes did wryte
In humble wise, by lowly sute
That they such fauour might
Obtaine from
Aristotimus,
As to enioy their wiues
And silly babes, the only staffe
And stay of all their lyues.
But nought their letters moght auaile,
He would not condiscend
In any case, the Matrones to
The banisht men to send:
In hope by that to force them home
And so to wreake his spite
Vpon those wise forecasting wightes
That saude themselues by flight.
But yet he causde a trumpe in fine
To sound in market place,
To shew that he was well content,
And that it pleasde his grace,
That wiues should seeke their husbands out:
And gaue them leaue beside,
With bagge, and baggage, babes and all,
Without restrainte to ride,
Hée licenst them, to iourney thence,
And parte the citie quight,
Which tidings made the Matrons glad,
The newes did bréed delight:
The packts & fardles then were made,
The wagons were puruayde,
Both carte and horses readie were,
And women well apayde,
That to their husbāds they should passe
When poynted day drewe on,
The stréets were stuft with cariage, wiues
Were readie to be gone:
Their little babes and all were there.
The porter only was
The cause of stay, without whose leaue
There might no carriage passe.
Whilst they at gate thus wayting were
A farre they might espye
A trowpe of sweating Souldiers runne,
That made a cruell crye:
And willd the women there to stoppe,
And thence agayne to goe
Into the citie whence they came,
The Princes will was so:
Those hewsters draue the horses back,
The stréetes were somewhat straight,
Which made the prease excéeding great,
The iades were fully fraight
With heauie burdens on their backes,
Which so anoyde the way,
As women might not well retyre,
Nor there in safetie staye.
But, by the meane of horse and men
Such hurlie burlie grewe,
That there the iades from off their backs
The little infants threwe.
The wofull sight that euer man
Of honest harte might sée,
Such silly soules in such a throng
Of cartes and coltes to bée:
Who could not helpe them selues awhit
Nor haue the mothers ayde,
For they (good matrons) by this chaunce
Were verie much dismayd.
For as their glée was great before,
And ioyfull eke the newes,
To parte the towne: so this arest
Did make them greatly muse.
Ther might you sée some babes braines
About the chanell lie,
Some broken legs, some broosed armes,
And some with feare did crie.
Were few but felt some part of paines,
In such a retchles throng:
And shée, that scaped best away,
Was crusht, and curstlie wrong.
When the Souldiers reckned had
And taken full accompte
Or wyues, and babes, & knew the summe
Whereto the whole did mounte:
Vnto the Pallace ward they draue
Then like a flocke of shéepe,
Which hired shepherdes on the hills
For meate and wagies keepe.
And beate the sillie soules a good,
That seemd to slacke the way,
Who, what for feare and faintnesse would
Bene very glad to stay.
When to the tyrants court they came,
The monster by and by
Bereft the matrons all their robes,
Both wyues and babes to lye
In pryson eke be gaue the charge:
Thus were they foule beguild,
Who thought (good dames) to séeke their men,
From Countrie bounds exilde.
Here will I leaue with heauy hartes,
The wyues their woes to waile,
Who hoping to depart the towne
Were closely kept in goyle,
And to the townes men will returne.
Who, when they sawe the rage
Their Prince was in, and wist not how
His rancour to asswage,
Amongst themselues deuisde at last
One practise to approue,
Whereby perhas they might haue hap
The tyrants hart to moue.
They had within the citie walles
A sorte of sacred dames
Whom sinne they thought it to abuse,
I wote not well their names:
Of
Denys order all they were,
Sixtene, or there aboute.
The Citizens did déeme it good
The Nunnes to furnish out
With robes and reliques of the church:
Tnd in their hands to beare
Their painted Gods, procession wise,
Ts was the custome there:
Well hoping by this subtill slight
To moue the Prince his harte,
VVho though did murther men, they hopt
Yet had not layde aparte
All feare and dread of sacred saintes,
(As it fell out in déed)
For when that euery virgin had
Put on her holy weed,
Alongst the towne they gan to goe,
In very graue aray,
VVith humble sute to stirre the Prince
To pitie those that lay
In prison, mothers with their bakes,
Which was a wofull case.
As then, by chaunce the Tyrant was
Amid the market place.
The Souldiers séeing dames deuoute
So deckt with temple stuffe,
For reuerence of their order, did
Begin to stand aloofe,
And gaue them leaue to prease vnto
The Tyrant, where he was:
Who hauing licence, through the midst
Of all the gard did passe:
And being somewhat néere the prince,
The king began to stay,
To know, both whe the women came,
And what they had to say.
They told their tale, & movde the sute,
And opened their intent:
Which when the Tyrant vnderstood,
Perceiuing what they ment:
Vnto his traine he made a turne,
With grim and gastly cheere,
Controuling them, that did permit
The Nunnes to come so néere.
I lay the Tyrants taunts aside,
I purpose not to put
His kingly chafe within my verse:
But Souldiers combes were cut.
With that the gard began to grudge,
And for the checke they had,
With Holbards, which they held in hand,
They laid about like mad,
And bitterly did beate the dames,
With many a clubbish blowe,
Respect of reliques laid aside,
The Souldiers raged so.
Thus did they vse the sacred Nymphes
That were to
Denyse vowde:
And to encrease their griefes the more,
Ech virgin eke allowde
Two talents for a recompence,
Besides their hurts receivde:
Thus of their purpose, both the dames,
And Citie was deceyvde.
At selfe same time, there liuing was
A man of great renowme,
When this outrage was put in vre,
And dwelt within the towne:
Ellanycus this noble hight,
Then stricken well in age,
Whose sonnes though
Aristotimus
Had murthred in his rage:
Yet did mistrust him nought at all
Because he was so olde,
Was thought vnable ought to doe.
Which made the tyrant bolde.
This aged father waying well
His sonnes and countries spoile,
Determinde with himselfe to put
The tyrant to the foyle,
And take reuenge of blood, by blood,
Of death, by murther done.
Loe here I leaue the Prince a while
His headlong race to runne.
I must againe conuert my tale
Vnto those banisht wights,
Whom sore it yrkt so long to lack
Their wiues and swéet delights.
For countrie loue by kinde doth worke
In euery honest brest,
And till we make returne againe
We neuer liue at rest
It was not long (I say) ere they,
That to
Aolia were
By
Aristotimus exilde,
And forst to tary there,
With ioynt consent of many moe,
Tooke armes against the king:
To bid him battaile out of hand
Their Souldiers they did bring
Within the tyrants countrie boundes,
And did possesse the land
That bordred on the citie which
This monster held in hand.
There making stout and strong defence
Against the Princes powre,
From whence they might with ease assail,
And eke the foe deuoure.
And to increase their might the more,
All such as fled for feare
From
Elyesus, ioynde their bandes,
And were vnited there:
So that the whole assembled rout,
Vnto an armie grew:
So many were those banisht men
That from their countrie flew.
Wherwith the Tyrant gan to quake,
And tremble verie much,
For why? this battaile that did grow,
His state did greatly touch.
The hammers beate within his brains,
As on a smithes forge,
He wist not how to void the foe,
Or troubles to disgorge,
That on his backe were like to light:
At length he thus bethought,
That hauing all their wiues and babes
Who all the mischiefe wrought,
In prison closely vnder key,
He hopte he mought with ease,
Deuise a meane the malice of
His enemies to appease,
Not by entreatie, but by force:
For so his cankred minde
Was bent to rigour: as of course
It is the Cyrants kinde.
Wherefore vpon a day he went
Vnto the prison, where
The sillie captiue Ladies lay,
With countnance full of feare,
With glowing eies, withbended browes
And angrie Lions looke,
Commanding those whose husbands earst
Their natiue soyle forsooke,
To write their letters out of hand,
And spéede a poast away
With earnest sute vnto the men
From farther force to stay,
And do their wrathful weapons down:
Thus wild he them to write.
This was the summe that he would haue
Those women to endite.
Which of you do refuse (quoth he)
To complish by and by,
Be sure those eluish brattes of yours
And puling babes shall die:
And more than that, you (mothers) you
Shall not be clere exempt
Of torment, but the duly scurgde
For penance of contempt.
The women aunswerd not a word,
VVhich chaft the tyrant sore:
VVho being thus to choller movde,
Bid them delay no more,
Nor trifle, but resolue vpon
The matter out of hand,
If not, they shoulde his princely power
And pleasure vnderstand.
The Ladies doubtfull what to say,
Vpon ech other gazde,
As who would say, they feared not,
But somowhat were amazde.
There was by chance amongst the rest,
One wife, a worthie dame
Temoliont her husband hight,
Megesten was her name,
VVho for the honour of her spouse,
A man of good discent,
And her good vertues, farre before
Those other matrons went:
One whom the rest did reuerence much
And honor for her wit:
This Ladie whilst the tyrant talkt,
VVith sober grace did sit,
And neuer modde her selfe a whit,
But causde the others eke
To doe the like: who when the Prince
Had done his tale, gan speake,
Not honoring the king at all,
And thus the Ladie sed.
O
Aristo timus, hadst thou
Had iudgement in thy hed,
Or any wisedome in thy brest,
Thou wouldst not thus entice
Or goe about to make vs write
Our letters of aduice
Vnto our husbands, teaching them
How they should doe and deale,
In case concerning good estate
Of this our common weale.
Farre fitter had it béen for thée
Vs matrons to haue sent
In message, vsing better termes
To further thine intent,
And better order in thy déedes
Tha
[...] thou hast done of late:
I meane the time, when we were staide
Euen at the castle gate
At point to issue out of towne.
Thou mockdst vs there in déede,
Full greatly to thy taynte and shame.
But now that things preceede
Against thée as thou knowste no meane
To scape the present doubt:
If now (I say) by meane of vs
In spéech thou goe about
Our husbands to begile, as vs
In déedes thou hast before:
I tell thee plaine, thou art deceidde,
Thou scanste without thy score.
That they be not encrapt againe,
Wée women will beware:
I would not wish thou shouldst furmise
That we such Asses are
Or sotted so, as seeking wayes
To ayde and saue our selues
From paine of prison, and to ease
Our little apish elues,
We would aduise out husbands to
Despise their countrie wealth,
Whose fréedome dearer ought to be
Than any womas health.
The lesse were light, though we decay,
That babes and women be:
And better were, our husbands should
Vs all in cofyn see
Than they should vnreuenged goe,
Or die, without the foyle
Of him, that seekes to murther men,
And worke his countrie spoyle.
This Ladie would haue further gon
And tolde the processe out,
Saue that the Tyrant grew in rage,
And gastly lookt about,
Vnable longer to endure
The force of furious rage:
Go sirra, goe in poste and fetche
(Quoth he vnto his page)
This desperate dames vnhappie babe:
And ere I parte this place,
I will destroy and slay the some
Before the mothers face.
Whilste thus the Page in message sent
Went seeking here and there
Among the other boyes: this dame
(A Ladie voyde of feare)
Had spide anon her little impe:
Come hither come (quoth she
My prettie elfe, yet rather I
My selfe will murther thee
With friendly mothers forced hande,
And reaue thy limmes of life,
Than euer with thy bloud thou shalte
Imbrewe a butchers knife.
Which speach of hers so spitefull was,
And nipe the King so nye,
As he in furie farther sette,
Did sweare the dame should die.
And therewithall set haud to sworde
To let the Ladie blood,
That readie there to brooke his force
Before his presence stood.
And died doubtles there shée had
And caught a sodaine clappe
To set her packing, saue there was
A friend of his by happe,
One
Cylo, whom he déerly loude,
That held the Princes arme,
And was the cause, by
[...]ay thereof,
The Lady had no harme.
This
Cylo he was one of them
Who ment to flay the king
With helpe of good
Ellanycus:
They had deuisde the thing
Long earst betwixt themselues: for why?
They could no longer byde
This cruell monsters bluddie hande,
And stomacke stuft with pride.
This sage appeasde the Priuces wrath
Who hauing throughly made
A truce betwixt his rage and him,
And causde him sheathe his blade:
Perswaded that it yll became,
And was a brutish thing,
For him that was a noble peere,
Yea such a puisant King,
To bathe his blade in womans bloud:
The conquest was vnfitte
For such as in the like estate
And royall roome did sitte,
Within a while that this was done,
A marueilous happe befell
To
Aristotimus, that did
This tyrants death foretell.
For being with his Quéene in bed
In daliauce and delight,
His seruants, going to their meate,
An Egle sawe in sight,
That made vnto the Pallacewarde,
As fast as shée mought flie:
This vggly Egle came am
[...],
And soaring in the skie
Iust ouergainst the very place,
Somewhat beside the hall
Where lay the Prince, from out her foote
The foule a stone let fall,
And presently vpon the déed
Away apace did flie
Quite out of sight, and as she went
Shée gaue a cruell crye.
Whereat the seruants meruelld much
And made so great a dyn,
As therewithall the king awoke
That had in slumber byn.
His seruants tolde him what they saw,
And how the rase did stande,
He all in poast, vpon reporte
Sent horsemen out of hand,
For one that was a déepe deuine,
In whom he did affye
To shewe the case, to heare his minde,
And what was ment thereby.
The Prophet made him answere thus:
O puisant Prince, (quoth be)
Disgorge thy care, abandon feare,
Let nothing trouble thée.
Pluck vp thy manly harte: for
Ioue
Doth tender thine estate,
And makes a specia
[...]
[...]re of thée,
The Egle that of late
Thy seruants sawe, his herald is
Whom he in message sent,
To shew thée, that the mightie God
Is very greatly bent
To ayde thy force against thy foes,
Who long with murthring knife,
To spoyle theyr countrie of their king
And reaue the Princes life.
But boldly this presume, that God
Himselfe will stand with thée,
Gainst such as séeke thy death, and who
Thy mortall enemies bée.
The tale this cunning Calcar tolde,
Did ease the tyrants brest
Of diuers doubtes, wherewith he was
By Egles meane opprest.
Hée soundly slepte, not doubting death,
Nor fearing ciuill sworde:
But marke the end, and what it was
To trust a Prophets worde.
For hereupon the men that ment
The murther of the king,
(
Ellanicus, and all his mates)
Thought good to doe the thing
Which they pretended out of hande,
Not making longer stay.
And so among themselues eft soone
Concluded, on the day
That followed next to worke the feate
And bring their drifte to passe,
And that selfe night,
Ellanicus,
As he in slumber was,
Dreamte, that the elder of his sonnes
Whom earst the tyrant flewe,
Presented him before his face,
With wordes that here ensue:
Why sléepe, & slugge you (father deare)
VVhy doe you linger so?
That you to morowe shall subdue
Doe you as yet not know?
And reaue this citie from the king
VVho now enioyes the same?
Departe your pillow (father mine)
And balke your bed for shame.
Wherewith
Ellanycus reliude,
And hoping then in déede
Of happie lucke, in breake of day
Sought out his crewe with spéede.
That were confedered in the facte:
Perswading them to caste
All dread aparte, and slat to fall
Vnto their feate at laste.
And at the selfe same time the king,
(As hapte) a vision had,
That fed him with assured hope,
And made him passing glad.
This dreame presented to his thought,
That with a mightie trayne
Craterus came, to take his parte,
Resistance was in vayne.
There was no cause why he should care
But be of courage stoute,
For that
Craterus had beset
Olympia rounde about.
This vision vayne, of good successe
Did so assure the king,
As in the dawning timely hée
Not dreading any thing
Departes the Pallace, voyde of awe,
With whom there only went
That
C
[...]lo, which was one of those
That all this mischief ment.
By one and one his other men,
Did followe somewhat slacke:
Which when
Ellanycus perceiude,
How hée his trayne did lacke:
The time it fitted finely then,
The season séemed good,
Vnto this auncient foe of his,
To let this tyrant blood,
Without the giuing any signe,
For so deuisde he had
VVith such as were his fellow friendes:
But being very glad,
Vp lifteth he his aged armes
Vnto the azurde skies,
And with the lowdest voyce he could,
Vnto his mates he cryes:
VVhy doe you loyter, (valiant laddes)
And men of great renowne,
To doe so worthy déede as this,
Amid your noble towne?
VVhich worde us soner spoken was,
But
Cylo first of all
Set hand to sword, and drewe it out,
And slewe me therewithall,
First one of those that issued with
The tyrant him to garde.
VVho so should take a tyrants parte,
Deserues the like rewarde.
Then after that, when
Cylo thus
The matter had begunne,
Lampydio, and
Trasybule
VVith all their force did runne
Vpon the monster, fully bent
Him out of hand to slay,
VVho then began to trust his legges:
For why? he ran his way,
To scape the danger of his death,
And to the temple fled
Of
Iupiter the mightie God,
In hope to saue his hed.
But heathen gods mought nothing help
His enemies were so hote,
As him amid the sacred Church
With shining swordes they smote,
And there bereft him of his life,
That well deserude to dye:
And after dragde him blooddy thence
In open stréete to lye.
There lay his loathsome tarkasse slaine
For euery man to vewe,
The people did reioyce at harte
For fréedome gotte anewe.
So glad were neuer hungrie houndes
Pursuing of the hare,
To fasten on the fearefull beast
Each dogge to haue his share,
As were the subiects eger then
The tyrant to pursue,
With hatefull blood of such a beast
Their wepons to imbrew.
Whilst thus the folkes debating stood
Of matter hapt so late,
Ech wife began to gaze about,
And prie to finde her mate.
For now the banisht men were come
Vnto the towne againe.
To tell the mirth at méeting the
I thinke it were in vaine.
For as their care was common earst,
Whilst he the realme did gide,
So semblant was their ioy no doubt,
When such a monster dyde.
This done, the people gan to preace
Vnto their Pallaceward,
But ere they came, how matters went,
The quaking Quéene had hard,
And of the flaughter of her King,
Full beauie newes, God wot:
Wherefore mistrusting what would hap,
Eftsoone her selfe she got
Into a priuie counting house,
Where to escape their force,
About a beame shée hting a shéete,
And strangled so her corse.
A dolefull case that any dame
That was a Princes wife,
Should for her husbands sake, be forst
To rid herselfe of life.
But yet of both, more happy she,
Than was her husband slaine:
For ventrously shée put her selfe
To death, not dreading paine,
But he the captiue, cowardlike
To
Ioue for succour ran,
And tooke the temple, like a wretch,
And dide not like a man.
But turne we to our tale againe:
The tyrant by this Quéene
Two daughters had, the fairest wights
That lightly mought be séene,
And ripe in yéeres to match with men:
Who hauing heard report
How that their father murthred was
In such a cruell sort:
In minde to void the furious foes
(As virgins full of feare)
Conuaide themselues into a vawte
To stay in safetie there.
But they that sought, so many were,
And pryed so well about,
As in the seller where they lay,
They found the maidens out.
Whom thence, without delay, they drew,
And whet their eger knyues,
As fully bent
[...] men mought be,
To reaue the Ladies liues.
But there by hap
Megesten was,
Of whom we spake before,
At whose entreatie, and the sute
Of other matrones more,
Those noble Nymphs wer tho forborn,
For thus
Megesten said
To such as sought to doe the déede:
In slaying of a maid
You do the thing that Butchers hearts
Would neuer vndertake,
Good faith it were a shamefull fact
So vile a spoile to make,
As file your sisters with virgins blood,
Against your manly kinde:
Let gréedie lust to be auengde
Not make your eyes so blinde.
But rather, if so be, there is
No nay, but they must die,
Giue leaue, at my request, that they
Their proper strength may trie.
Let them make choice vpon their death
And scape your handie force.
Whereto they all agréed in one,
But no man tooke remoise.
It irckt them that the tyrants blood
Shouldst rest so long vnshed:
There were appointed for the noue
[...]
That both the Ladies led
Into an tuner lodging, where
When they arriued were,
The eldest sister like a Dame
Vndaunted, voyde of feare,
From off her waste did loose the scar
[...]e
That girt her loynes about,
And bid her yonger sister doe
The like with courage stout.
Then to a rester of the house,
Their girdles both were tide,
The knots and all were fitly made
To cause the silke to slide.
Who so had viewde those virgins then
He would haue thought, that they
had not intended by and by
Such break neck game to play.
Their faces were so fresh to fight,
Their eyes did neuer stare,
Their tungs pronounst their tales as though
Their hartes had felt no care,
Their outward gesture shewde a ioy,
More rather than distresse:
When thus (I say) the knots were knit,
To do the feate, the lesse
Of both the Ladies tooke the elder
Sister by the hand,
Requesting her, that shée as then
So much her friend would stand,
As first to let her die the death,
And play her part before:
To whom the elder answered thus.
As neuer heretofore
I haue denyde thée (Sister) aughte
In all my life: So now
Euen at my death I am content
Vnto thy will to bow.
Thou shalt haue leaue to let me liue
Till thou be dead and gone:
But that which gréeues me most of all,
And giues me cause of mone,
Is, that I liue to see thy death
before my losse of life:
The yonger Ladie thereupon
Without a farther strife
Conuaid her head into the scarfe:
The other standing there,
Gaue counsell so to place the knot
Just vnderneath the eare,
As lightly she might loose her breath,
And rid her selfe of paine:
The yonger followed her aduise,
An easie death to gaine.
A wofull thing for me to write,
And loathsome eke to you
(Deare Ladies) who to passe their time
Shall hap my book to view:
To thinke that two such virgins, borne
And bred in Princely blisse,
Should be inforst in fine, to make
So hard a choyce as this.
But (as the auncient Prouerbe goes)
Perforce obaies no law:
The crabbed carters whip will cause
A stately steed to drawe.
The yonger sister thus hereft
Of life, the elder came
And cut the girdle of the beame
To hide her sisters shame,
As well as shée (good Ladie) might.
Then was her part to play:
Who putting on that other scarfe
About her necke, gan say
Vnto
Megesten: noble Dame,
When thou shalt see me ded:
For honours sake vnto thy kinde
Sée thou my carkasse led
In place that is for maidens méete,
Let not my body lie
Despoyld of robes, to naked shew
And view of euerie eye.
And with her saying, downe shée slipte,
And by her bodies pease,
(Though light it were) did stop her pipes,
And so shée dyde with case.
The Lenuoy.
THose realmes right happy are, where princes rainge,
That measure out by vertue all their deedes,
Abhorring with their vassals blood to staine
Their sacred hands, and gore their kingly weedes:
The subiects there with willing harts obay,
And Peeres be safe from fall and foule decay.
But (out alas) where awfull Tyrants hold
In haughtie crucil hands the royall powre,
And mischiefe runnes by office vncontrolde,
There aye the great the lesser sort deuoure:
By daylie proote ech one may daily see,
That such as rulers are, such subiects be,
Vnlesse the law forbid the lewde to sinne,
Vnlesse the Prince by rigor vices quell,
Disorders will by sufferance soone rush in:
Who striues not then in mischiefe to excell?
By nature man vnto the worst is bent
If holesome statutes stay not his entent.
A hangrie wight is hardly harde from food,
The kindled straw is seldome when put out,
A Cyrant that hath tasted once of blood,
With much adoe forbeares the fillie rout:
So sweete is sinne, as once from vertue fall,
And thou art lightly lost for good and all,
No looking backe, no bending foote about,
No feare of fall for mauy a mischiefes past,
No ill reuockt, no dreed of any doubt,
Till God by heapes powre downe his plagues at last:
As by this verse is planily set to view,
No matter tainde, but auncient storie true.
Who would by might haue maintained
Iuzios lust,
That
[...]ewe the childe before the fathers face?
Wha
[...] King would wincke at matter so vniust?
Or fauour muffian in so foule a case?
The fact was vile, and dreadfull vengeance dewe
Vnto a Prince, that such disorder knewe.
To bolster vice, in others is a blame,
For such as may by power suppresse the deed:
But crowned kings incurre the greatest shame
When they themselues on Subiects flesh do feede:
For Lions take no pleasure in the blood
Of any beast vnlesse they bee withstood.
And when such states so fouly doe offend,
Not they alone doe bide the bitter scurge,
But subiects are for rulers vices shend:
Is when the Sea doth yeeld to great a surge,
The lesser brookes doe swell aboue their boundes,
And ouerflow like floods, the lower grounds.
Lyacon lewde, that fed on strangers blood,
Although himselfe were he that God forgate,
Yet causer was that
loue with sodaine blood
Drownde all the world, saue
[...] and her mate:
Thus one ill yeere may worke ten thousands woe,
God hates yll kings, and doth detest them so.
As heere we see this vgly Tyrants wife,
And giltlesse broode that neuer did offend,
Raunsomde the fathers faultes by losse of life,
And he him selfe was brought to wretched end:
Wherefore let Peeres and states vprightly stand,
Least they and theirs be toucht by Gods owne hande.
For he that guydes the golden globe aloft,
Bekoldes from hie, and markes the deedes of man,
And hath reuenge for euery wicked thought,
Though he forbeare through mercy now and than:
He suffereth long, but sharpely payes at last,
If we correct not our misdoings past.
He spares no more the Monarke, than the Page,
No more the Reysars than the countrie Clownes,
He fauours not the auncieut for their age,
He cuts off Kings, for all their costly Crownes,
No royall roabes, no scepter, no deuice,
Can raunsome those that fauour fylthy vice.
The Argument to the ninth Hyst [...]rie.
SY
[...]ona lilet of
Pasquine passing well,
And he did frie as fast with egal slame,
In sorte, as on a time these louers fell
To make a match, of purpose for the same:
With one co
[...]ent where time and place was set,
This louing couple in a garden met.
There
[...] to other vttered their deuise,
To salue the fores that fancy fixt in brest,
They kist, they
[...]ol
[...]d, thus neither part was nice,
To take the time of both vvas compted best:
Amid their glee, vvas
Pasquines hap to spie
A bed of sage, that there vvas grovving by.
Whereof he pluckt a leafe to rubbe his iawes,
And presently fell dead vpon the deede:
The vvech exclamde, whose soden crie did cause
The neighbours by to come avvay vvith speede:
The man vvas founde there senselesse as he lay,
And she (bo
[...] vvench) as captiue borne avvay.
The
[...], the iurie vvas in place,
The
[...] for triall of the truth,
The Iudge vvas there: vvho hearing all the case,
And hauing of the filly mayden ruth,
For
[...]itie pausde, and to the garden vvent,
To learne the troth, and scan of her intent.
Symona straight vnto the border ranne,
Where grew the Sage, & pluckt a leafe or twaine,
And therewithall to frote her gummes began,
As one that would bene quit of murther faine:
Lo thus (quoth she) my Lord, did he before,
And thus was all, I sawe him doe no more.
And with the word before the Iudge his face,
The giltlesse maide fell groueling on the ground
And there she died before them all in place,
And then the cause of both their banes was found
The tale ensues, which more at large doth tell,
Both of their loues, and how their deathes befell.
THe fame of
Florence is so great,
That simple men do knowe
The brute thereof by true report:
Where dwelt not long agoe,
A virgin fresh and fayre to viewe,
A iolly lusty dame,
As any was in all the towne,
Symona was her name.
Whose beautie though were very braue
And kende had done as much
For her, as she mought well request,
Yet for tune seemde tolgrutche
And malice at her featurd shape:
For as the same did passe,
Euen so her father of the meane,
And basest order was.
A man not hauing welth at will,
The stately mistresse chaunce,
Would not voutchsafe from lowe estate
This miser to aduaunce.
And hereupon the fathers want,
With whom it went so harde,
Of force constrainde the mayde to get
Her liuing by the carde
And whéele, and other like deuice,
As selly maydens vse,
With handy worke shee wonne her bread,
She could none other chuse,
Who though to earne her meat & drink
In spinning spent the day:
Yet in this beggers brest of hers,
A Lordlike hart there lay,
That durst adventure to assay
The force of
Cupides flame:
For by the iestures and the talke
Of one that daily came
Vnto the house where she abode,
A passing pleasant lad,
One of her owne estate, for wealth,
That of his mistresse had
Both wool and yarne to spin and twist:
The wench
Symona fell
In fancy with this merry Gréeke,
And lykt the weauer well.
The virgin by his swéete regardes
Was entred very farre,
And masht within the net of loue:
But yet she did not dare
To further on that first attempt,
She fryde with secret fyre,
Of
Pasquine (thus the youth was tearmd)
Whom she did so desire.
But euer as she twisted had
A thréed vpon the whéele,
A thousand scalding sighes she fette:
The silly wench did feele
Them whotter farre than any flame
Thus issuing from her brest:
And euer as she went about,
She thought vpon the guest
That brought the wool, to haue it wrought,
The spinning bredde the spight,
The thréedes did make her minde the man,
When be was out of fight.
And shall we déeme the weauer, whom
The mayden loude so well,
Quite voyde of wanton huniors? no:
For he to liking fell,
And likewise eake as carefull woxe
As was the louing trull,
To see that thée did well dispatch
And spinne his mistresse wooll.
(As though the making of the cloth
All wholly did depend,
And only of
Symonas thréed)
Which made him not to sende,
But often come him selfe, to sée
How she her whéele applyde:
He neuer vsde to goe so ofte
To any place beside.
And thus the one, by making meanes,
The other by desire
She had to be thus sude vntoo,
It hapt, he felt a fyre
Vnwonted, flaming in his brest:
And she had shifted feare
And shame aside, which still before
Her chiefest iewels were.
And hereupon they ioyntly fell
Each other well to léeke,
Both parties did so well agrée,
Small néede it was to séeke
Which of them both should first assayle,
Each fancyde other so,
As by each others face, each friend,
Each others heart did know.
And thus from day to day it g
[...]ewe,
And still enkindled more,
The flaming loue which she to him,
And he
Symona bore.
Vntill at length this
Pasquine prayde
The mayden earnestly,
To worke such way and meanes to come
Vnto a garden by,
Where he would tarrie her in place
Vntill such time she came,
For that the garden was a plotte
Conuenient for the same,
And méerely voyde of all suspect:
There might they talke their sill.
Symona, like a gentle wench,
Did graunt him her good will.
One holyday at after noone,
Her father to deceiue,
Symona came with solemne sute,
Requesting him of leaue
To goe vnto saint Gallus Church,
To fetch a pardon there.
The selly aged syre agréed,
Whose eye the mayd did bleare:
For hereupon, another wench
Lagina cald, and she
Vnto the garden went, where they
Had poynted him to bée.
But
Pasquine ere they came, was there,
And brought with him a mate,
Cald
Stramba (Puccio was his name:)
This
Stramba he should prate
And with
Lagina chatte of loue,
The matche was pointed thus:
And whilst these two grosse louers did
Their matters so discesse,
Vnto the farther end of all
The garden,
Pasquine went,
And with
Symona there conferde
As touching his entent.
Heare leaue I (Ladies) both the talke
Which
Stramba did deuise
Vnto his late acquainted lasse,
Presume his tale was wise,
For as
Cupido whets the tongue
So doth he sharp the braine
Of those that loue, and earnest are
Their Ladies to attaine.
And though perhaps this fellow wer
Not come of gentle kinde,
Yet being matcht with on he likt,
Perhaps coulde tell his minde.
For fansie makes the foolish wise,
And compasse in his hed,
By what deuice he may atchieue
His liked Ladies bed.
To
Pasquine turne we now againe,
Who (as I said) of late
Was stept aside, of purpose with
His minion to debate.
There was, where he did sit, by chance
Conferring of the case,
A goodly bordered bed of sage,
Euen full beside the place,
Where as this louing couple coapt
In secret sport and play:
Who hauing long with merrie talke
Consumde the time away,
And made appointment eke to meete
Another day againe,
To banquet with
Symona there
To féele a farther vaine.
This
Pasquine to the sage resorts,
Whereof a leafe he strips
To rub his teeth and gummes withall,
Hée put it twixt his lips,
And so began to touch his téeth,
And therewith all did say
That Sage was very good to freat
The filthie flesh away
That stucke betwixt his hollow téeth.
Within a while that he
Had practisde thus vpon his gummes,
His countnance gan to be
Quite altred from the former forme,
And after that a space
That thus his visage swolne was
Vnto an vglie face,
He lost the vse of both his eyes,
And of his spéech beside:
And so at length in sodaine sort
This louing weauer dide.
Which when
Symona had beheld,
She watred straight her eyes,
And (out alasse) to
Stramba, and
Lagina lowde she cries.
The louers left the déep discourse,
And to the place they runne,
Where as so late this chaunce befell,
And deadly déed was done.
Ariuing there, and sinding dead
The weauer in the grasse,
And more than this, perceiuing how
His body swollen was:
And séeing all his face bespaugde
With spots as black as cole,
And that in all the body was
Not any member whele:
Then
Stramba cried out aloude,
Oh vile vnthriftie wench,
what hast thou done? why hast thou giuen
Thy friend a poysoned drench?
What meanst thou by this déed of thine?
Which words were spoke so hie,
That all the neighbours heard the same
That were the dwellers by.
And in they pressed all in hast,
Into the garden, where
The showte was made, and being come
They found the body there
Both void of life, and fouly swolue,
An valy sight to sée.
And finding
Stramba shedding teares,
And blaming her to be
The only cause of
Pasquines death:
The wench vnable eke
For verie griefe of heart, a worde
In her defence to speake:
Though shée in déed were not the cause
Yet they that came to view
Did apprehend the girle, and thought
That
Strambas wordes were true.
When thus the wench arested was,
Shée wrong, and wept a pace:
And so from thence, was brought before
The common Iudge his face,
Vnto the pallace where hée dwelt.
The maidens accusers were
Excéeding earnest in the case,
Both
Stramba that was there
With
Pasquine as his faithfull friend,
And other moe beside,
That came into the garden, when
The faithfull virgin cride.
And hereupon the Iustice fell
To question of the fact,
Debating with the witnesses,
Who hauing throughlie rackt
The matter, and not finding her
As giltte of the déede,
Nor any proofe of malice that
Might from the maide procéede,
As touching murther of the man:
Hée thought it good to stay
His iudgement, and himselfe to goe
Where dead the carkasse lay,
To view the partie, and the place,
To beace the matter out:
For all the other euidence
Might not remoue the doubt
Within his head the Iudge conceivde
In this so strange a case.
The men that knew the garden, brought
The Iustice to the place
Where
Pasquines carkasse puffed lay,
And strouting in such wise,
As made the Iudge himselfe am azde,
Hée could not well deuise
How such a mischiefe might bée done.
Which made him aske the maide
Symona, how the murther hapt.
To whom the virgin said,
Renowmed Iustice, after talke
Betwixt this man and me,
Hée stept aside vnto the bed
Of Sage that here you sée:
And with a leafe thereof he rubd
His gummes: as I do nowe,
(And therewithall shée tooke a leafe
To shew the Iustice how
Her friend had done and this (quoth she)
He did, and died than.
Whereat this
Stramba, and the rest
That records were, began
To scorne and laugh in presence of
The Iudge, and earnestly
Made sute that fire might bée fet,
Wherein the wench to trie,
To féele the penance of her fact,
Which like a wicked wretch
She had deuisde: shée earned death
That would her friend dispatch.
The virgin wofull for the death
Of him that latelie died,
And fearefull at the earnest sute
Which
Stramba made beside:
Thus hauing rubd her tender iawes
With Sage before them all,
Without suspect of such mishap,
Bereft of life, did fall
Vnto the ground, where
Pasquine lay,
And in like sort did swell,
From louely lookes, to loathsome limmes
A monstrous chaunce to tell.
And thus to shew the meane, how earst
Her louer lost his breath,
This sillie giltlesse wench her selfe
Euen there did die the death.
O happy soules, whose hap it was
In one ielfe day to laue
So faithfully, and in selfe day
The pangs of death to proue.
And happter had you both ybin
If you had had the grace,
Some other where to spent the time,
And not within that place.
But farre more blessed are yée nowe,
If in this death of yours,
You loue ech other as in life
Your likings did endure.
But (thou
Symona) happiest art,
For ending so thy dayes:
If we that liue may iudge aright,
And yeeld the dead their praise.
VVhose innocent and giltlesse ghost
Dame Fortune did denie
By
Strambas false surmised proofs
VVithout iust cause to die.
I count thée treble blest of God,
For Fortune found (I say)
A meane for thée by selfe same death,
That rid thy friende away.
To set thee frée from misreports,
And slaunder that did growe,
And gaue thée leaue by losse of life,
Vnto thy loue to goe.
The Iudge that saw this sodain chance
And all others eke
That present were, amazed stood,
And wist not what to speake
Or to comecture in the cace,
The wisest tongues were domme.
At last, the Iudge as soone as hée
Was to his senses comme,
Thus said: by this it doth appeare
The Sage that here you sée,
Infected is, and venim strong:
Though Sage by nature be
A very soneraigne holesome hearbe,
The proofe hath made it plaine.
But for because we will be sure
It shall not hurt againe,
Do delue it vp, and burne it here,
It may offend no more.
The Gardner therewithall was come,
Who digd it vp before
The Iudge, and all the standers by:
He had not parde the ground
Farre in, but that the cause of both
Those louers banes he founde.
For vnderneath this bed of Sage,
The fellow that did dig,
Turnd vp a toade, a loathsome sight,
A worme excéeding big.
The toade was of a monstrous growth:
Then euery man could tell
And iudge the cause of that mishap
Which both those friends befell.
Then could they say, the venomd worme
Had bealchd his poyson out,
And so infected both the roote,
And all the bed about
Where grewe the Sage, that bred their deaths:
Then sawe they playne the cause
And reason why the weauer dyde,
By rubbing of his lawes.
They made no more adoe, but forst
The gardner by and by
To make a fyre to burne the Sage,
And eke the Toade to frie
That was the cause of double spoyle.
The Iudge had nought to say
When this was done, but parted home,
The people went their way.
Straight
Stramba, and his other mates
That gaue in euidence
Against
Symona, brought a Beare,
And bare the bodies thence
So vgly swollen as they lay,
Vnto Saint Paules, and there
Within one Tombe did burie both,
For of that Church they were.
Lenuoy.
AS noble mindes to loue are kindly bent,
And haughty harts to fancie homage yeelde,
As
up
[...] makes the stoutest states relent,
And martiall men that daunt the foe in fielde:
So meanest mates are masht within the net,
That wily loue, to trappe his trayne hath set.
What Prince so prowde, what King for al his crown:
What sage so sadde, or solemne in his sawes,
What wight sowise, but
Cupid brings him downe,
And makes him stoupe to nature and her lawes?
Both poore and rich doe loue by course of kinde,
The proofe whereof in all degrees we finde.
That
Hector sterne that stroue to mayntayne
Troy,
And slewe with-sword full many a
[...]reekish knight,
For al the warr
[...]s, yet loude
[...]ndron
[...]ene,
With her he
[...]e
[...]t, in her he tooke delight:
His manly b
[...]est that force of foe withstoode,
Was razde by loue, his Curage did no good.
Vlisses
[...]ie, for all his wilie wit,
Was lodgde in loue, by
Cyices sugred cuppe,
[...]lato deuine, whose stue the Starres dyd hit,
With learnedlips of
Venus sauce did suppe:
His graue precepts stoode him in slender sted,
Whome lawe of kinde, in lincke of fancie led.
Fell
D
[...]onyse with
Alexander great,
Duke
Iason,
[...]ari
[...],
[...]ir
[...]hus, Pompey take,
And he whome
Dydo did so well entreate,
That to the curreous Queene his vowe did breake:
Yea
soue him selfe,
Apollo, Mar
[...] and all,
To
Venus bowde, each one was
Cupids thrall.
The noblest Nimphes that euer were aliue,
The queyntest queenes the force of fancie felt,
The dayntiest dames durst not with loue to striue,
The haughtiest harts, had
Cupid made to mete:
Medea, Phillis, Helen, Phedra flerce,
Crcu
[...]a, Oeuon, Lucrece loue did pierce.
Laodamie, Hermyon Hypsiphill,
Curst
Cliremnestra, Brisies, Deyanire,
Semyramis, and
Progne prone to kill,
With
Mirth
[...] Biblis lust to loue did stirrée
And thousands moe, of whome the Poetes tell,
Prouokt by loue, to flaming fancy fell.
Which sith is so. I may with better face
A pardon craue of you that Ladies be,
For dringing here a homely wenth in place,
And ranking her with danies of gallant glee:
Who sith did rage in fancie as the rest,
Why should she not be plast among the best?
Put case her byrth was base, her linage lowe,
Herparynts poore, her liuelod bare and shin,
Sith
Cupid did his golden shaft bestowe
Vpon her brest, when liking entred in,
Let her receiue the guerdon that is dewe
To faithfull loue, and march with
Cupids crewe.
Where leaue is lowed for each one to contend,
Where markes are made the cunningst hand to trie,
Without reproofe each one his bowe doth bend
And arrowes there without contr
[...]lement she:
Likewise sith loue at rendon roues his dartes,
We ought not scorne the meanest louing hartes,
When
Cresus brings his gorgeous giftes in hand,
And slay an oxe to offer to the goddes,
A groome with gote by him may baldly stand,
In holy Church they little count of odd es:
E
[...]e minde is all that makes: or marres the thing,
A Carter loues as whotly as a King.
The Argument to the tenth Historie.
AMerchants sonne that
Girolanus hight,
Of tender age, in great good liking fell
VVith one
Saluestra, a damsell faire and bright,
A taylers daughter, who there by did dwell:
The aged father did, and left the boy
Abounding welth, his heyre and only ioy.
The carefull mother doubting least her sonne
VVold make his choice, & marie with this maide
Dispatcht him thence to
Paris, there to wonne,
Vntill his heate and humor were delaide.
To please his friends away this yonker rode,
And there a space (vnwilling) made abode.
Retires in fiue to
Florence backe againe,
VVhen mothers feare & doubts were layde aside,
His auncient loue aye sticking in his brayne:
But ere he came, the wench was woxe a bryde,
VVhich greude him sore, he wist not how to deale
At last deuisde into her house to steale.
VVhere being plast, vnwist of any wight,
He stayde his time, till husband fel on sleepe,
Then out he gate, defenst with darke of night,
And softly to
Saluestras bed did creepe:
He sighde, he sued, he pleaded there for life,
In hope to had his pleasure of the wife.
But al for nought, his winde did shake no come
The womans will was bent another way:
VVhich when he found, as one that was forlorne
He wist not how to do, nor what to say:
His griefe was such, as by
Saluestras side
He laide him downe, and there for sorow dyde.
The husbād wakes, the wife bewrayes the case,
The corse was streight conueyde away by night,
When morow came, the beare was brought in place,
The graue was cast, the body lay in sight,
The mother mournd, and many matrons moe,
Bewayl the chaunce of him that died so.
Among the rest that present were to viewe
This heauie hap,
Saluestra stoode as than,
She sawe her friend, whom she vnkindly slewe,
And therewithall to rewe his death began:
So deepely sanke remorse into this dame,
As downe she fell, and dyde vpon the same.
AS auncient men report, there dwelt
A Merchant man of yore
In
Plorence, who by traficke had
Increast his stocke to more
Than any of his race had done,
A very wealthy wight:
Who on his wife begate a sonne
That
(Girolamus) hight.
And after time the babe was borne,
The father chaunst to die,
But (as it bape) be made his will
Before, and orderly
Disposde his goods, as men are wont:
The carefull mother then,
A widow left, with good a duise
And apde of loarned men.
The tutors of this merchants sonne,
Both vsde the infant well,
And gaue such eye vnto his stocke
As nought to damage fell.
This childe (as common order is)
Did vse to sport and play
Among the other neighbors babes,
To driue the time away.
And (as the childrens custome is,
Some one among the rest
To fancy most,) euen so this boy
Did like a mayden best
A Taylers daughter dwelling by:
They daily vsde to méete
With sundrie other babées moe
Amid the open shreete.
This liking in their tender yéeres
Shot vp, and grew to more,
Euen as their li
[...]s encreast by age,
The sparke which loue before
Had kindled in his wanton brest,
Did growe to greater fire,
And
Girolamus in his heart
The mayden did desire.
Their daily custome came to kinde,
And looke what day that he
Had past without the sight of her,
He thought it lost to be.
And that which set the flaxe on fire,
And bred the hoter flame,
Was, that the boy did well perceiue
The mayden ment the same,
And likte aswell of him againe,
The mother when she sawe
This matter worke, began to checke.
And kéepe the wagge in awe,
And whipt him now and then among:
But when she did perceiue
The stubborne stripling set her light,
And that he would not leaue
Those wanton trickes, vnfit for youth,
She wexe a wofull da
[...]e:
And to the tutors of her sonne
This pensiue widowe came,
(As one that of that reabtres thorne
An Orenge trée would fayne
Haue made, because his stocke was great,
But all her toyle was vame.)
And to the sages thus she said,
Vngracious graffe my sonne,
Scarce fourtéene yéeres of age as yet,
Already hath begonne,
And entred in the suare of loue:
The wagge begins to frie
With one
Saluestras liking lust,
A taylours daughter by.
So that vnlesse we wise by deale,
And warely seeme to watch,
At length (perhaps) this foolish else
Will with the mayden match,
And make a rash contract with her:
Which if should happen so,
From that time foorth, I should not liue
A merrie day I knowe.
Or if he should consume and wast
With thought, or pine away,
To sée her matcht some other where,
Then woe were me I say.
Wherefore to voyde this present ill,
I thinke it best (quoth shée)
That you conuey him hence in hast,
If you be ruld by me.
Cause him to trauaile in affayres
Concerning Merchants trade:
For that perhaps by absence from
The maide, he may be made
To quite forget his wanton loue,
And put her out of minde,
And make some other better choyce.
Abroade the boy shall finde,
A wench that is descended well,
To linke himselfe withall:
No doubt, I séehem fullie bent
By loue to hazard all
The tutors liked well the tale
The mother widow told,
And made her promise presently
To doe the best they could,
By counsell and by good aduise.
And thereupon they sent
Amessenger vnto the ympe,
That to the warchouse went,
And wild the boy to come away:
Who, being come in place,
The one began to speake him thus
With milde and friendlie face.
My sonne, fith you are past a childe,
I would your wit allow,
If you would somewhat looke about
Vnto your prosite now,
And see your selfe where all goe right
That doth concerne your gaine:
We, that your tutors are, agrée,
(If you will take that paine)
That you to
Paris trauaile, ther
To stay a certaine space:
For, there, your father, whilst he liude,
In banke your wealth did place,
Euen there your chiefest traficke lyes:
And eke besides the same,
You shall your selfe to manners good
And better fashion frame,
By lodging in so trim a towne
Where lustie gaisants be,
There shall you store of Gentlemen,
And brauest Barons sée.
And hauing learned their good grace,
And markt their vsage well,
You may returne you home againe,
Among your friends to dwell.
The boy did note his tutors tale,
That did perswade him so,
And brieflie made answere, that
He did not minde to goe
To
Paris, for he thought he mought
Aswell in Florence stay
As any one, what néede he then
To trauaile thence away.
The sages being answerde thus,
Vnto the widdow went,
And tolde the mother how her sonne,
The wilfull wag, was bent.
The matrone, mad to beare the newes,
Spake not a word at all
Of
Paris matters, but foorthwith
Vnto his loue did fall:
Controuling him for roysting rule,
And for his baudie life:
And did not let to tell him, how
He meant to take a wife.
But, as the mothers manner is,
For euery bitter checke,
Shée gaue her sonne a honie sop,
And hung about his necke:
And flattred him againe as fast,
And did the boy entice
By all the friendly meanes she might
To follow their aduise:
The mother widow preached had
Vnto her sonne so long,
Of this and that, and in his eare
Had sung so swée te a song:
As for a yéere to trauell well,
The boy perswaded was,
To stay in
Fraunce, and so his time
In forraine Realme to passe.
I leaue the taking of his horse,
I write not of his woe:
I passe of purpose all his plaints
His countrie to forgoe.
I doe omit his bitter teares
At time of his remoue,
For those to déeme, that haue assaide
The pangs of pensiue loue.
I write not of the mothers griefe,
To bid her sonne farewell,
For that her selfe was pleasde withall
And likt his voyage well.
To
Paris when this gallant came,
Loue gaue the charge anew
Vpon his heart, the fight was fierce,
A greater fancie grew
Within his bosome, than before,
The absence from her face,
Might not delay the ho
[...] desire
That had this youth in chace.
And thus, the boy, that meant at first
But for a yéere to stay,
Full two yéeres out, in burning loue
In
Fraunce at
Paris lay.
Which time expyrde, inwrapped more
In flakes of fancies flame,
Than when he went from
Italy,
He backe to
Florence came,
And being there arrivde, he heard
His auncient friend was sped:
A certaine Curten maker hapt
This wench meane while to wed.
Whereat he greatly greeued was,
And vexed out of erie:
But séeing that there was no choice,
Nor other meanes to trie.
He purposde with himselfe a truce
His sorowes to expell.
But at the length he had espide
Where did this damsell dwell,
And found her standing at her dore:
Then grew this youth in heate,
And as enamored wights are wont,
He gan the streetes to beate,
Both vp, and downe, both to and fro,
He vsed oft to stalke
Before the Curten makers house,
In hope by often walke
That she wanld pitie of his paines,
And eke his torment rue,
He verliy presumde that shée
Her
Girolanus knewe.
But fortune fell not out aright,
Shée knew the man no more,
Than one whom earst shée neuer sawe
In all her life before.
Or if shee did remember him,
At least shée made in wise
She wist not who the Marchant was,
So coy shée kest her eyes
On
Girolamus passing by.
Yet he would neuer leaue
His wonted walke, in hope at last
Same fauour to receaue:
Deuising all the meanes he might
To bring the wife againe
In minde of him, who was her loue,
Her strangenesse bred his paine.
It gréeude the Marchant to the guts
That he was so forgote:
In fine he purposde, with himself
(His feuer was so hote)
To speake with her, although it cost
The loosing of his life:
And héerevpon, instructed by
The neighbours, where the wife
Whom he entirely loude did dwell,
Hée watcht his season so,
That, when the husband and his spouse,
With other neighbours mo,
Were walkt abroade to kéep the watch,
He slilie did conuey
Himselfe into
Saluestras house:
And being there, he lay
Behinde the Curtaines,
[...]ie the bed,
Vnspide of any man.
The Curtain maker and his wife
Returned home, began
To take their rest in wonted wise.
The man was sound a sléepe
As soone as he was laid in couche:
Then gan this youth to créepe,
Vpon his knées, vnto the side
Whereas
Saluestra lay,
And hauing softly plast his handes
Vpon her pappes, gan say:
What are you (swéeting) yet a sléepe:
With that the wife dismaide,
Would haue exclaimde, (as women wont
In such like sort afraide)
Saue that the Marchant presently
Her friendly thus bespake.
Alas, my Déere, exclaime not now,
You néed no thought to take,
For I a
[...]
Girolamus, he
That tender your estate.
She hearing that, said, all afraid,
What make you here so late:
Good
Girolanus get you hence,
Those youthfull yéeres are spent
Wherein it was our hap to loue,
That time good faith I ment:
Then lawfull was the thing we did.
But now you sée that I
Am otherwise bestowde and matcht,
I must not now apply
My liking, but to him alone.
Wherefore, I pray, quoth shée,
For loue of God depart this place
Your purpose may not bée.
For if my husband wist you héere,
(Put case none other ill
Ensude thereof) yet this be sure,
I should haue chiding still:
Your being here would bréede debate,
And purchase deadly strife,
Whereas with him, as now I leade
A iollie quiet life,
I am his darling well belodde.
When
Girolanus had
Both heard, and noted all her talke,
Hée woxe excéeding sad.
His heart was pierst with pensiue woe
To he are the tale shée tolde,
Then gan hée wrie his former loue,
And all his flame vnfolde.
Declaring her, that distance had
Not flakte his burning fire:
And made request withall, that she
Should graunt him his desire.
He promisde golden mountaynes then,
But all his sute was vayne:
No iote of friendship for his life,
The merchant mought attaine.
Wherefore desirous then to die,
Saluestra he besought,
That in rewarde of all his loue,
And all his former thought
Which he had suffered for her sake,
She would but yelde him grace
To warme himselfe within her bed,
Fast by her side a space:
Whose flesh
[...] maner frozen was,
With staying there so long,
He made her promise on his faith
He would not offer wrong
Vnto
Saluastra, at not once
Let fall a worde so mutch,
Nor yet her naked carkasse with
His manly members tutche:
But hauing taken there a heate,
And warmde himselfe in bed,
He would depart, and déeme that he
Sufficiently had sped.
Saluestra taking pitie then
Of
Gyrolamus case,
Vpon the promise made before
Did yelde him so much grace,
As on her bed to stretch him selfe
The youth thus being laid
Besides his mistres, toucht her not
But with him selfe he waid
The great good wil that he so long
Within his brest had borne:
Vpon her present rigor eke
He thought, and shamefull scorne.
And being brought to déepe dispaire,
He purposde not to liue,
But die the death without delay,
And vp the ghost to geue.
And hereupon his sprices withdrew
Themselues from outward parts,
His senses fled, he stretcht him selfe,
And so the youth departs
Fast by
Saluestras sauage side
To whom he sude for grace:
When
Girolam thus dead had line
Vpon her bed a space
The wench did wonder very much
That he was wore so chaste.
Whose flame of late so burning was
And fancie fride so fast.
At length in feare her husband would
Awake, she gan to say
Oh Gyrolamus how
[...] this?
When wil you packe away?
But hearing him no answere make
She thought him sound asléepe
Which made her reach her hand to wake,
The man that slept so déepe.
She felt and found him colde as yee
Whereof she marueld much:
And therupon with greater force
She gan his limmes to touch.
And thrust him, but he stirred not,
With that within her head
The wife conceaued and wistful wel
That Girolam was dead.
Whereof she was the soriest wench,
That euer liued by breath:
She knew not what to doe to see
So strange and sodaine death.
But yet at last she did deuise
To féele her husbands thought
In person of another, not
As though her selfe had wrought
Or béen a party in the fact.
Put case, good fir (quoth she,)
A yonker loued a maried wife
As I my selfe mought be:
And comming to her chamber late,
In hope to winne the wife,
Were both begilde of all his hope,
And eke berefte of life,
By only force of franticke loue
And lacke of his desire,
And want of pities water, to
Delay his scalding fire.
What would you doe in such a pinche?
How would you deale as than?
Whereto the husband answered, that
He weuld conuay the man
Vnto his home, without mistrust
Or malice to the dame
His wife, that had resisted so
The force of
Cupides flame.
Which whē she herd, she answered thus
Then (husband) doth it lye
Vpon vs nowe to practise that,
And eake that tricke to trye.
And taking of his hand, she put
It on the coarse that laye
Vpon the other side of her,
As colde as any kaye.
Wherat the wilfull wight dismayde,
And ierst with sodaine feare,
Lepte of the bed full sore amazde,
To féele a body there.
And out he ran to light
[...] linke,
Without debating more
Of further matter with his wife,
Of what they spake before.
The candle light bewrayed the corse,
He sawe the partie playne,
He made no more a doe, but put
Him in his robes agayne,
And bore him on his shoulders thence:
And knowing verie well
His lodging, set him at the doore,
Where did his mother dwell:
When day was come, and people sawe
The carkasse of the dead
Before the gate, the fame thereof
Throughout the citie spread.
Each one did wonder at the chaunce,
That passed by the way,
They knewe the partie passing well,
But wist not what to say.
Yet most of all, the mother musde,
And vexed was in minde,
That hauing searchte the body, coulde
No wounded member finde.
Which made Phisitions flatly say,
That forowe stopte his breath:
With one assent they all agréede,
That griefe did cause his death.
As custome is, the corse was borne
Into a temple by
Where merchant men of his estate
And welthie wights did lie.
The mourning mother the ther came
To waile her sonnes decease
And with the matrone thousands moe
Of neighbors more and lesse.
Were come to church to shed their teares
Saluestras husband then.
Perceiuing that the preate was grent,
Of women and of men,
Ran home & wilde his wife do on
A kerchiefe on her head:
And throng amid the
[...] to beare
What newes went of the dead.
And be him selfe thrustan among
The men, to learne what they
Imaginde of the marchants death,
Where any one did say
Or had him in suspect thereof
S
[...]aestra hereupon
Made hast to church, and felt remorse
Within her brest anone.
But all to late her pitie
[...]ame,
For she desired to vew
Him being dead, whom carst aliue
She tooke disdat
[...]e to r
[...]we.
Or recompence so much as with
A kisse. O wenche vnkind,
A maruels thing, to thinke how hard
It is for man to finde
Or sounde the depth of louers thoughts,
Or knowe the force of loue:
For loe hir brest, whom
Gyrolams
Good fortune might not moue,
Nor during life procure to ruth,
His death did raze hir harte.
His misaduentures did renewe
The stroke of
Cupides darte.
Hir auncient flame rekindled was,
And to such pitie grewe,
When as she did the carcasse dead
Of
Gyrolamus vewe,
That being but in simple wéede,
As meanest women were,
By one and one she gate before
The richest matrons there,
Not stintyng till she came vnto
The body where it lay,
And being there she gaue a shoute,
And yelded forth a bray.
So loude as for hir life she could,
And groueling with hir face,
On
Gyrolamus carcasse fell,
His bodie to imbrace.
And bathde his limmes with brackish teares,
That issued from her eyes
As long as life would giue her leaue:
Which done,
Saluestra dyes.
And looke how griefe & hidden thought,
Had slayne her desperate friend,
Euen so remorse of couerte cares,
Her loathed life did ende.
Which when y
e mourning matrons saw
Eache one in friendliest wise,
To comfort her in words began,
And willd her thence to rise,
As then not witting who she was:
But at the last, when that
She would not mount, but lay me still
Vpon the body flat,
They came to lift her vnber legges,
And rayse her from the grounde,
And then, both that the wife was dead,
And who she was, they founde.
Saluestra then she did appeare,
Then dubble woxe the woe
Of all the wiues that mouruers were,
When they the dame did knowe.
Then gan they mourne as fast againe
As ere they did before,
For euery sighe, a hundred sobbes,
For euery teare a score.
This brute no s
[...]er out of Church,
Among the people came:
But out of hand per husband hearde
The tidings of the same.
Who (as I said) was gone among
The men, to lend an eare,
And hearken what report there went
Of them that died there.
Then like a louing husband, that
Imbrast
Saluestra well,
From sobbing sighes, to trickling teares,
For her misfortune fell.
And waild her ddath no little time,
And after that, to some
That were in place, declard, by night
How
Gyrolam did come
Vnto his house, through burning loue
Which he
Saluestra bore,
And tolde the tale from point to point,
As I haue pend before.
Where at the audience wofull woxe,
That vnderstood the case,
Then taking vp the carkasse of
The wife that lay in place,
And hauing knit the shrowding shéete,
As common custome is,
They layd her body on the beare,
And set her side to his.
Thus hauing wept vpon the dead
In proofe of inward paine:
And buried both together, home
The people went againe.
See lucke, whom loue was not of force,
Aliue to linke in one:
Death found the meanes to couple close,
Within a marble stone.
Lenuoy.
VVHether stars doe stir good lykyng from aboue,
By hidden force and couert power deuyne
Or c
[...]aunce breede c
[...]oyce & leades vs on to loue
[...]nd fancy falses as fortune list assigne,
I cannot iudge nor perfectly defyne.
But this I know ouce let it ghther roote
And to remoue it then is slender boote.
Let sicknes grow, let cankers worke theyr wyl
Seeke not at first their malyce to suppresse
Scorne wholsome helpe doe floute at physikes sail
In hope thy greefe wyl swage and vvaren lesse
And thou at last shalt neuer haue redresse
Diseases more admitte no cunning cure
The cause by tyme is fastned on so sure.
When fire to once crept yn among the shaw
And flame hath raught the rotten roose on hye
Tis hardly quencht hys fury hath no law
It seldome sinkes tyl all on ground do ly
The way to help is busily to ply
The matter fyrst before it grow too far
When steedes are stolne tys bootles doores to darre.
Euen so it fares when fancy blowes the cole
Of frend
[...]ipf
[...]st and s
[...]ts abroach good will
I man may ympes with ease from loue controle
Whilst feare dot force them stoupe to parents wyl
But let them run their race at ryot styl
And not rebukte by reason at the fyrst
Along they go let parents doe their worst.
Too late comes salues to cure contyrmed sores
When loue is linkt and choyce is chayned tast
You may as soone plucke trees vp by the rootes
As breake the knot or sunder promise past
The tackle hangs so sure vnto the Mast
When shyp
[...] from shore haue hopste vp all their sa
[...]les,
To bend about againe it little vailes.
So statelie is the stroke of Cupids bow,
So fell his force, so huge his heauie hand,
No striuyng serues, no shift to shun the blow.
No might nor meane his Godhead to withstand,
Who fastest runnes sinks deapest in the sands:
Wherefore I wish that parents giue consent,
And not repine when mindes to match are bent.
For barre the sick whom Feuer doth molest,
To drinke his fill, gis thirst will be the more,
Restraine thy Ienates course, thy bridle wrest,
The beast becouimes farre fiercer, than before,
Where streames be stopt, there riuers most doe rore,
Downe goe the banks, and ouer flowes the flood,
Where swellyng waters feele themselues withstood.
No trauayle serues to sunder louing heartes,
No absence breedes in friendes forgetfull mindes,
The farther of that dely from other parts,
The botter ech his flaming fancie findes.
Who striues to stop, doth most enrage the wynds:
No louer true, but beares within hys brest,
The shape of her whom he doth fancie best.
As thunder showres, whom weather calmes againe,
Gyue greater drought and helpes along the string,
By meanes of heate mixt with the blomiing raine:
So safe returne of absent friende, doth bring
Increase of loue and faster streames the spryng:
Respect of birth, of state, or ought beside,
Stops not the boat, that driues wuh such a tide.
A folly then for parents to restraine,
For lucres sake their children,
[...]th we see
That both theyr care and labour is in vaine,
And sundrie times a thousand tiles there bee
That doe ensue, when they will not agree:
As in this tale the Florentine doth showe
The great mishaps by such restraint that grow.
Could mothers threates, or tutors taunts reucke
This Marchants minde, or make him alter loue,
Could Parris pleasure once this youth prouoke,
His auncient friend from fancie to remoue?
Yea, though it were a thing for his behoue,
No, backe he came the selfe same man he went,
He chaungde the ayre, but not his first entent.
And loue, to helpe him onward od his race,
Assisted with deuise and subtile sleight,
Eke Venus taught him how to come in place,
And shrowded him in cloudie cloke of night,
Whereby he might approch to his delight,
But all for nought. The game that he pursude,
Was caught before, and thence his haue ensude.
So Pyramus in Babylon of pore,
Faire Thisbe loued, but parents disagreed,
They might not match, but prisoned were therefore:
Yet loue at length this faithfull couple freed,
The time was set, the place and all decreed,
When foule mishap bereft them both of life,
Who slue themselues with one vnluckie knife.
Had pitie lodge within Saluestras brest,
Would she haue forst so true a man to die,
Who chargde with loue and thousand woes distrest,
Did hazard life to presse in place so me,
Vnto a dame that with her spouse dyd lie?
O blooddie Beare, nay rather Tygers whelp
That would refuse her auncient friend to helpe.
O marble mynde O stayne of womans stocke
Not fed with un
[...]e of kindly nurses pappe
But hewed with toole out of some ruthles rocke
And layd withyn some Lionesses lap
Couldst thou alow thy frend so hard a hap
As by thy syde amid his sute to see
Him d
[...]e the death and all for loue of thee?
Draw hether dames and read this bloody fact
Note wei the fruite of frovvardnes in loue
Peruse the plague of her that pyty lackt
See how in that she pleasd the gods aboue
Example take your xygo
[...] to remous
And you that are Cupydos knyghts ta
[...]e heede
Bestovv no more good wil then shalde need.
Renounce the loue of such as are forsped
Forgoe those frends vvh
[...]m law forbids to lyke
Courte no mans wyfe embrace no maryage bed
Leaue of your luste by others harines to seeke
No such good vvyl can last aboue a vveeke
Looke vvhen you thynke your selues in cheefest pryce
They set you by vvhylst others throvv the dyce.
When once regard of honor lyes asyde
When credyt is respected nought at all
Then shame ensues and follovves after pride
From vertue then to fylthy vice they fall
And to allure they vse a pleasant call
And beyng once entangled in the tvvyg
To make you fat they
[...]eede you vvith a fyg.
For one delyght ten thousand yls ensues
For little glee much bytter gall you gayue
You may not hope to ty
[...]oe those vvomen true
Theyr husbands beds that voe not stick to stayne
And make them serue for cloke
[...] agaynst the rayne
Wherfore I say force not of any daine
That for a frend forgoee an honest name.
❧ EPJTATHES and Sonnettes annexed to the Tragical histories, By the Author.
VVith some other broken pamphlettes and Epistles, sent to certaine his frends in England, at his being in Moscouia. Anno 1569.
Omnia probate.
Quod bonum est tenete.
A farevvell to a mother Cosin, at his going tovvardes Moscouia.
GOe post you pensiue lynes,
and papers full of woe,
Make haste wnto my mothers handes,
hir sonnes farewell to showe.
Doe marke her lookes at first,
ere you your message tell,
For feare your sodayne newes, hir minde
doe fancie nothing well.
But sithen néedes you must
my trauailes trouth vnfolde,
To offer vp her sonnes farewell,
and last adewe, be bolde.
I know she will accept
your comming in good parte,
Till time she vnderstand by you
that I must néedes departe.
But when you make reporte
that I am shipte from shore,
In minde to cut the foming Seas,
where winter wyndes do roe rore:
Then woe be vnto you,
that mournefull message beare,
For doubtlesse she with trembling handes
will you in sunder teare.
But (mother) let your sonne
perswade you in this case,
For no man sure is borne to leade
his life in one selfe place.
I must no longer stay
aduantage is but vile
The cruel lady fortune on
your sonne will neuer smile.
My countrey coast where I
my Nurses milke did sucke,
Would neuer yet in all my life
allowe me one good lucke.
With cost encrease my cares,
expences nip me neere,
Loue waxeth cold, no frendship doth
in natures brest appéere.
Where slender is the gaine
and charges grow too hie
Where liuing lackes and money melts
that should the want supply:
From thence tis time to trudge
and hire the hackney post
To shift to ship, to leaue the land
and séeke a better coast.
Sith I haue all my yeres
in studies fond applide
And euery way that might procure
a better chaunce haue tride.
Yet better not my state
but like a sotted dolt
Consume my time that goes about,
to mend a broken bolt.
Sith I haue livde so long
and neuer am the naere
To bid my natiue soile farewel,
I purpose for a yéere.
And more perhaps if néede
and present cause require:
They say the countrey is too colde
the whotter is the fire.
Moscouia is the place,
where all good furres be sold
Then pray thée (mother) tel me how,
thy sonne shall dye with colde.
Put case the snow be thicke,
and winter frostes be great:
I doe not doubt but I shal finde,
a stoue to make me sweat.
If I with credite goe,
and may returne with gaine
I hope I shalbe able wel
to bide this trauayles paine.
The slouthfull Groome that sits,
at home and tels the clocke:
And feares the floud because therein
lies hidden many a rocke.
As hée abydes no woe,
no welth he doth deserue,
Let him that will not cut the loafe
for lacke and famine sterue.
The Catte deserues no fish
that feares her foote to weate,
Tis time for me in profite now
mine idle braynes to beate.
I trust I shall returne
farre better than I goe,
Increase of credite will procure
my simple wealth to growe:
Meane while I wishe thée well
(good mother mine) to fare,
And better than my selfe, who yet
was neuer voyde of care.
Sith néede obeyes no lawe,
and néedes I must to barcke,
Farewell, and thinke vpon thy sonne,
but haue of him no carcke.
The Gods I hope will heare
the sute that you shall make,
And I amid the Sea shall fare
the better for your sake.
If euer fortune serue,
and bring me safe to lande,
The harde mishappes of trauayle you
by me shall vnderstand.
And whatsoeuer straunge
or monstrous sight I sée.
Assure thy selfe at my returne
I will declare it thée.
Thus euery thing hath ende.
and so my letters shall,
Euen from the bottom of my brest,
I doe salute you all.
What so becomes of me
the mightie Gods I craue,
That you my frendes, a blessed life
and happie deathes may haue.
That nothing can cause him to forget his frend, vvherein is toucht the hardnes of his trauayle.
IF boystrous blaste of fierce and froward wynde,
If weltring waues, and frothie foming Seas,
If shining Sunne by night against his kinde,
If lacke of lust to meate, and want of ease,
If feare of wracke, and force of rouing foe,
If raged Rockes that in the riuers lie:
If frozen floodes where sliding Sledds doe goe,
If cruell colde vpon the mountaines hye,
If seldome sleapes, if sundrie sortes of care,
If bareskin beddes, or else a borded bench,
If lacke of kindly cates and courtly fare,
If want of holsom drinck the thirst to quench,
If stinking Stoues, if Cunas and bitter bragge,
If sauage men, if women foule to sight,
If riding poast vpon a trotting Nagge,
If homely yammes, in stead of Innes at night:
If these (I say) might make a man forget
So true a frend, then thou art out of minde.
But in good fayth, my fancie firme was set,
No Russie mought the true loue knot vnbinde.
Venus be iudge, and
Cupid in this case,
Who did pursue me aye from place to place.
He declares that albeit he were imprisoned in Russia, yet his minde was at libertie, & did daily repaire to his frend.
NOw finde I true that hath bene often told,
(No man may reaue the freedome of the mind,)
Though kepers charge in chaines the captiue hold,
Yet can he not the Soule in bondage binde:
That this is true, I finde the proofe in me,
Who Captiue am, and yet at libertie.
Though at my héele a cruell clogge they tye,
And ranging out by rigor be restraynde,
Yet maugre might, my minde doth fréely flye
Home to my frend, it will not be enchainde:
No Churles checke, no Tyrants threat can stay
A Louers heart, that longs to be away.
I doe desire no ayde of Dedalus,
By feate to forge such waxen winges anew
As erst he gaue his sonne young Icarus,
When they from Crete for feare of Mynos flew,
Dame Fancy hath such feathers still in store,
For me to flie as I desire no more.
Il desire non hariposo.
A comparison of his mistresse, with a braue Lady of Russia.
FAyre is thy face, and louely are thy lookes,
Rich be thy robes and geason to be had
White are thine eares, hangde full of siluer kookes
Braue be thy bootes, thy body costly clad,
With Sable, Sube, thy necke beset with pearle.
Thy brodred gyte makes thée a gallant gyrle.
The Russies rude doe déeme right wel of thée,
Mine english eye no paynted image léekes,
I haue a frend that wel contenteth me,
With kindly shape and kindly coloured chéekes,
Such one she is, as I wil here declare,
Fewe are her péeres, I finde her matches rare,
Her heare is golden wyer, her shineng eyes
Two Dyamondes that glister passing bright,
Amids her lylye chéekes, the Rubie lyes,
Her téeth of pearle, lippes louely red and white,
All other limmes doe aunswere well the same,
Now iudge of both which is the brauer dame,
La mia donna
bella è buona.
To his frend promising that though her beautie fade, yet his loue shall last.
I Wotte full well that bewtie cannot laste,
No rose that springs, but lightly doth decay,
And feature like a lillie leafe doth waste,
Or as the Cowslip in the midst of May:
I know that tract of time doth conquer all,
And beuties buddes like fading floures do fall.
That famous Dame fayre Helen, lost her hewe
Whē withred age w
t wrinckles chaungd her chéeks,
Her louely lookes did loathsomnesse ensewe,
That was the A per se of all the Gréekes?
And sundrie moe that were as fayre as shee
Yet Helen was as freshe as fresh might bée.
No force for that, I price your beautie light,
If so I finde you stedfast in good will:
Though fewe there are that doe in age delight,
I was your friend, and so doe purpose still,
No change of lookes shall bréede my change of loue
Nor beauties want, my first goodwill remoue.
Per gentilezza,
Tanto.
Non per bellezza.
From the citie of Mosqua, to his friend in England.
GO burning sighes, and pierce the frozen skie,
Slack you y
e snow with flames of fancies fire
Twixt
Brutus land, and
Mosqua that doe lie:
Goe sighes I say, and to the
Phenix flie,
Whome I imbrace, and chieflie doe desire,
Report of me that I doe loue her best,
None other Saint doth harbour in my brest.
Tell her that though the colde is wont by kinde
To quench the cole, and ffames do yéeld to frost,
Yet may no winters force in
Russia binde
My heart so heard, or alter so my minde,
But that I still imbrace her beautie most:
I went her friend, and so cotinue still,
Frest cannot freat the ground of my good will.
Ardoe ghiaccio.
To his mistres, declaring his life only to depend of her lookes.
THe
Salamander cannot liue
without the help of flaming fire:
To hath his limmes in burning coales,
it is his glée and chiefe desire.
The litle fish doth loue the lake,
dame nature hath assigned him:
To liue no longer then he doth
amid the siluer channel swimme.
Chameleon féedes but on the ayre,
the lacke whereof is his decay:
These thrée doe perish out of hand,
take fire, flouds, and ayre away.
Iudge you (my déere) the danger then
of very force that must ensue:
Vnto this careful heart of mine,
that cannot liue withouten you.
I am the fish, you are the flood,
my heart it is that hangs on hooke:
I cannot liue if you doe stoppe,
the floudhatch of your freudly brooke.
I silly
Salamander die.
if you maintaine not frendships fire:
Quenche you the coale and you shal sée
me pine for lack of my desire.
You are the pleasant breathing ayre,
and I your poore
Chameleon,
Barre me your breath and out of hand
my life and sweete delight is gone.
Which sith tis so (good mistresse) then
doe saue my life to serue your turne
Let me haue ayre and water stil
let me your
Salamander burne.
My death wil doe you litle good,
my life perhaps may pleasure you:
Rewe on my case and pitie him,
that sweares himself your seruant true,
I beare the badge within my brest,
wherin are blazde your colours braue:
Loue is the only liuery, that
I at your curteous hand doe craue.
I doe desire no gréedy gaine,
I couet not the massye golde:
Embrace your seruant (mistres) then,
his wages wil be quickly tolde.
As you are faire so let me finde,
your bountie equall to your face:
I cannot thinke that kinde so néere,
to beauties bower would rigor place,
Your comely hewe behight me hope,
your louely lookes allow mee life.
Your graue regard doth make me déeme,
you fellow to
Vlisses wife,
Which if be true then happy I,
that so in loue my fancie set,
In you doth rest my life, my death,
by slaying me no gaine you get.
The noble minded Lion kils
no yeelding beast by crueltie.
And worthie dames delight to saue
their seruants liues by curtesie.
Virtu ti comes inuidia.
MY Spencer, spite
[...] vertues deadly foe,
The best are euer sure to beare the blame,
And enuie next to vertue still doth goe,
But vertue shines, when enuie shrinkes for shame.
In common weales what beares a greater sway
Than hidden hate that hoordes in haughtie brest?
In princes courtes it beares the bell away,
With all estates this enuie is a guest.
Be wise, thy wit will purchase priuie hate,
Be rich, with rents flocke in a thousand foes
Be stout, thy courage will procure debate,
Be faire, thy beautie not vnhated goes.
Beare office thou, and with thy golden mace,
Commes enuie in, and treades vpon thy traine,
Yea, be a Prince, and hate will be in place,
To bid him stand aloofe it is in vaine.
So that I see, that Boccas wordes be true:
For ech estate is pestred with his foe;
Saue miserie, whom hate doth not ensue,
The begger only doth vnspited goe:
Yet beggers base estate is not the best,
Though enuie let the begger lie at rest.
Sola miseria esenza
inuidia, Boccacio.
That though he may not possible come or send, yet he liues mindfull of his mistresse in Moscouia.
WHo so hath read
Leanders loue,
which he to Ladie
Hero bore,
And how he swamme through
Aelles flood,
twixt
Abydon and
Sestus shore.
To gaine his game, to liue at lust,
to lay him in the Ladies lap,
Will rue his paines, and scarce exchange
his case to haue
Leanders hap,
But happy I account hi
[...] case,
for hauing past those narrow Seas,
He was assured to lodge alost,
with
Hero in the towre of ease.
He neuer went but did enioy,
his mistres whom he did desire.
He seldome swamme the foming floud,
but was assured to quench his fire.
The torch it hung vpon the towre,
the lampe gaue light to shew the way:
He could not misse the darkesome night
it shone as cléere as sunny day,
Thus happy was
Leaders lot,
but most vnhappy mine estate:
For swimming wil not serue my turne
to bring me to my louing mate.
The flouds are frozen round about,
the snow is thick on euery side:
The raging Ocean runnes betwixt
my frend and me with crueltide.
The hilles be ouerwhelmde with hoare
the countrey clad with mantels white
Each trée attirde with flakes of yee,
is nothing els faue snow in sight.
The mighty
Volgas stately streame
in winter slipper as the glasse:
Abides no boate, how should I then
deuise a meane a way to passe?
And
Suchan that in summer time,
was casie to be ouergone:
With
Boreas blast is bound as harde,
as any flint or marble stone,
Frée passage
Dwina doth deny,
whose streame is stopt and choakt with snow.
There is no way for any barge,
much lesse for any man to goe:
I cannot for my life repaire,
to thée to ease my present paine:
There is no passage to be had,
til summer slake the snow againe.
Meane while yet maist thou make accōpt,
that I doe stil remember thée.
In
Russia where I leade my life,
and long againe at home to be.
No force shall cause me to forget
or lay the care of loue aside:
Time is the touchstone of good will,
wherby my meaning shalbe tride.
If I might haue conueid my lines,
vnto thy hands, it would haue easde,
My heauy heart of diuers doubts,
my message might my minde appeasde
But (friend) indure this long delay
my selfe wil come when time shal serue
To tell thée newes and how I fare:
meane while stand fast & do not swerue
Presume that as I was thine owne,
euen so I doe continue still.
I stnow hir not whose beautie shall remooue
or change my first good will.
Thy face hath pierst my brest so farre,
thy graces este so many bée,
As if I would, I cannot choose
but loue, and make account of thée.
To a faire gentlevvoman, false to hir friend.
VVIthin the garden plot of thy faire face,
Doth grow a graffe of diuers qualities:
A matter rare within so little space,
A man to find such sundry properties:
For commonly the roote in euery trée,
Barcke, body, boughes, bud, leafe, and fruit agrée.
First for the roote is rigor in the brest,
Creason the trée, that springeth of the same,
Beautie the barcke that ouer spreds the rest,
The boughes are braue, and climing vp to fame,
Braules be the buds that hang on euery bowe,
A blossom fit for such rootes to allowe.
Loue is the leafe that little time endures,
Flattrie the fruit which treasons tree doth beare,
Though beauties barste at first the eie allure,
Yet at the last ill will the worme, doth weare
Away the leafe, the blossoms, boughes, and all,
And rigors roote, makes beauties buds to fall.
Par essere ingrata, Non sarai amata.
A farewell to a craftie deceitfull Dame.
AS he that lothes the powders smel,
must neuer prease where Gunners bée:
So he that hates a double daine,
must neuer haue to do with thée.
For craft I sée, is all thy care,
thy smoothest lookes betoken guiles:
In womans wombe thou féedst a foxe,
that bites thy friend on whom he smiles.
Had Nature wist thy déep deceits
before thy birth, I thinke that kind,
To saue thy name, and ease thy friends,
had seald thine dies, and kept thée blind.
For what is she that beares a face
of greater trust, and more good will:
Yet who is she that hath a heart
more prone to pay the good with ill?
Thy beautie Ied me on to loue,
thy lookes allured my looking eyes:
Thy doubleuesse now bréeds despaire,
thy craft doth cause my wofull cries.
I could requite dissembling loue,
and gloze perhaps as well as you:
But that I take but small delight
to change mine ancient friends for new,
Yet will I not be sotted so,
as stil to let my loue to losse,
I better know what mettall is,
than to exchange the gold for drosse.
Good will is euer woorth good will,
if both the ballance egall bée:
But sure too massie is my loue,
to make exchange of loues with thée.
Wherfore I say, vnknit the knot
wherwith thy loue was falsly tide,
Thou lackst a graine to make vp weight,
men say, (good measure neuer lide.)
Go séeke some other to deceiue,
too wel I know thy craftie call:
My mouth is very well in taste,
to iudge the hony from the gall.
That you are gall, I may auow,
for hony hath no bitter tast:
The wine of your good will is spent,
you kéep ths dregs for me at last.
Wherfore I do renounce the caske,
I leaue the lées for other men:
My hap was ill, my choice was worse,
I yéeld you vp to choose agen.
Spare to speake, Spare to speede.
MY
Spencer spare to speake,
and euer spare to spéed,
Vnlesse shou shew thy hurt, how shall
the Surgeon know thy néed?
Why hath a man a tongue,
and boldnesse in his brest,
But to bewray his mind by mouth,
to set his hart at rest?
The fisherman that feares
his corke and coard to cast,
Or spred his net to take the fish,
wel worthy is to fast.
The forrestman that dreads
to rouse the lodged Bucke,
Bicause of bramble brakes, deserues
to haue no hunters lucke.
Where words may wingood wil,
and boldnesse beare no blame,
Why should there want a fare of brasse
to bourd the brauest dame?
Vnlesse thou cast thy lure,
or throw hir out a traine:
Thou seldome shalt a Falcon, or
a Tassell gentle gaine.
Though lookes betoken loue,
and makes a shew of lust,
Yet spéech is it that knits the knot
whereto a man may trust.
Assure thy selfe, as he
that feares caliuer shot,
Can neuer come to scale a fort,
or skirmish woorth a grote:
So be that spares to speake,
when time and place are fit,
Is sure to misse the marke, which else
he were in hope to hit.
Giue him an iuie leafe
in stead of pipe to play,
That dreads to bourd a gallant dame
for feare she say him nay.
Where venture is but small,
and bootie very great,
A coward knight will hazard there
in hope to worke his fea
[...].
Wherfore when time shall serue
(my
Spencer) spare to blush,
Fall to thy purpose like aman,
and boldly beat the bush.
Who so accounts of losse,
doth seldom gaine the game:
And blushing cheeke & be often hard,
for feare of after shame.
No doubt, a Lady doth
imbrace him more, that dares
To tell his tale, than such a one
that of his language spares.
Deceit is dreaded more,
and craft doth rifer raigne,
In one that like an image sits,
than him that speaketh plaine.
Yea, though thy mistresse make,
as though she loued no wine,
Remember
Aesops Foxe, that was
too lowe to reach the vine.
Take this for certaine troth,
the best and brauest bowe,
Will stoupe, if so the cause be good,
thou knowest my meaning now.
Experience hath no péere,
it passeth learning farre:
I speake it not without my booke,
but like a man of warre.
Wherfore be bold to boord
the fairest first of all,
Aye Venus aides the forward man,
and Cupid helps his thrall.
Wearie of long silence, he breakes his mind to his mistresse.
NOt much vnlike the horse
that féeles himself orprest
With weightie burthen on his backe,
doth long to be at rest:
So I, whose boiling brest,
with fansies floud did flow,
Had great desire my great good will
with painting pen to show,
To ease my wofull hart
of long endured paine,
And purchace quiet to my mind,
whom loue welnie hath slaine.
Beléeue my words (deare dame)
dissembling is a sinne,
Not mine, but thine, these many days
my captiue hart hath bin.
But shame, and coward feare,
the louers mortall foes,
Would neuer condescend that I
my meaning should disclose.
Till now at length desire
my wonted ease to gaine:
Did bid me sue for grace, and said
I should not sue in vaine.
For as thy beautie is
farre brauer than the rest,
So bountie must of force abound
within thy noble brest.
Oh, séeke not thou to shed
or sucke of yéelding blood:
Alas, I thinke to murther me
would do thée little good.
Whom if you séeme to rue,
as I do hope you will,
In prayse of your good nature then
my hand shall shew his skill.
Lo here in pawne of loue,
I vowe my selfe to thée:
A slaue, a seruant, and a friend
till dying day to bée.
He vvisheth his dreames either longer or truer.
SHort is the day wherein
I doe not thinke of thee:
And in the night amid my sleepe,
thy face (deare dame) I see.
The dreame delights me much,
it cuts my care away:
Me thinkes I kisse and clip thée oft,
the rest I blush to say.
Who happy then but I,
whilest sléepe and slumber last:
But who (alas) so much a wretch,
as I when sleepe is past.
For with the sliding sleepe
away slips my delight:
Departing dreames doe driue away
thy countnance out of sight.
And then in place of glee,
in glydes a crew of care:
My panting hart laments, that I
do féele my bed so bare.
For thou that wert the cause
of comfort, art not there:
And I poore silly wofull man,
in sobs the night do weare.
Then curse I cankred chance,
that made me dreame of thée,
And fansie fond, that fed it selfe
with dreames that fained bée.
Thus weares away the night
consumde in carefull paine:
Those restlesse banners beating still,
vpon my busie braine.
Then drawes the dawning on,
I leaue my couch, and rise,
In hope to find some pleasant toy,
that may content mine eyes.
But out alas, I can
not sée so faire a sight,
That can my heause hart relieue,
and daintie cies delight.
Each beautie that doth blaze,
each visage that I see:
Augments my care, in causing me
to long and looke for thee.
Thus waste I all the night
in dreames without desire:
Thus driue I on my dayes in loue,
that scalds like scorching fire.
Yet well content therewith,
so that, at my returne
Thou pitie me, who for thy sake
with Cupids coles do burne.
I am the Turile true,
that sits vpon the trée:
And waile my woe without a make,
and onely wish for thée.
Vnable by long and hard trauell to banish loue, returnes hir friend.
VVOunded with loue, and piercing déep desire
Of your faire face, I left my natiue land,
With
Russia snow to slacke mine English fire,
But well I sée, no cold can quench the brand
That Cupides coles enkindle in the brest,
Frost hath no force where friendship is possest.
The Ocean sea for all his featefull flood,
The perils great of passage not preuaile,
To banish loue the riuers do no good,
The mountains hie cause Cupid not to quaile,
Wight are his wings, and fansie flies as fast,
As any ship for all his sailes and mast.
The riuer
Dwina cannot wash away
With all his waues the loue I beare to thée,
Nor Suchan swift loues raging heate delay,
Good will was graft vpon so sure a trée.
Sith tranaile then, nor frost can coole this fire:
From
Mosqua I thy frend wil home retire.
That he findeth others as faire, but not so faithfull as his frend.
I Sundry sée for beuties glosse
that with my mistresse may compare:
But few I finde for true good wil
that to their frends so frendly are,
Looke what she saies I may assure
my selfe thereof, she wil not faine:
What others speake is hard to trust
they measure all their words by gaine.
Her lookes declare her louing minde,
her countnance and her heart agrée:
When others laugh they looke as smooth,
but loue not halfe so wel as she:
The gréefe is hers when I am grypte,
my fingers ache is her disease:
With me though others mourne to sight,
yet are their hearts at quiet ease.
So that I marke in Cupids court,
are many faire and fresh to sée:
Each where is sowen dame beuties féede
but faire and faithfull few there bée.
Trauailing the desert of Russia, he complayneth to Eccho, vvith request that she comfort his afflicted state.
YOu hollow hilles and vallies wide,
that wonted are to yelde againe:
The latter cause of louers cries
resound and help me to complaine.
Repeate my piteous pensiue plaints,
recite my tale when I haue done:
Howle out ye hilles and let me heart
my voice among your rockes to run.
It wil delight my dazed sprites,
when I report my mistresse name:
Amid my plaint to heare the hilles,
at euery call to call the same.
Good Eccho shew me thy good will,
is no man here but thou and I:
Take vp my tale as I lament,
and say (Alas) as I doe crie,
Was neuer man that did enioy,
a better dame then I haue done:
But now (Alas) she is alacke,
helpe Eccho, helpe, I am vndone
Besides mine absence from her sight,
another doth possesse my place,
And of my haruest sheares the sheaues,
helpe Eccho, helpe, lament my case.
I know not when I shal returne,
or when to see that swéete againe:
For (out alas) she is away
good eccho helpe to ease my paine.
But nought I sée it doth auaile,
thy talke encreaseth but my woe:
It irkes me to recite her name,
and misse the saint I honor so.
Wherefore sith bootlesse be complaints,
and clepings cannot right my case:
I bid thée (Eccho) here adew
I will goe seeke to sée her face.
The face that
Paris would haue chose,
if he had séene her in the mount:
Good faith the lady Venus had
béen had as then in small account.
And as for Pallas and the third,
I meane the mighty Iunos grace:
I know right wel they would haue hid
themselues, and neuer prest in place.
For nature made hir not to match,
but to excéede and passe the rest:
Thrice happy he that can attaine
her loue, and to be liked best.
He craues his mistresse to accept his wryting being otherwise insufficient to vvinne good liking from her.
AS many are the meanes,
to fall in fancies frame:
So diuers be the driftes of men,
for to atchieue the same.
For some to winne their loues,
and purchase priuy grace:
With curious tonges like carpet knights
doe pleade a fained case.
And all to please the eares,
and mate their mistresse minde:
Of this and that they tell their tales,
as they fit leasure finde.
Some other wanting chatte,
not hauing words at wil:
With nimble ioynts, and fingering fine,
on Lutes doe shew their skil.
By sugred sound to winne,
their ladies to their loue:
With earnest care those wanton wights,
Apollos practise proue.
And such as skilfull are,
in daunsing doe desire
To practise that whereby to sit,
their fronions harts on fire.
Whose breast is swéete to eare,
he straines his voice to sing:
The reby vnto his gréedy lust
his mistresse minde to bring.
The martial man at armes,
to muster doth delight:
And loues to shew his helmed head;
before his Ladies sight.
In hope to purchase praise,
and after praise some grace:
For vvomen loue a valiant man
that dares defend their case.
Thus each one doth attempt,
and puts the thing in
[...]re
That fittest is to gaine good will,
so Faulkners vse the lure.
But I vnhappy wight,
that can doe nought of these:
How might I doe, or what deuise
my mistresse minde to please.
Where neither tongue can talke
nor finger frame with Lute:
Nor footing serue to dauner: alas,
how should I moue my sute?
Not pleasant is my voice
vnable to delight:
I can doe nought vnlesst it be
with pen to shew my plight.
I only can in verse,
set out a dame to show
[...]
And on a wel deseruing frend,
a frendly praise bestow.
Thus must I hunt for loue
wherefoe (good Lady) then
In lieu of other finer skilles,
accept my ragged pen.
Let me by writing win,
what others doe by arte:
And during life you shal assure,
you of a louing hart.
No vertue shalbe lodgde
within your curteous brest:
But I wil blaze the same abroad,
as brauely as the best.
And as for beuties praise,
I wil procure that fame
Shal sound it out so loud, that all
the world shal read thy name▪
So as by louing me,
you shal haue loue againe:
And eke the harts of thousands me
for you good wil attaine.
I neuer was mine owne
sith first
[...] your face:
Nor neuer wil, but euer yours,
if you wil rue my case.
The meane is best.
THe fire doeth frye, the frost doeth fréese
the colde bréedes care, the heate doeth harme,
The middle point twixt both is best,
nor ouer-cold, nor ouer-warme.
I dreame it not the happy life
the néedie beggers bag to beare:
Ne yet the blessed state of all
a mightie Kaisars crowne to weare.
That one is cloied with sundry cares,
and dies ten thousand times a day:
That other still in danger goes,
for euery traitors hand to flay.
The highest hill is not the place
whereon to build the stately bower:
The deepest bale it is as ill,
for lightly there doth rest the shower.
The failing ship that kéepes the shore,
vpon the rocke is often rent:
And he that dentures out too farre,
and tries the stream with waues is hent.
For there the win
[...] doth worke his will,
there Neptunes churlish imps
[...]o raign:
The middle way is safe to saile,
I mean the mean betwixt the twain.
So that the meane is best to choose,
not ouer hie, nor ouer lowe:
Wherfore, if you your safetie loue,
imbrace the meane, let mounting goe.
To his friend Edward Dancie of Deceit.
DAncie, deceit is rifer now a day,
Then houest dealing, vertue is but vile,
I sée dissembling beares the bell away:
Craft hath a cloke to couer all his guile,
And vnderneath the same a knife doth lurke,
When time shall serue a shamefull spoile to worke.
Each man almost hath change of faces now,
To shift at pleasure, when it may auaile:
A man must giue no credit to the browe,
The smoothest smiling friend will soonest faile,
No trust without a triall many yéeres,
All is not gold that glistringly appeeres.
Who so shall make his choice vpon a man
To loue, and like, must warily looke abou
[...],
A faithfull friend is like a coleblacke Swan.
We may not trust the painted sheath without,
Vnlesse good lucke continue at a stay.
Farewell thy friends, like foules they flie away.
Of the right noble L. VVilliam, Earle of Pembroke his death.
THough betters pen the praise
of him that earned fame,
Yet pardon men of meaner skill
if they attempt the same.
Good will may be as great
in simple wits to write,
In commendation of the good,
as heads of déeper sight.
Wherfore among the rest
that rue this Earles want,
My selfe will set my Muse abroach,
although my vaine be scant.
This Realme hath lost a lampe,
that gaue a gallant show:
No stranger halfe so strange to vs
but did this Noble know.
His vertues spred so farre,
his worthy works so wide,
That forrain princes held him déere,
where so he was imploid.
Whose wit such credite won
in countrey seruice still,
That Enuie could not giue the checke,
nor rancor reaue good will.
He euer kept the roume
that prince and fortune gaue:
As curteous in the countrey, as
in court a Courtier braue.
To low and meanest men
a lowly mind he bore,
No hawtie hart to stoute estates,
vnlesse the cause were more.
But than a Lions hart
this dreadfull Dragon had:
In field among his foes, as fierce,
as in the Senate sad.
Had
Pallas at his birth
for
Pembroke done hir best,
As nature did: then
Pembroke had
surmounted all the rest.
For though that learning lackt
to paint the matter out:
What case of wright so weightie was,
but
Pembroke brought about:
By wit great wealth he wonne,
by fortune fauour came:
With fauor friends, and with the friends,
assurance of the same.
Of Princes euer praisd
aduaunst and staid in state:
From first to last commended much,
in honors stoole he sate.
Beloued of
Henry well,
of
Edward held as déere:
A doubt whether sonne or father loued
him best, as might appéere.
Quéene
Mary fele a want,
If
Pembroke were away:
So greatly she affied him,
whilest the did beare the sway.
And of our péerelesse Quéene,
that all the rest doth passe,
I néed not write, she shewd hir loue
whose Steward
Pembroke was.
Sith such a noble then
by death our daily foe,
Is reft this realme, why do we not
by teares our sorowes show?
Why leaue we to lament?
why kéepe we in our cries?
Why do we not powre out our plaints
by condites of the eies?
Our noble prince, our péeres,
both poore and rich may rue,
And each one sorow
Pembroke dead,
that earst him liuing knew,
Yt ioy in one respect,
that he who liued so hie,
In honors seat his honor saued,
and fortunde so to die.
Which stocke of noble state
sith cruell death hath reft,
I wish the branches long to bud,
that of the roote are left.
And prosper so aliue as did this noble trée,
and after many happy dayes,
to die as well as hée.
Finding his Mistresse vntrue, he exclaimeth thereat.
SVnne, cease to shine by day,
restraine thy golden beames:
Let starres refuse to lend their light,
let fish renounce the streames.
Sea, passe thy kindly bounds,
set ebbe and flood aside:
Brasse leaue to grow, yet gallant plants,
depart with all your pride.
Bend Tyber backe againe,
and to thy spring returne:
Let firie coles begin to fréeze,
let ise and water burne.
Wolues leaue to slay the Lambs,
hounds hunt the Hare no more:
Be friend to foules, ye hungry haukes
whom ye pursude before.
For kind hath altred course,
the law that nature set,
Is broken quite, hir orders skornd,
and bands in sunder fret.
Loue is accounted light,
and friendship forced nought:
My selfe may well proclaime the same,
that loue hath dearly bought.
I fortund once to like
and fansie such a dame:
As sundry serud, but none atchieud
hir feature wan hir fante.
Long sute and great desnet,
with triall of my truste
Did make hir fansie me againe,
she found me pers
[...] iust.
But ere I felt the blisse,
that louers do attaine
I bode a thousead ecu
[...]ll fic
[...],
ten thousand kinds of paine.
Till ruth by reason grew
and rigor layd apart:
On me she did bestow hir loue,
that best deserued hir hart.
Then mirth gan counter prise
the griefs I felt before:
And if I had endured smart
I ioyed than the more.
She past me many voy
[...]s,
and sundry sorts of hest:
And swore I was the onely wight
whom she did fansie best.
Then happy who but I,
that did beléeue the same?
As who is he that would refuse
to credite such a dame
[...]
O friend when I (quoth she)
shall alter my good will,
And leaue to loue thée passing well,
thy fansie to fulfill:
When I for gallant gifts,
for mucke or glittring gold:
For comely limmes of courtly knights,
delightfull to behold:
For Ka
[...]sars kingly crowne
thy friendship do defie:
O Gods (quoth she) renounce me then,
and let me monster die.
These words and sacred vowes
might quicklie credit gaine:
For who in such a case would glose
or go about to faine?
Yet now for all hir spéech
and glauering talke the vsed,
She is reuolted, and hir friend
too fowlie hath abusd:
Though not against hir kind,
(for Ladies are but light,)
And soone remooue but cleane against
their othes and promise quite.
But what should we expect
from thornes, no Rose perdie:
The figtrée yeelds a fig, on vines
the grapes in clusters bée.
Which sith I find at last
though greatly to my paine:
Loe here I do defie the face
in whom such craft doth raigne.
Farewell thou shamelesse shrew,
faire
Cresides heire thou art:
And I sir
Troylus earst haue béen,
as prooueth by my smart.
Hencefoorth beguile the Gréekes,
no Troyans will thée trust:
I yeeld thée vp to
Diomed,
to glut his filthie lust.
And do repute my selfe
herein a blessed man.
Who, finding such deceit in thée,
refuse thy friendship can.
For sundry times we sée,
the sots that serue in loue,
Can neuer purchase fréedom, nor
their frantike rage remoue.
But who so hath the grace
to banish fond desire,
I count him blest of mightie Ioue,
for few or none retire.
So swéete is sinfull Iust,
the venome is so vile:
As
Circes cup no sooner might
the bowsing Gréeks beguile.
Now hang abroade thy hookes.
bestowe thy baytes elsewhere,
Thy pleasant call shall haue no power
to lure my cunning eare.
I tride thy twigges too much,
my feathers felt thy lime:
To giue thée vp, and shunne thy shiftes,
I coumpt it more than time.
A warning that she be not vncourteous.
I Chuse you not to change,
I entred band to bide:
But plighted promise cract by you
I count my selfe vntide.
No hest is to be held,
no vow of valew, when
You dames the coller slip:
by craft to compasse men.
Presume not of good wil,
because I swore you loue:
For faithful frends vpon abuse,
their fancy may remoue.
Which lincke of loue vndone
repentance comes too late:
The fort is wonne when trueth is slaine
and treason kéepes the gate.
No teares can purchase truce,
no wéeping winnes good wil:
True loue once lost by due desart,
is not renewde by skil.
Good meaning may not serue,
to féede your frends withall:
As wit in words, so trueth in déedes,
appéeres, and euer shal.
Who so doth runne a race,
shall surely sweate amaine
And who so loues, shal hardly gloze
or secret hidden paine.
Way wel my loue at first
recall to retchlesse thought,
The fiery fittes, the pensiue panges,
which I ful déerely bought.
Before I tooke the tast,
of what I lykte so well:
And then consider careles; how
to Iunos yoke you fel.
Forget not how for gaine
and mucke your match was mader
When I the while (po
[...]re man) was forst
a wéery life to trade,
The Lions loue refusde
the noblest beast of all:
Vnto a sotte you yokt your selfe,
and woxe a willing thrall.
Then who wiould force but I,
or hold the fewel déere.
That on anothers finger fits
and hath done many a yéere.
And long is like to doe,
the hogge that gapes for hawes,
That hang so fast, may groynd his tuskes
and die with emptie lawes.
I speake it not of spight,
but sure you ill deserue:
A man that meanes so wel as I,
sith you doe dayly swerue.
A foole by foule abuse,
shall haue you more at becke:
Then he that euer loued you well
and neuer gaue you checke.
Which shewes that either wit,
or faithful loue you lacke:
Beware in time, misliking growen,
may not be bended backe.
When
Cresid clapt the dish,
and Lazerlike did goe:
She rewde no doubt that earst she did,
the Troyan handle so.
And might she then retirde,
to beuties auncient towre:
She would haue stucke to
Priams sonne,
of faithful loue the floure.
But fond, too late she found
that she had béen too light:
And ouerlate bewaild that she
forwent the worthy knight.
Imprint it in your brest,
and thinke that Ladies lot
May light on you, with whom your frend
is causlesse thus forgot.
I would be loth to loue,
and leaue with losse againe:
I smarted once, and you (none els)
the ground of all my paine.
Time tries the trusty minde,
which time doth councell me
To deale my loue by equall weight
least I deceiued be.
Where counsel nor aduice,
can take no better holde:
The losse is light: for colour I
imbrace not glowing golde.
No more I way a frend,
for feature of her face:
Her dealing wel must hinde good will,
vprightly iudge my case.
I wholly was your owne,
and lesse you loue aléeket
The match betwixt vs two is marde,
and I your frend to séeke.
If any els deserue
a share or better part:
Let me but know your mind, and then
adue with all my hart.
I sound the trumpet now,
that warning geues to you:
To leaue to loue besides my selfe,
to whom the whole is due.
I tell you this betimes,
as one that would be loath
By your desert to choose againe,
and breake mine auncientoth.
Which if by fortune fall,
allowe your selfe the thankes:
Whose parts vnkind may force a man
to play vnfriendly prankes.
To one whom he had long loued, and at last was refused vvithout cause, and one imbraced that least deferued it.
Che prende diletto di far frode
Non si delamentar, si altrile inhanna,
If lyking best with fancy firmely set,
If louing most, with retchlesse care of state,
If true good will, whom time could neuer fret,
If pardoning faults, which now I rewe too late,
If good stil done, and euer meant to you:
Are not of force to make your frendships true.
If foule abuse and tearmes of loath some sound,
If mischiefe meant, and seldome good bestowed,
If black defame and credit brought to ground
If base reports so rashly spread abroad,
Can winne good wil, and binde a surer band:
Then he that loues and beares you not in hand.
Then happy he that workes your déepe deray,
And slaunder seekes to both your open shames,
For he doth laugh and beare the belaway,
Vnlucky I with whom so
[...]il it frames,
As now at last in guerdon of my toyle:
I reape refuse and bide this second foile.
Wel may he laugh that is my deadly for,
And I lament impatient of my paine,
Il may she fare whose craft hath causde my woe,
And fickle faith deceiued me thus againe.
But I too blame as many foulers bée.
Who had the bird in hand and let her flée.
More wise then you the have that féeling flame
And once indangerd of the burning blaze,
Doth straight refuse the touching of the same,
But you much like the guat doe loue to gaze,
And flée so long about the candle light:
As both wil seare your wings and carcasse quight.
The slaue that serues his prentiship in paine
Not halfe so much a wretch as wretched I,
For he doth end his yéeres with certaine gaine,
Where I haue leaue the hardest hap to trie,
And hopelesse quite of what by due was mine
To grone in gréefe, and with my paines to pine.
Wel, wel, content, sith chaunce and you agrée
I take my hap though cleane against my wil
Enforst by you my faith and frend I flée,
You must by kinde remaine a woman stil,
Who lookes to haue the crowe to change his blacke
Before it chaunce perchance his eyes may lacke.
Sith you can rule (as by report you may,)
(And that to rule is it you women craue)
Begin your raigne, God graunt he doe obey
That long in yoke hath kept you like a slaue,
I feare, I wish, I hope the time wil bée:
When Louedaies made for lucre wil not grée.
Sticke fast to him who bolsters your estate,
Forgiue the faults that haue béen done amisse,
Forget reports, cling closely to your mate,
But thinke on him sometime that wrote you this,
If euer chaunce doe make your bondage frée:
God send your second choyce like this to bée.
And as for him whose helping hand hath done,
The best it might to worke my cruel woe,
I trust in time when all the thréede is sponne,
Shall déepely rewe that he abusde me so.
That womans spite all other spites excéedes:
It doth appéere by both your cursed deedes.
If my desert to him had béen so ill,
Then could I not on him haue laid the blame,
If mine abuse to you had crackt good will,
Yours were the praise and mine the open shame,
I loued you both, and yet doe reape at last:
But hate from both, for all my frendship past.
1.
Due volte me haiing annato.
2.
Supplicio al mondo none dato,
Maggior, quanto pate vn che inamorato.
3.
Qual lieni foglie, le dome sono, ecrude piu che tasse
Piu che Tigre inclementi, & disdegnose,
Piu che orse, & piu che luge empie erabbiose.
Hanno piu inganni, che non hanno capelli in capo.
4.
O quante, arte & inganni ha il sesso feminino.
O quanti lacci? O quanti nodi, e groppi?
Per far huomini venir debolie zorpi.
A lio ingrata, troppo amata.
An Epitaph vpon the death of Henry Sydhnam, and Giles Bainpfield Gentlemen.
AS rife as to my thought repaires
that dreatie doleful day,
And most vnluckie houre (alas)
that hent my friend: away:
So oft my brest is like to burst,
and ribs to rend in
[...]waine:
My liuer and my lungs giue vp,
my hart doth melt amaine.
And to decipher inward griefs
that crush my carcasse so:
The sluces of mine eyes do slip,
and let these humor go.
Out flies the floud of brackish teares,
whole seas of sorow swell:
In such abundance from my braine,
as wo it is to tell.
Why do I then conceale their names?
what means my sluggish pen,
To hide the haps and lucklesse lot
of these two manly men.
Sith silence bréeds a smothering smart,
where sundry times we sée:
That by disclosing of our mindes
great cares digested bee.
When fore my mournfull Muse begin. &c.
So Fortune would, the cankred Kernes,
who seldom ciuil are,
Detesting golden peace, tooke armes,
and fell to frantike war.
Vp rose the rude and retchlesse rogues
with dreadfull darts in hand:
And sought to noy the noble state
of this our happy land.
Whose bedlam rage to ouerrule,
and fury to confound:
The L. of Essex chosen was,
a noble much renownd.
Away he went awaited on
of many a courtly knight:
Whose swelling harts had fully vowed
to daunt their foes in fight.
Among the rest (I rue to tell)
my
Sydnham tooke the seas:
Gyles Bampfield eke aboord he leapt,
his princes wil to pleafe.
Whose martial minds and burning brests
were bent to beare the broile:
Of bloodie wars, and die the death,
or giue the foe the foyle.
And treble blessed had they béen,
if fortune so had willed:
That they with hawtie sword in hand
had died in open field.
For fame with garland of renowne
vndoubted decks his hed:
That in defence of Prince and Realme,
his life and bloud doth shed.
But out (alas) these gallant imps
before they came to land:
To shew their force and forward harts,
by dint of deadly haud.
Before they fought amid the field,
or lookt the foe in face:
With sodain storme in Irish streame
were drownd, a wofull case.
Vp rose with rage a tempest huge,
that troubled so the surge,
As shipmen shrunke, and Pylot knew
not how to scape the scourge.
And yet no dread of doubtfull death,
no force of fretting fome:
Nor wrath of weltring waues could stay,
those martiall mates at home.
Not angry
Aeols churlish chaffe,
that scoules amid the skies:
Nor sullen Neptunes surging suds
mought daunt their manly eyes.
Vnworthy they (O gods) to féed
the hungry fish in flood:
Or die so base a death as that,
if you had thought it good.
But what you will, of force befals,
your he auenly power is such,
That where and how, and whom you lift,
your godheds daily tuch.
And reason good, that sithence all
by you was wrought and done:
No earthly wight should haue the wit
your wreakefull scourge to shonne.
Well,
Sydhnam, Bampfield, and the rest,
sith wailing doth no good:
Nor that my teares can pay the price
or ransome of your blood.
Sith no deuise of man can make
that you should liue againe:
Let these my plaints in verse suffise
your soules, accept my paine.
If ought my writing be of power
to make your vertues known:
According to your due deserts
which you in life haue shown.
Assure your selues, my mournfull Muse
shall do the best it can:
To cause your names and noble minds,
to liue in mouth of man.
And so adue, my faithfull friends,
lamenting lets my quill:
I loued you liuing, and in death,
for euer so I will.
Accept my writing in good worth,
no fitter means I find
To do you good, now being dead,
nor ease my mourning mind.
No better life than you haue led
vnto my selfe I wish:
But happier death, if I might chuse,
than so to féed the fish.
The gods allow my lims a tombe
and graue wherein to lye:
That men may say, thrise happy he,
that happened so to die.
For kindly death is counted good,
and blessed they be thought:
That of their friends vnto the pit,
vpon the béere are brought.
But for my felfe, I reckon those
more blest a thousand fold,
That in the quarel of their prince,
their liues and blood haue fold.
As you mine ancient mates did meane,
for which the mightie Ioue:
In heauen shal place your souls, although
your bones on rocks do roue.
A letter begun to a Gentlewoman of some account, which was left of by means of the aduise of a friend of his, who said she was foresped.
YOur beautie (madame) made
mine eye to like your fare:
And now my hart did cause my hand,
to sue to you for grace.
The ground of my good wit,
by feature first was cast,
Which your good noble nature hath
for euer sealed fast.
When psants be surely pight.
than lightly will they proue,
No trée can take so déep a
[...]oote
as grifts of faithfull loue.
If I had feared disdaine,
or thought that hawtie pride
Had harbourd in that brest of yours,
which is the pecocks guide.
Then should I not haue durst
these verses to indite,
But waying well your curteous kind,
I tooke the hart to write.
In hope that Venus gifts
are matcht with Pallas goods,
And that true frendship floures wil spring
of blasing beauties buds.
For seldom shal you find
a dame of your degrée:
And of such features, but hir lookes
and maners do agrée.
Which if in proofe I find,
as I presume I shall,
Then happy others, but I compt
my fortune best of all.
And to expresse my ioy,
my hands I mean to clap:
As who would say, loe I am he
that haue this blessed hap.
Let not my hopes be vaine,
in your hand lies my life:
And if you list to cut my throte,
you haue the fatall knife.
For wholy on your lookes
and mercy stayes the thréed
That holds my lims togither now,
the gods haue so decréed.
I am your bounden thrall,
and euer mean to be:
I will not change my choice, &c.
To his friend not to change, though iealousie debarre him hir company.
CHange not thy choyce (my déere,)
stand stable in good will,
Let ancient faithful loue appeete
betwixt vs louers still.
A wisdom friends to win,
as great a wit againe:
A gotten friend, that faithfull is,
in friendship to retaine.
Thou seest how hatred hewes
the chips of our mischance:
And iealousie doth what it may,
the Viper to aduance.
Whose prying eyes are prest
to hinder our intent
But malice oft doth misse his marke,
where two good wils be bent.
So carefull
Argus kept,
the faire well featured cowe:
Whose watchful eies fol soldome slept,
according to his vowe.
And yet at length he lost
his head, and eke his hire:
For Mercury his cunning crost,
to further Ioues desire.
So curst
Acrisius closde
the mayden in the mewe
Where he assuredly supposed
to kéepe the virgin true.
Yet
Danac did conceaue
within the secret towre:
And did in lap receiue the god,
that fel in golden showre.
Way what good wil he beares,
that liues in such distrust:
He fares as doth the wretch that feares
his golde, and lets it rust.
Whose hungry heaping minde
for all his looking on:
Is oft abusde, and made as blinde
as any marble stone.
I craue but your consent,
when time and place agrée:
And that you wil be wel content
to yelde your selfe to me.
Who euer wil regard,
the honor of your name:
And looke what pleasure may be sparde,
wil only craue the same.
No checke shall taint your chéekt,
by proofe of open acte:
I neuer wil vnwisely séeke,
to haue your credit crackte.
My loue excels his lust.
my fancy his good wil:
My trueth doth farre surmount his trust
my good deserts his il.
Wherfore (my deare) consent
vnto my iust request:
For I long sith haue loued you wel,
and euer meant you best.
So shal you haue my heart,
stil redy at your call:
You cannot play a wiser part
then cherish such a thrall.
To his frend not to forget him.
WHere liking growes of lust,
it cannot long endure:
But where we finde it graft on loue,
there frend ships force is sure.
Where wealth procures good wil,
when substance slides away
There fancy alters all by fittes,
and true loue doth decay.
Where beutie bindes the band,
and feature forceth loue.
With crooked age or changed face,
there frendship doth remoue.
No one of these (my deare)
that fickle thus doe fade:
Did bend my brest, or forst thy frend
to follow Cupids trade,
But méere good wil in déede
not graft on hope of gaine:
I lovde without regard of lust
as proofe hath taught you plaine.
I way no wauering wealth
I force not of thy face:
No graunt of pleasure prickes me on
thy person to embrace.
No hope of after hap,
ingenders my good wil:
I lovde thée when I saw thée first,
and so I loue thée stil
Wherfore requite with care
the man that meanes you so:
It lies in you to yeld him ease,
or plague his hart with woe.
You were not bred of rockes,
no marble was your meate:
I trust I shal so good a dame,
to loue me best intreate.
You know I beare the blame,
your selfe are nothing frée:
He loues me not for louing you,
nor you for louing me.
Consider of the case
and like where you are lovde:
It is against your kidde to please
where you are so reprovde,
His frendship is in doubt,
you stand assured of me:
He hates vs both, I cannot loue,
the man that hateth thée.
His frantike words of late,
bewraide his folly plaine:
Assure your seife he loues you not,
his glosing is for gaine.
Which purpose being brought,
to his desired passe:
The sotte wil shew himselfe a beast,
and prooue a wayward Asse.
By reason rule his rage,
by wisdome master wil:
Embrace your frend in spite of him,
that meanes you no good wil.
A time in time may come,
if gods wil haue it so:
When we each other shalinioy,
to quite each others woe.
Which time if time agrée,
to pleasure vs withall:
Our honie wil the swéeter séeme
that we haue tasted gall.
Till when vse womans wit
therein you know my minde:
I neuer was, nor neuer wil
be found your frend vnkinde.
A vowe of Constancie.
FIrst shal the raging flouds
against their course runne:
By day the moone shal lend her light,
by night the golden sunne.
First fickle fortune shall
stand at a stedy stay:
And in the sea the shining starres
shal moue and kéepe their way.
First Fish amid the ayre,
shal wander to and fro:
The cloudes be cléere, in beuty eke
the cole excéede the snowe.
First kinde shal alter all
and change her wonted state:
The blind stal sée, the deafe shal heare,
the dumbe shal fréely prate.
Before that any chaunce,
or let that may arise
Shalbe of force to wrest my loue
or quench in any wise.
The flame of my good will,
and faithful fancies fire:
Saue cruel death shal nothing daunt,
or coole my hote desire,
Desire that guides my life
and yeldes my hart his foode:
Wherfore to be in presence stil,
with thée, would doe me good
Which presence I presume
thou neuer wilt deny:
But as occasion serues,
so thou to frendship wilt apply.
Til when I giue thée vp,
to good and happy chaunce:
In hope that time to our delights,
wil séeke vs to aduance.
Adue (deere frend) to thée,
that art my only ioy:
More faire to me then
Helen was
to
Priams sonne of Troy.
And constant more in loue,
then was
Vlisses make
Of whose assured life and zeale,
so much the Poets spake
Lesse light then
Lucrece eke
whom
Tarquins lust defilde:
As curteous as the Carthage Quéene,
that fowly was beguilde.
To quite all which good parts,
this vow I make to thée:
I will be thine as long as I
haue power mine owne to be.
Another Epitaph vpon the death of Henry Sydhnam, and Gyles Bampfield gent.
YF teares might ought auayle to stynt my woe
If sobbyng sighes breathd out from pensiue brest
Could ease the gryping greefes that payn me so
Or pleasure them for vvhom I am distrest
Neyther vvould I stycke vvyth teares to fret my face:
Nor spare to speud redoubled fighes apace.
But sith neyther dreary drops nor sighes haue power
To doe me good, or stand my frends in steede
Why should I seeke vvyth forovves to deuoure
Those humors that my fayntyng lymmes should feede.
Bootelesse it vvere therfore I vvyl assay
To shevv my selfe a frend some other vvay.
Some other vvay, as by my mournyng pen,
To doe the vvorld to vvit vvhat vvyghts they vvere
VVhose deaths I vvayle, vvhat frendly forvvard men
And to thys land they both dyd beare
Alas, I rue to name them in my verse:
VVhose only thought my trembling hart doth pearse.
But yet I must of force their names vnfolde,
(For things concealde are seldome when bewaild,
Tone Sydnham was, a manly wight and bolde.
In whom neither courage baute, nor feature faylde,
Faythful to frends vndaunted to his foes
A lambe in loue, where be to fancy chose.
The second neere vnto my selfe allyde,
Gyles Bamfield hight. (I weepe to wryte his name,)
A gallant ympe, amyd his youthfull pryde:
Whose seemely shape commended natures frame.
Deckte of the gods in cradle where he lay:
With louely lymmes, and parts of purest clay.
Themselues might boast theyr byrths for gentle bloud
The houses are of countenance whence they came
And vaunt I dare their vertues rare as good,
As was their race and fitted to the same.
There wanted nought to make them perfect blest:
Saue happy deathes which clouded all the rest.
When rascall Irysh hapned to rebel,
(Who seld we see doe long continue true)
Vnto the Lord of Esser lotte it fell.
To haue the lotte those outlawes to subdue.
Who went away to please the Prynce and state:
A
[...]ded on of many a doughty mate.
Whose names although my dreary quil conceale,
Yet they (I trust) wil take it wel in worth
For noble mindes employd to common weale,
Shall finde a stemme to blaze their prowes foorth.
My dolefull muse but this alone entends:
To wryte and wayle, my frends vnhappy endes.
Away they would, and gaue their last adew,
With burning hearts to slay the sauage foe,
Bestride their steads, and to the sea they flew,
Where weather rose, and water raged so,
As they (alas) who meane their countrey good,
Were forst to lose their liues in Irish flood.
Those eyes should haue lookt the foe in face,
Were then constraind to winke at euery waue,
Those valiant armes the
[...]illowes did imbrace,
That vowd with sword this reaims renowne to saue:
Those manly minds that dreaded no mishap,
Were soust in seas, and caught in suddaine trap.
Proud Eole Prince, controller of the winds,
With churlish Neptune, soueraigne of the
[...]e
[...]s,
Did play their parts, and shewd their stubburn kinds,
Whom no request nor prayer might appease,
The Tooyan Duke bid not so great a brunt,
When he of yore for Laume land did hunt.
And yet these wights committed none offence,
To Iuno, as sir Paris did of yore,
Their only trauell was for our defence,
Which makes me waile their sodain deaths the more,
But what the Gods do purpose to be done,
By proofe we see, mans wisdom cannot shun.
Ye water Nimphes, and you that Ladies be,
Of more remorse, and of a milder mood:
Than Neptune or king Eole, if you see
Their balefull bodies d
[...]uing on the floud,
Take vp their lims, allowing them a graue,
Who well deserued a richer hearse to haue.
Whereon do stampe this small deuice in stone,
That passers by, may read with dewed eyes,
When they by chance shall chance to light thereon.
Loe Sydhnam here, and Bampfields body lies:
Whose willing harts to serue their prince and realme,
Shortned their liues amid this wrathfull streame.
Ante obitum, supremáque funera fo [...]lix.
Deo iubente, fato cedunt mortalia.
A louer deceiued, exclaimes against the deceiuer and hir kind.
HOw much a wretch is he
that doth affie so well
In womans words, and in hir hart
doth lodge his loue to dwell:
Beléeues hir-outward glée.
and tickle termes to trust,
And doth without regard of time,
apply to womans lust?
Sith that hir wandring will,
and most vnstable mind:
Doth daily tosse and turne about,
as leaues amid the wind.
Who lothes hir most, she loues,
and him that sues for grace,
She sharply shuns, and proudly scornes,
and ebbes and flowes apace.
¶ O gods what haue I done?
alas, at length I spie:
My former follies, and discerne
how much I marcht awry.
To plant assured trust,
in tickle womans brest:
That Tygerlike sance mercy liues,
and euer shuns the best.
And yet she knowes I loue,
and how I waste away:
And that my hart may haue no rest,
nor quiet night or day.
Which sith to hir is knowen,
and how I hold hir chiefe:
Why cruell and vnkind, doth she
not pitie of my griefe?
¶ Who is so perfect wise,
that may such malice brooke,
Of womans proud disdaine,
or beare their braules with quiet looke?
Without an open shew
of lothsome lurking smart:
That racks the ribs, that beates the brest,
and plagues the pensiue hart.
O me vnhappy wight,
most wofull wretch of all,
How do I lose my libertie,
and yéeld my selfe a thrall.
In seruing hir, that cleane
against all law and right:
Consumes my life, destroyes my days,
and robs my reason quite.
O loue, cut off hir course,
and bridle such a dame:
As skornes thy skill, and leaues thy laws,
and makes my griefe hir game.
If (as I déeme) thou be,
the soueraigne of the skies:
Of Elements and Nature eke,
that all in order ties.
Wreake both thy wrong sustamd,
and eke thy damage done
To me, on hir, whom flatly thou,
perceiuest vs both to shun.
Conuert hir frosen hart,
to coles of scalding fire
Where rigor raigns, and enuie dwels,
with poisoned wrathfull ire.
¶ She, crue
[...]l, knowes my loue,
and how as Saint, I shrine
Hir beautie in my brest,
and how with pearcing pains I pine:
And how a thousand times,
each day I die, she knowes,
Yet mercilesse, no mercy she,
nor signe of sorow showes.
She bound me to the stake,
to broile amid the brands:
At point to die a Martyrs death,
all which she vnderstands.
Yea, though she know it well,
yet she conceiues a ioy:
At all my bitter grief, and glads
hir selfe with mine annoy.
O most disloyall dame,
O bloudy brested wight:
O thou, that hast consumd by care,
my hart and courage quite.
O thou for treason that
Iugurtha, and the Iew
Doest far excell, and from thy friend,
withholdst thy fauour dew.
O traiterous of thy troth,
of all good nature bare:
Loe here of my poore wounded hart,
the gash cut in by care.
I sée thou séest my sore,
and yet thou wilt be blind:
Thou stopst thine eares, and wilt not hear
the griefs that I do find.
¶ Where is become thy loue,
and ancient great good will:
That earst was borne: wheres that desire
that forst thée to fulfill
Thy pleasures past with me
in cabbin where we lay?
What is become of those delights?
where is that sugred play?
Wheres all that daliance now,
and profers proudly made?
Wheres those imbrasings friendly,
where is that blessed trade
And signs of perfit loue,
which then thou putst in vre?
And which for any gift of mine,
mought yet right well endure.
¶ Full shadowlike they shift,
and can no longer bide:
Like dust before the wind they flie,
your other mate doth guide.
And strikes so great a stroke,
he wrests your wits as round
As flittering leaues, that from the Ashe
or pine are shaken dowue.
Full lightly womans loue,
is altred euermore:
It may not last, there is exchange
continually in store.
And reason:
For by kind
a woman is but light,
Which makes that fansie from hir brest,
is apt to take hir flight.
¶ I had good hope at first,
when hap did me assure,
To like of thée, that this thy loue,
was planted to endure.
I neuer feard a fall,
on ground that lay so gréene:
Where path was plaine for me to passe,
and bottom to be seene.
I doubted no decay,
nor feard-no after smart:
Thy beautie did me not despaire,
thy lookes assured thy hart.
But who beléeues the lookes
of any of your race,
May soone deceiue himselfe,
There lies no credite in the face.
Well, fith thy froward mind,
doth like to heare my mone:
And mine vnhappy planet giues
consent, that I alone,
Without thy loue shall liue,
and lacke the lampe of light:
To cleare mine eies, that far excels
all other stars in sight.
Vnto the hawtie skies,
and people here below:
I will my griping griefs expresse,
and surge of sorowes show.
In hope that direfull death,
with dreadfull dart of force:
Will couch my carease in the graue,
and there conuey my corse.
Yet ere I die, receiue this Swanlike song,
To ease my hart, and shew thine open wrong.
O Wauering womans will,
that bends so soone about:
Why doest thou so reuolt in hast,
and shutst thy friend without.
Against the law of loue,
O thrise vnhappy hée:
That doth beléeue thy beauties beames,
and lookes of gallant glée.
For neither thraldom long,
that I poore wight abode:
Nor great good will by sundry signs,
and outward gesture shewed.
Had force to hold thy hart,
and kéep thée at a stay:
No good desart of mine might stop
that would of force away.
Yet of this cruel lotte,
and fel mischance, I finde
Nor know no cause, but that thou art
sprong out of womans kind.
I iudge that Nature, and
the Gods that gouerne all
Deuisde this wicked shameles secte
to plague the earth withall.
A mischiefe for vs men,
a burden bad to beare:
Without whose match too happy we,
and too too blessed were.
Euen as the Beares are bread,
the Serpent and the Snake.
The barking Wolfe, the filthy flie
that noysome flesh doth make.
The stinking wéede to smell
that growes among the graine:
Euen so I thinke the Gods haue made
your race vs men to paine.
Why did not kinde foresée
and nature so deuise
That man of man without the help,
of woman mought arise?
As by the art of hande
of apples apples spring:
And as the pearetrée graft by kind
another peare doeth bring.
But if you marke it wel,
the cause is quickly seene:
It is for that thou Nature art
a woman though a Quéene.
O dames I would not wish
you peacocklike to looke
Or puft with pride to vaunt that man
of you his being tooke.
For on the bryar oft
a gallant Rose doth grow
And of a stincking wéde an herbe
or floure fresh to shew.
Ye are excessiue proude,
stuft vp with stately spite:
Voyd of good loue, of loyall trueth
and all good counsel quite.
Rash, cruel causlesse, curst,
vnkinde without desert
Borne onely for the scourge of him
that beares a faithful hart.
I rather wish to die,
then liue a vassaile stil
Or thrall my selfe vnto a dame
that yeldes me no good wil.
The wormes shal sooner féede
vpon my happy hart:
Within my graue, then I for loue
of you wil suffer smart.
Adue déere dames,
the gastly ghostes of hel
Shal plague your bones
that gloze and loue not wel.
To his cruel mistresse.
GEue loosers leaue to speake,
let him that féeles the smare
Without controlment tel his tale,
to ease his heauy hart.
To thée (proude dame) I poynt,
who like the beast of Nile:
By teares procurest thy frend to loue
and flaiest him all the while.
By wéeping first to winne
and after conquest made
To spoyle with spite those yelding impes
that follow Cupids trade.
Condemnes thy cancred kinde,
more glory were for thée
To ransacke none but rebel harts
and let the rest goe frée.
Kinde wist not what she wrought
when she such beuty lent
Vnto those gallant limmes of thine
to monstrous mischiefe bent.
For either fowler face
she would haue yelded thée:
Or better moode and milder minde
to make remorse of me.
Thou bearest two burning brands,
below those browes of thine:
And I the brimstone in my brest,
which makes my hart to pine.
Eche lowring looke of yours,
Irets farther in my hart:
And nips me néerer then
the force of any other dart.
And to increase my care,
thou makest thy beutie more:
An oyle (God wotte) vnto my fire,
no salue to case my sore.
If thou a woman were,
of ruth and due remorse:
Thou wouldst allow me loue,
and not so proudly plague my corse,
I sue for mercy now,
with hands lift vp on hie
Which if I misse I am assurde,
within fewe dayes to die.
And if I may not haue
the thing I would enioy:
I pray the Gods to plague thée
as they did the dame of Troy.
I meane that
Creside coy
that linkt her with a Gréeke:
And left the lusty Troyan Duke,
of all his loue to séeke.
And so they wil I trust
a mirror make of thée:
That beuties darlings may beware
when they thy scourge shal sée.
I neuer meant thée wel,
in all my life before:
But now to plague thy foule abuse,
I hate thée ten times more.
For reason willes me so,
my frends to loue and serue
And cruel Ladies like thy selfe,
to wish as they deserue.
Hencefoorth if any limme,
of mine perhap rebel:
And thée whom I of right should loth
doe loue or fancie wel.
I quite renounce the same
he shall no more be mine
To vse or stand in stead, then I
doe purpose to be thine.
And thus I make an end
of loue, and lines at once
The frounce consume the flesh of her,
that féedes vpon my bones.
The Author being in Moscouia, wrytes to certaine his frendes in Englande of the state of the place, not exactly, but at all aduentures, and minding to haue descrybed all the Moscouites maners, brake off his purpose vpon some occasion.
The three Epistles followe.
To his especiall frende, master Edwarde Dancie.
My
Dancie déere, when I
recount within my brest:
My London frends and wonted mates
and thée aboue the rest.
I feele a thousand fittes
of deepe and deadly woe:
To thinke that I from sea to land,
from blisse to bale did goe.
I left my natiue soyle,
ful like a retchlesse man
And vnacquainted of the coast,
among the Russies ranne.
A people passing rude,
to vices vile enclinde:
Folke fitte to be of Bacchus traine,
so quaffing is their kinde.
Drinke is their whole desire,
the pot is all their pride:
The sobrest head doeth once a day,
stand néedeful of a guyde.
If he to banquet bid his frends,
he wil not shrinke
On them at dinner to bestow
a dosen kindes of drinke.
Such licour as they haue
and as the countrey giues:
But chéefly two, one called
Kuas,
whereby the Musick liues.
Small ware and waterlike
but somewhat tart in taste:
The rest is Meade, of hony made
wherewith their lips they baste.
And if he goe vnto
his neighbour as a guest:
He cares for litle meate, if so
his drinke be of the best.
Perhaps the Mausick hath
a gay and gallant wife:
To serue his beastly lust yet he
will leade a bowgards life.
The monster more desires
a boy within his bed
Then any wench, such filthy sinne
ensues a drunken head.
The woman to repay,
her drousie husbands dettes:
From stinking stoue vnto her mate
to baudy banquet gets.
No wonder though they vse
such vile and beastly trade:
Sith with the hatchet and the hand,
their chiefest Gods be made.
Their Idolles haue their hearts
on God they neuer call:
Vnlesse it be
(Nichola Bough)
that hangs against the wall.
The house that hath no God,
or painted saint within:
Is not to be resorted to,
that roofe is full of sinne.
Besides their priuate Gods,
in open places stand
Their crosses, vnto which they crouch,
and blesse themselues with hand.
Deuoutly downe they ducke,
with forhead to the ground:
Was neuer more deceit in ragges,
and greasie garments found.
Almost the meanest man
in all the countrey rides:
The woman eke against our vse,
her trotting horse bestrides.
In sundry colors they
both men and women go:
In buskins all, that money haue
on buskins to bestow.
Eche woman hanging hath
a ring within hir eare:
Which all of ancient vse, and some
of very pride do weare.
Their gate is very graue,
their countenance wise and sad:
And yet they follow fleshly lusts,
their trade of liuing bad.
It is no shame at all,
accounted to destle
Anothers bed, they make no care
their follies to concile.
Is not the meanest man
in all the land, but he
To buy hir painted colours doth
allow his wife a fée.
Wherewith she decks hir selfe,
and dies hir tawnie skin:
She prancks and paints hir smokie face,
both browe, lip, chéeke and chin.
Yea those that honest are
(if any such there vee)
Within the land, do vse the like,
a man may plainly sée.
Vpon some womens chéekes
the painting how it lies:
In plaster sort, for that too thicke
hir face the harlot dies.
But such as skilfull are,
and cunning dames in déed:
By daily practise do it well,
yea sure they do excéed.
They lay their colours so,
as he that is full wise:
May easily be deceiued therein,
if he do trust his eies.
I not a little muse
what madnesse makes them paine
Their faces, waying how they keepe
the stoue by méere constraint.
For seldom when, vnlesse
on church or mariage day.
A man shall sée the dames abrode
that are of best aray.
The Russie means to reape
the profit of hir pride:
And so he mewes hir, to be sure
she lie by no mans side.
Thus much (friend
Dancie)
I did meane to write to thée:
To let thée wite, in Russia land,
what men and women hée.
Hereafter I perhaps
of other things will write:
To thée and other of my friends,
which I shall sée with sight.
And other fluffe befides,
which true report shall tell:
Meane while I end my louing liues,
and bid thée now farewell.
To Spencer.
IF I should now forget
or not remember thée:
Thou
(Spencer) mightst a foule rebuke
and shame impute to mée.
For I to open shew
did loue thée passing well:
And thou were he; at parture whom
I loathd to bid farewell.
And as I went thy friend,
so I continue still:
No better proofe thou canst desire
than this, of true good will.
I do remember well
when néeds I should away:
And that the poast would licence vs,
no longer time to stay.
Thou wroongst me by the fist,
and holding fast my hand:
Didst craue of me to send thée newes,
and how I likte the land.
It is a sandie soyle,
no very fruitfull vaine:
More wast and wooddie grounds there are
than closes fit for graine.
Yet graine there growing is,
which they vntimely take:
And cut or ere the corne be ripe,
they mowe it on a stake.
And laying sheafe by sheafe,
their haruest so they drie:
They make the greater hast.
for feare the frost the corne destrie.
For in the winter time,
so glarie is the ground:
As neither grasse nor other graine
in pastures may be found.
In comes the cattell then,
the shéepe, the colt, the cowe:
Fast by his bed the Mawsicke
then a lodging doth alowe.
Whom he with fodder féeds,
and holds as deare as life:
And thus they weare the Winter with
the Mowsicke and his wife.
Eight monthes the Winter dures,
the glare it is so great:
As it is May before he turne
his ground to sowe his wheate.
The bodies eke that die,
vnburied lie till then:
Laid vp in coffins made of firre,
as well the poorest men.
As those of greater state,
the cause is lightly found:
For that in winter time
they cannot come to breake the ground.
And wood so plenteous is
quite throughout all the land:
As rich and poore at time of death,
assured of coffins stand.
Perhaps thou musest much,
how this may stand with reason:
That bodies dead, can vncorrupt,
abide so long a season.
Take this for certaine troth,
as soone as heate is gone:
The force of cold the body bindes
as hard as any stone.
Without offence at all,
to any liuing thing:
And so they lie in perfit state,
till next returne of spring.
Their beasts be like to ours,
as far as I can sée:
For shape and show, but somwhat lesse
of bulke and bone they bée.
Of watrish taste, the flesh not firme,
like English biefe:
And yet it serues them very well,
and is a good reliefe.
Their shéep are very small,
sharpe singled, handfull long:
Great store of fowle on sea and land,
the moorish reeds among.
The greatnes of the store
doth make the prices lesse:
Besides, in all the land they know
not how good meat to dresse.
They vse neither broach nor spit,
but when the stoue they heat,
They put their vitails in a pan,
and so they bake their meat.
No pewter to be had,
no dishes but of wood:
No vse of trenchers, cups
cut out of birch are very good.
They vse but woodden spoones,
which hanging in a case:
Each Mowsike at his girdle ties,
and thinks it no disgrace.
With whittles two or thrée,
the better man the me.
The chiefest Russies in the land,
with spone and kniues do go.
Their houses are not huge
of building, but they say
They plant them in the loftiest ground
to shift the snow away.
Which in the Winter time
eche where full thicke doth lie:
Which makes them haue the more desire
to set their houses hie.
No stone worke is in vse,
their roofes of rafters bée:
One linked in another fast,
their wals are all of trée.
Of mastes both long and large,
with mosse put in betwéene,
To kéep the force of weather out,
I neuer earst haue séeue.
A grosse deuise so good,
and on the roofe they lay:
The burthen barke, to rid the raine
and sudden showres away.
In euery roome a (stoue)
to serue the winter turne:
Of wood they haue suffising store,
as much as they can burne.
They haue no English glasse,
of slices of a rocke:
Hight
Sluda, they their windowes make,
that English glasse doth mocke.
They cut it very thin,
and sowe it with a thréed,
In pretie order like to panes,
to serue their present néed.
No other glasse good faith
doth giue a better light:
And sure the rocke is nothing rich,
the cost is very slight.
The chiefest place is that
where hangs the God by it:
The owner of the house himselfe,
doth neuer vse to sit.
Vnlesse his better come,
to whom he yéelds the seat:
The stranger bending to the god,
the ground with browe must beat.
And in that very place,
which they most sacred déeme:
The stranger lies a token that
his guest he doth estéeme.
Where he is woont to haue
a Beares skin for his bed:
And must in stead of pillow
clap his saddle to his hed.
In
Russia other shift
there is not to be had:
For where the bedding is not good,
the bolsters are but bad.
I mused very much
what made them so to lie
Sith in their countrey downe is rife,
and feathers out of cry.
Vnlesse it be because
the countrey is so hard:
They feare by nicenes of a bed,
their bodies would be marde.
I wisht thée oft with vs,
saue that I stoode in feare
Thou wouldst haue loathed to haue layd,
thy limmes vpon a beare
As I and
Stafford did,
that was my make in bed:
And yet we thanke the God of heauen,
we both right wel haue sped.
Loe thus I make an end,
none other newes to thée:
But that the countrey is too colde
the people beastly be.
I write not all I know,
I touch but here and there
For if I should, my pen would pinch,
and eke offend I feare.
Who so shal reade this verse,
contecture of the rest:
[...]
[...]
[...]
[...]
And thinke by reason of our trade
that I doe thinke the best.
But if no traffick were,
then could I boldly pen
The hardnes of the soyle,
and eke the manners of the men.
They say the Lyons pawe
geues iudgement of the beast:
And so may you déeme of the great
by reading of the least.
To Parker.
MY
Parker, paper, pen
and inke were made to write,
And idle heads that litle doe,
haue leysure to endite
Wherfore respecting these,
and thine assured loue,
If I would write no newes to thée
thou mightst my pen reprooue.
And sithens fortune thus,
hath shoued my ship from shore:
And made me séeke another Realme
vnséene of me before.
The manners of the men,
I purpose to declare
And other priuate points beside,
which strange and geason are.
The Russie men are round
of bodies, fully fast
The greatest part with bellies big,
that ouerhang the wast.
Flat headed for the most,
with faces nothing faire.
But browne by reason of the stoue,
and closenes of the ayre.
It is their common vse,
to shaue or els to sheare,
Their heads: for none in all the land,
long lolling lockes doe we are.
Vnles perhaps he haue
his soueraigne Prince displeasde
For then he neuer eues his heare,
vntil he be appeasde.
A certaine signe to know
who in displeasure be:
For euery man that bewes his head
wil say, loe this is he.
And during all the time,
he lets his locks to grow:
Dares no man for his life,
to him a face of frendship show.
Their garments be not gay,
nor handsome to the eye?
A cap aloft their heads they haue
that standeth very hie.
Which
(Colpack) they doe tearme
they weare no ruffes at al
The best haue collars set with pearle
Rubasca they doe call.
Their shirts in Russie long
they worke them downe before
And on the sléeues with coloured silkes,
two ynches good or more.
Aloft their shirts they weare
a garment iocket wise
Hight
Onoriadka, and about
his bourly wast he ties
His
Portkies, which in stead,
of better bréeches be.
Of linnen cloth that garment is
no codpéece is to sée
A paire of yornen stockes
to kéepe the cold away:
Within his bootes the Russie weares,
the héeles they vnderlay.
With clouting clamps of stéele,
sharpe pointed at the toes:
And ouer all a
Suba furde,
and thus the Russie goes.
Wel butned is the
Sube
according to his state
Some silke, of siluer other some
but those of poorest rate
Doe weare no
Subes at all
but grosser gownes to sight:
That reacheth downe beneath the calfe,
and that
Armacha hight.
These are the Russies robes,
the richest vse to ride
From place to place, his seruant runnes
and followes by his side.
The Cassocke beares his fealt,
to force away the raine:
Their bridles are not very braue,
their saddles are but plaine.
No bittes, but snaffels all,
of byrche their saddles be:
Much fashioned like the Scottish seates,
broad flaxs to keepe the knée.
From sweating of the horse,
the pannels larger farre
And broader be than ours
they vse short stirrops for the warre,
For when the Russie is
pursude by cruel foe
He rides away, and sodenly,
betakes him to his bowe.
And bendes me but about
in saddle as he sits
And therewithall amid his race,
his following foe he hittes.
Their bowes are very short,
like Turky bowes outright:
Of sinewes made with byrchen barke,
in cunning maner dight.
Small arrowes, cruel heads,
that fel and forked be:
Which being shot from out those bowes
a cruel wayes wil flée.
They seldome shooe their borse,
vnlesse they vse to ride
In poast vpon the fooyen floods,
then cause they shal not slide
He sets a slender calke,
and so he rides his way
[...]
The horses of the tountrey goe,
good fourescore veorsts a
[...]
And all without the spu
[...]re
once prick them and they skip,
But goe not forward on their way.
the Russie hath his whip
To rap him on the ribs
for though all booted be
Yet shal you not a paire of spurs
in all the countrey sie,
The common game is chesse
almost the simplest wil
Both geue a checke and eke a mate,
by practise comes their skil.
Againe the dice as fast,
the poorest roges of all
Wil sit them downe in open field
and there to gaming fall.
Their dice are very small,
in fashion like to those
Which we doe vse, he takes them vp,
and ouer thumbe he throwes,
Not shaking them
[...]a whit,
they cast suspiciously:
And yet I déeme them voyd of arte,
that dicing most apply.
At plaxe when siluer lackes,
goes saddle, horse and all:
And each thing els worth siluer walkes,
although the price be small.
Because thou louest to play,
frend
Parker, otherwhile
I wish thée there, the weary day,
with dicing to beguile.
But thou were better farre
at home, I wist it wel
And wouldst béen loath among such loutes
so long a time to dwel.
Then iudge of vs thy frends,
what kind of life we had.
That néere the frozen pole to wast
our weary dayes were glad.
In such a sauage soyle,
where lawes doe beare no sway
But all is at the King his wil,
to saue or els to slay.
And that saunce cause God wot,
if so his minde be such
But what meane I with kings to dealt
we ought no Saints to touch.
Conceaue the rest your selfe,
and déeme what liues they leade:
Where lust is law, and subiectes liue
continually in dread.
And where the best estates,
haue none assurance good
Of lands, of liues, nor nothing falles
vnto the next of bloud.
But all of custome doeth
vnto the Prince redowne:
And all the whole reuenue comes
vnto the king his crowne,
Good faith I sée thée muse,
at what I tel thée now
But true it is, no choyce
but all at Princes pleasure bowe.
So
Tarquine ruled Rome,
as thou remembrest well:
And what his fortune was at last,
I know thy selfe canst tell.
Where will in common weale,
doth beare the onely sway.
And lust is law, the prince and realme
must néeds in time decay.
The strangenesse of the place is such
for sundry things I sée:
As if I would, I cannot write
each priuate point to thée.
The cold is rare, the people rude,
the prince so full of pride:
The realm so stord with monks & nunnes,
and priests on euery side.
The maners are so Turkylike,
the men so full of guile:
The women wanton, temples stuft
with idols that destle.
The seats that sacred ought to be,
the customs are so quaint:
As if I would describe the whole,
I feare my pen would faint.
In summe I say, I neuer saw
a prince that so did raigne:
Nor people so beset with Saints,
yet all but vile and vaine.
Wild Irish are as ciuil as
the Russies in their kind:
Hard choice which is the best of both,
each bloodie rude, and blind.
If thou be wise, as wise thou art,
and wilt be rulde by mée:
Liue still at home, and couet not,
those barbarous coasts to sée.
No good befals a man that seekes,
and finds no better place:
No ciuil customs to be learnd,
where God bestowes no grace.
And truly ill they do deserue,
to be beloued of God:
That neither loue, nor stand in awe
of his assured rod.
Which (thogh be long) yet plagues at last
the vile and beastly sort
Of sinfull wights, that all in vice
do place their chiefest sport.
Adieu friend
Parker, if thou list,
to know the Russies well:
To
Sigismundus booke repaire,
who all the truth can tell.
For he long earst in message went,
vnto that sauage king:
Sent by the
Pole, and true report
in each respect did bring.
To him I recommend my selfe,
to ease my pen of paine:
And now at last do wish thée well,
and bid farewell againe.
To his friend Nicholas Roscarock, to induce him to take a wife.
ROscarocke, sith my raging prime is past,
And riper age with reasons learned lore,
Well staied hath my wits that went so saft,
And coold the heat that hent my brest of yore:
I cannot choose but write some solemne stuffe,
For thée to read, when thou art in thy ruffe.
I sée thée muse what should the matter be,
Whereof I meane to treate, thou bitest thy lip,
And bendst thy browe as though I were not he
That had a tricke my Cornish friend to trip:
Well, to be short, it toucheth mariage vow,
An order which my selfe haue entred now.
A sacred yoke, a state of mickle praise,
A blessed band, belikt of God and man,
And such a life, as if in former dayes
I had but knowen, as now commend I can,
Good faith I would not wasted so my prime,
In wanton wise, and spent an idle time.
An idle time, as sundry gallants vse,
I meane my London mates, that tread the stréete,
And golden wits with fond conceits abuse,
And base deuises farre for such vnméet.
Leauing the law, and casting bookes aside,
Wherby in time you mought your countries guide.
Your daily practise is to beat the bush,
Where beauties birds do lodge themselues to lie:
You shoote at shapes and faces deare a rush,
And bend your bowes, your féeble strengths to trie.
Of closure you somtimes do common make,
And where you list, abroad your pleasures take.
You count it but a game to graffe the horne
That inward growes, and seldom shewes without:
The silly man you skoffe and laugh to skorne,
And for his pacience déeme him but a lout.
By day you gaze vpon your Ladies lookes,
By night you gad to hang your baited hookes.
Thus do you lauish frolike youth away,
With idle words not woorth a parched pease,
And like to wanton colts that run astray,
You leape the pale, and into euery lease.
Where fitter far it were to marry wiues,
And well disposd to lead more sober liues.
Reuolt in tyme, least time repentance bring,
Let each enioy his lawfull wedded mate,
Or else be sure, your selues in time shall sing
The selfesame note, and rue your harmes too late.
For commonly the wrong that we entend,
Lights on our heads and shoulders in the end.
Perhaps thou wouldst as willing wedded be,
As I my selfe and many other moe:
But that thou canst no perfit beautie sée,
For which thou wilt thy single life forgoe.
Both yoong & faire, with wealth & goods thou séekst,
Such one she is, whom thou
Roscarocke léekst.
Be rulde by me, let giddy fansie go,
Imbrace a wife, with wealth and coyne enough:
Force not the face, regard not feature so,
And aged grandame that maintains the plough.
And brings thée bags, is woorth a thousand peates,
That pranck their pates & liue by Spanish meates.
That one contents hir self with now and than,
Right glad if she might sit at Venus messe
Once in the moneth, the youthfull Damsell can
Not so be pleasd, hir rage must haue redresse,
As oft as pleasure pricks hir lims to lust,
Els all the matter lies amid the dust.
Wherfore I iudge the best and wisest way
Were wife to wed, and leaue to range at will,
In maried life there is assured stay,
Where otherwise to follow euery Gill,
Bréeds wracke of wealth, of credit, ease, and blisse,
And makes men run their races quite amisse.
Experto credere tutum est.
A gentlewomans excuse for executing vnlawfull partes of loue.
EArst
Sylla tooke no shame, for
Minos sake
Hir father
Nysus purple pate to sheare,
Medea for the loue of
Iason brake
The bands of kind, and slew hir brother deare,
Forwent hir worthy Sire, and kingly crowne,
And followed him the rouer vp and downe.
For
Theseus when in Labirinth he lay
In dread of death, the monster was so nie,
Faire
Ariadna did deuise a way
To saue his life, vnlesse that
Ouid lie,
And yet the beast, hir brother was in déed,
(Whom
Theseus slue) and sprang of
Minos séed.
At siege of
Troy whilest
Agamemnon fought,
Aegistheus wan Quéene
Clitemnestras hart,
So as when he returnd and little thought
Of death, this dame began to play hir part,
She slew the prince to folow former lust,
And thought the fact to be excéeding iust.
Faire
Phyllis slew hire selfe, vnhappy dame
Through loue: and did not
Dydo do the like
For Prince
Aeneas who to
Carthage came,
When he was forst, by showres the shore to séeke:
What more vnkindly parts can man deuise,
Than Quéens for loue their honors to despise
[...]
Now iudge my case, my fault vprightly scan,
Déeme my desart, by this it may be gest,
I am by nature made to loue a man,
As
Sylla, Phyllis, Dido, and the rest,
If they and I haue done amisse for loue,
Let kind be blamd, that thereunto did mooue.
The wisest men as farre as I can see,
Haue been enthrald through loue as well as we.
Amor vince ogni cosa.
Of his Constancie.
WE way not waxe, for all his gallant hew,
Bicause it vades and melts against the fire,
We more regard a rocke of marble blew,
For that no force doth cause it to retire,
The builder makes his full account, that it
Will firmly stand at a stay, and neuer flit.
So may you (swéete) be sure, that my good will
Is no good will of waxe, to waste away,
When fond desire of fansie hath his fill,
My loue is like the marble for his stay,
Build thereupon, and you shall surely find,
No blast of chance to change my stedfast mind.
Blacke shall you sée the snow on mountains hie,
The fish shall féed vpon the barren sand.
The sea shall shrinke, and leaue the Dolphins dry,
No plant shall prooue vpon the sencelesse land,
The Tems shal turne, the Sunne shal lose his light
Ere I to thée become a faithlesse wight.
I neither am nor meane to bee.
None other than I seeme to thee.
The Authors Epilogue.
LO here the end of all my worke,
behold the thréed I drew
Is wrought to cloth, accomplisht now,
you sée this slender clew.
A peece (God wot) of little price,
scarce woorth the Readers paine:
And in mine owne conceit
a booke of barren verse and vaine.
I blush to let it out at large
for Sages to peruse:
For that the common custome is,
in bookes to gape for newes.
And matter of importance great
which either may delite
By pleasure, or with sad aduise
the readers paynes requite.
But this of mine so maymed is,
for lacke of learned stile
And stately stuffe, as sure I shall
the readers hope beguile.
Who doth expect some rare report,
of former ancient déedes:
Or new deuice but lately wrought,
that breatheth yet and bléedes.
But truely none of both in these,
my verses is to finde:
My slender ship hath kept the shore,
for feare of boystrous winde.
I bore my simple sayles but lowe
I dreaded sodaine showers:
Which sundry times from hauty skies,
the puisant ruler powers.
I durst not stir amid the streame,
the chanel was too déepe:
Which made me haue the more regard
about the bankes to kéepe.
It is for mighty hulkes to dare,
aduenture out so farre:
And barkes of biggest sise,
and such as builded be for warre.
I write but of familiar stuffe,
because my stile is lowe:
I feare to wade in weighty works,
or past my reach to rowe.
Which if I should, the Reader might
as boldly blame my quil:
As now I trust he shal accept,
my shew of great good wil.
Though diuers write with fuller phrase,
and farre more hawty stile:
And burnish out their golden bookes
with fine and learned file.
Yet meaner Muses must not lurke
but each in his degrée
That meaneth wel, and doth his best
must wel regarded be.
Though Nilus for his bignes beare
away the greatest name:
Whose seuēfold stream hath gaind y
e gulfe
of such a lasting fame.
Yet must not lesser lakes be lost,
nor had in vile account
That serue for vse and ease of man
though Nilus doe surmount.
Great
Alexander mighty was
and dreadful in the warre:
Yet thats no cause why Rome should not
of
Caesar boast as farre.
The Planets are the pride of heauen,
and chéefest lampes of light:
Yet other starres doe yelde a shew
and helpe to cléere the night.
Likewise though diuers write in verse
and doe excéeding wel:
The remnant must not be refusde,
because they doe excell.
Ill may we misse the slender shrubs
for all the princely Pine:
No more we scorne the baser drinkes
though most we way the wine.
Which makes me hope that though
my Muse doth yelde but slender sound:
And though my Culter scarcely cuts,
or breakes the marble ground.
Yet sithens that I meant with verse,
to féede the Readers eyes:
And to that purpose bent my braines
these fancies to deuise.
I trust he takes it wel in worth
and beares with what he findes.
And thereunto the Reader aye
the writers trauaile bindes.
Which if he doe I haue my hire,
who happy then but I?
That wrote this worke for grateful men,
to vewe with thankfull eye.
And so I giue the congée now,
with wish that this my booke
Be such as may thy sprites delight,
that hapnest here to looke.
Ill were my fortune if in all
this treatise as it standes:
There should be nothing worth the vew
when so it comes to hand.
Roscarockes warrant shal suffise
who likle the writing so
As did embolden me to let
the leaues at large to goe.
If il succéede, the blame was his
who might haue kept it backe:
And frendly tolde me that my booke
his due deuise did lacke.
But as it is, loe there it goes,
for euery one to vew:
The man that each ones humor pleasde,
as yet I neuer knew.
Sufficeth if the courtly sort
whose doome is déepe in déede:
Accompt it ought, with baser wits
I care not how it spéede.
The courtier knowes what best becomes,
in euery kind of case:
His nature is, what so he doth
to decke with gallant grace.
The greatest clarkes in other artes,
can hardly doe the léeke:
For learning sundry times is there
where iudgement is to séeke.
The Authors excuse for writing these and other fancies, with promise of grauer matter hereafter.
LOrdings allow my light and lewde deuise
And Ladies ye that are of greatest state
Beare with my bookes, imputing nought to vice
That I haue pende in youth, nor now of late,
My prime prouokt my hasty idle quil:
To write of loue, when I did meane no ill.
Two things in chéefe did moue me thus to write
And made me déeme it none offence at all,
First
Ouids works bedeckt with déepe delight,
Whom we of Poets second best doe call,
I found him full of amours euery where:
Each leafe of loue the title eke did beare.
Then next I liued in place among the moe,
Where fond affection bore the chéefest sway,
And where the blinded archer with his bow
Did glaunce at sundry gallants euery day
And being there although my minde were frée:
Yet must I séeme loue wounded eke to be.
I sawe how some did séeke their owne mishap,
And hunted dayly to deuoure the hookes,
That beuty bayted, and were caught in trap,
Like wilfull wights that fed on womens lookes,
Who being once entangled in the line,
Did yelde themselues and were content to pine.
Some other minding least to follow loue,
By haunting where dame Venus darlings dwelt,
By force were forst Cupidos coales to prooue.
Whose burning brāds did make their minds to melt
So as they were compeld by méere mischaunce,
As others did, to follow on the daunce.
Some eke there were that groapt but after gaine
That faynd to frie and burne with blooming heate
Of raging loue and counterfetted paine,
When they (God wot) had slender cause to treate,
But all was done to make their Ladies déeme
How greatly they their beuties did estéeme.
And then (O gods) to vew their gréeful chéeres,
And listen to their fonde lamenting cries,
To see their chéekes déepe dented in with teares
That day and night powred out from painful eyes,
Would make a heart of marble melt for woe,
That sawe their plights, & did their sorowes know
And all for lacke of ruthe and due remorse
Their cruel Ladies bore so hard a hand,
And they (poore men) constraynd to loue perforce,
And fruitlesse cleane to sowe the barrain sand.
That vnto me who priui
[...] was of all,
It was a death and grieued the to the gall.
Then for my friends (as diuers loued me well)
Endite I must some light deuise of loue,
And in the same my friends affection tell,
Whom nothing mought from beauties bar remooue
My pen must plead the sillie Suters case,
I had my hire, so he mought purchase grace.
Some otherwhile when beautie bred disdaine,
And feature forst a pride in hawtie brest,
So as my friend whs causelesse put to paine
And for good will might purchace slender rest:
Then must my quill to quarels flatly fall,
Yet kéep the meane twixt sweete and sower brall.
Somtimes I must commēd their beauties much
That neuer came where any beautie lay,
Againe somwhiles my mates would haue me tutch
The quicke, bicause they had receiued the nay:
And thus my pen, as change of matter grew,
Was forst to grief, or els for grace to sue,
Thus did I deale for others pleasure long
(As who could well refuse to do the like)
And for my self somtimes would write among
As he that liues with men of war must strike.
I would de
[...]lise a Sonet to a dame,
And all to make my sullen humor game.
So long I wrote, so oft my friends did sue
So many were the matters, as at last,
The whole
[...]
Then to the presse they
[...]st in all the hast,
Mauger my beard, my mates would haue it
[...]o
Whom to resist it was in vaine you know.
These causes forst my harmeles hand to write,
And no desire I had to treate of ill
Who doth not know that youthfull heads delight
Sometimes to shewe the queintnes of their quil,
But pardon (Lordings) what is past and done
I purpose now a better race to runne.
I meane no more with loues deuise to deale,
I neuer wil to wanton Venus bowe,
From Cupids court to Pallas I appeale,
Iuno be iudge whom I doe honor now
Hie time it is for him to blow retreate:
And leaue to loue whom selfe rod now doth beate.
Wherfore, goe (wanton) trusse vp all your trash
Fancy farewel, to grauer gods I goe,
Then loue and Venus, cleane my hands I wash,
Of vayne desires that youth enrageth so
Vertue doth farre surmount such filthy vice
Amend my mates, or els you know the price.
Vtile consilium est sae
[...]as extinguere flammas,
Qui non est hodie, cras minus aptus erit.
FINIS.