Shakespeare’s Narrative Sources: Italian Novellas and Their European Dissemination

Ber Gar – The tragical and true History which happened between two English lovers – semidiplomatic

The tragicall and trve Hiſtorie which happened betwene two Engliſh louers.

1563, written by Ber. Gar 1565.

In ædibus Richardi Tottelli.Cum Priuilegio.

To the Reader.

God the auctour of all goodnes (gentle Reader) hath diverſlie beſtowed his manifolde gyftes on ſondrie men: whearby, as in ending any great or effectuall enterprize many are called, ſome for learning ſake, ſome for knowledge, ſome for experience, and ſome for ſtrength to ſupporte ye brunt of the chardge: which all tende to none other ende, but to conclude the matter determined with good effect. Even ſo our ſauiour Chriſt to ſave man, (which is diverſlie bent to go astraye) hath ſent fourth his ſeverall inſtruments ſundrie wies to call him. Principallie by that ineſtimable Ivell his infallible worde, and the wourthye learned preachers of the ſame, nowe floriſhing? (God be praysed therfore.) Otherwies by men of knowledge, ſeen in the liberall Sciences, and and ſo couertlie correcting vice by moralized ſentences verie expediet. Otherwies by ſome that hath through follie fallen into daungers, and by his infinite mercy (their madness perceiued) retourned. which do from their owne experience tell to fraile youth ſuch dangerous ſucceſſe in their fonde attenptes: as ſome thearby: are perswaded, and leave their precogitate purpozes. And otherwise by thoſe that will boldlie begyn, fooliſhlie followe, and unaduiſedlie accompliſh their intended enterpriſe: And thearby make themſelves, through untymelye Death or other miſchiefe: terrible examples to the reſt. And all alludeth none other thing, but by perſuaſion, terrour or example, to knit ye body of ye Church of god to ye worthie bed therof, our ſaviour Chriſt. I am no devine: I wolde to God I were. To take vppon me the name of learned: I dare not. Of experience: age will not let me ſpeake. But the tragical hiſtory following, may wourke a terrour to all youth: raſhlie and of themſelfes tat tĕpt any thing. Note (louing frend) the matter ſucceding is of two Engliſh lovers, both yonge, of linage like ſubſtaunciall enough, maried by ye parentes conſent of equall troth in keping the honourable bedde of matrìmony vndefiled, what ſhold I ſaie? both vertuous et louing: and yet their doinges not proſpering. I muſt think good Reader, but I leaue ye iudgement to God, yt he was offended, bycauſe they both at firſt ſight, raſhly, vnaduiſed lie, vnknowen, and without frendes conſent, durſt thrall themſelue s in the deſire of vncleane luſt (but I muſt terme it cleanelie, Cupides flama) and did not cal uppō God, for ye metenes of the matche, nor ſaught parentes conſent, till (had the ſame been never ſo vnmete) they muſt haue graũnted. Or ells ye loue grown from follie, and thought from loue, wold haue wrought the louers endes. If thou be a parent, that reades this ſame, looke vigelantlie to thie fraile childe, leaſt thear by thou wourke thine owne ſorrowe as in the ende of this hiſtorie. If thou be a childe, of what age ſoever thou be, thie Parentes or Guerdians lyuing, reade over the ſame, and think thine intent can be none boneſter, then theirs that minded chast wedlocke, thine entraunce no better, then by frendes conſent, thie ſucceſſion no better thĕ to win honour in the defence of thie prince and contrie: but thy ende may be better, then accuſed for treaſō, faltes, to receiue thie mortall wounde, or die , as he or ſhe did. well, thinke that the falt was comytted at firſt becauſe without the feare of god and frendes corſentes craued in the begynning, they durſt loue, and in themſelfes contract maryage. And ſo conſequentlie, as the falt at firſte was don: the puniſhmĕt at laſt was wrought by hym that leaueth nothing vnpuniſhed which is not repĕted. Beware the like. I haue promiſed to ſet at large, a thing of more effect, and greater moment : which ſhall not long be behinde. But this haue I begoon wyth, as with an inſtrument to whet my knyfe, to cut my pen cleane to cauſe it to wright the more pleaſaūtlie, playnelie, and profitablie to the. Accept my good will, and ſtaie thie iudgemĕt til thou knowe myne intent, and deeme the beſt till then.

Farewell. (?) Ber. Gar.


VVIthin the raged rocke, the vapours colde,

to ſmall effecte, collects a waters courſe:

ſo weake at firſt: as ſcarce it dare be bolde,

to ſpread abrode, the newe obteyned fource.

Ere long growen to ſom ſtrength: abroade doth goo,

and ſheweth it ſelfe to thoſe that haue delight:

to ſee the ſame. although it cannot ſoo,

kepe on the courſe : for ſome that have diſpight.

At laſt fedde by the hedde, from whence at furſt,

it (weakelie) came, findes fourth a channel depe:

and then though rancour ſwell, or Enuie burſt ,

the puysaunt fource, the channell still doth kepe.

And good for moſte, doth worke his owne defence

not harming any, of purpoſe or pretence.

Even ſo my Muſe

FRom right dul hed, and vnapproued brayne,

with hart amaſde, and colour pale of hewe:

hath heare ſet out, the dolefull ende of twayne,

that loued longe, whoſe fates are yet to rewe.

If this attempt may ſcape the gnawing fielde,

of hatefull ſpight, (not able to reſiſt)

no doubt at all, thear is: that ſhe ſhall yelde:

when wourthie wourkes, her weakenes ſhall aſſiſt.

whearin ſhe meanes, ere longe to walke at large,

and then within that comelie channell depe:

(This ended ones,) to take a greater charge,

and thearin ſtill ſoch decent ordre kepe:

As then a whit, ſhe will not doubt nor feare,

the cruell wight, may let the paſſage hear

Of this my Muſe

The tragicall hiſtory of two Engliſh louers.

When that the bouſtrous Borias, and Hiemps ordre horie froſt:

By iuſt retourne of Lady Ver, their pinching power had loſt:

That ladie ſtaide the fyne of March, in comelie courſe and hewe:

And lefte her ſeate to Estas then, And bad the Pryme adewe.

Then Aprell entred in by kinde, with ſwete and ſugred ſtreames:

And dailie dect the earth againe, through aide of Phebus beames.

Then Tellus ſemed to tryme her tyre, to welcome Estas gaye,

Eche fragrant flowre freſhlie ſmelles: and in leapes lustie Maye.

Whearin eche thing doth ioy by right, that kinde hath wrought by berth,

And alſo those that cressiue are: as Trees and rootes in earth.

What then hath power or ſtrength at all? what is it that hath might?

But Ioyouſlie, will ſhewe it ſelfe: as Nature geues delight.

In this ſwete moneth a virgin faire, by birth of gentle bloode:

Her feauter fourmed paſſing well, her ſtature tall and good:

In whome no ſhape at all did want, that harte or Iee might ſeeke:

Ne colde Appelles for his lyfe, depaynt or drawe the lyke.

Whoſe youth ſent fourth her lyuelye hart, with ſuche a pryncely pace:

As none that ſawe her, but muſt iudge: she came of wourthie race

Her tire was tryme, yet ſobre not comon in theſe daies:

Of all the reſt who ſawe her then, did iudge her wourthie prayſe.

Ths pece, before Pigmalion her like colde graue or carue:

Though he wear lyuing now againe, Ten thowſande tymes wolde ſtarue.

Aboutes the fieldes with equall Feeres, in decent order ſet:

As if Diana had been theare: a comelie courſe did fet.

Whearin (by chaunce) a wourthie wight, did ſalue her in that place:

Their ioye and ieſture both wear ſuche: non had the better grace.

A man he was, in age but yonge, of ſtate both bigge and tall:

A face he had effemynate, ſcant any bearde at all.

In whom thear wanted not the thing, that kinde colde ſhape or give:

Faire Abſolon colde neuer die, ſo longe as he did lyue.

And Nature gaue to hym a grace, ſo ſobre and ſo trymme:

As who ſo did delight a man, muſt nedes delight in him.

A worlde it is to ſee howe farre, ſome other ſome excell:

Scant Tullyes ſtile not my rude pen: the dyfference can tell.

But groase ſhalbe my Simile, ſince eloquence I lacke:

He paſſed more the comon ſorte, Then white excelleth blacke.

Yet as they met, they parted tho, their geſtures ſaide fare well:

Their faces ſhewed their fancyes pleaſde no wourde betwene them fell.

The maide kept on her ſtealing ſteps, ſo did her mates eche one

The yong man fet a ſoking ſigh, his hart was almoſt gon.

Alas what hap have I (ſaied he)? what meanes this ſuddeyn ſtroke?

Oh Cupide nowe, thie dreadfull Darte: my craiſed corps hath broke.

His ruddie chekes were chaunged pale, he plucte his bonnet lowe:

He muſed moche, that he ſholde loue, the wight he did not knowe.

Nor whear ſhe dwelt, nor whence ſhe came nor any of her kynde:

Nor yet what way her courſe ſhe bent, nor whear her home to fynde.

Oh cruell boy that thus ſholdſt ſtrike, and bringe hym into thrall:

That was not yet an houre agoe, the freeſt man of all.

He ſemed nowe, to wring his handes, that carſt did feele no greefe:

And homewarde gat with quaking ſteps deuoyded of releefe.

Then Phebus gan ſhut up his beames then darkenes made it night:

Then pleaſures none at all were ſeen, but by the candell light.

And then this faire and famous dame, thought tyme to go to bedde:

Wheare flowing fancyes followed her, renewing in her hedde.

What wight he was that ſholde ſalute her in this comely wiſe:

She beat her braine, and of that man, ſhe laie and did deviſe.

And viewing in her waking hed his geſture and his face:

his comely ſhape did brewſe her breſt and fancy founde hym grace.

What wantes in hym (quod ſhe) that I this preſent daie haue ſeen:

Are not his vertues wonderous his yeares freſhe and grene.

Right happie weare the dame in deade that might obteyne the grace:

In wedded bed and folded armes, thie bodie to embrace.

With that she ſought to ſet a ſide, ſoch phanſies and to ſlepe,

But Venus ſparkes, which growe full great gan towards her harte to crepe:

And Cupide caught his Bowe in hande, and drewe the ſtrynge ſo farre:

As losed ones, the shafte and hedde againſt her harte did Iarre.

Then loking vp, ſhe ſawe that none, was in her chamber bye:

She felt what ſtroke ſhe had receiued, no ſlepe colde toche her Eye.

Then came ſhe unto Venus thrall, and thus beganne to praye:

Moſt mightie goddes of them all, geue eare what I ſhall ſaie.

I am become thie ſeruaunt that, before did neuer loue:

Soch fervent force, thie ſonn hath uſde on me his power to proue.

What conqueſt ſhall he get by this, though I through ſorrowe die?

No praiſe at al: thus on a wretch, his force and power to trie.

But if thou wilt cauſe this thie ſonn, againe his bowe to bende

And from the ſame with equall force, an other arrowe ſend,

Into his hart, within whoſe breſte my harte doth reſt and ſhall

Then will I ſaie thou arte a Iudge, and iusteſt Iudge of all.

So, liuing ſhall I hym attayne: Or ells we both ſhall dye:

Or at the leaſt he ſhall not laugh, when care both cauſe me crie.

Thus laie ſhe waking all the night. He ſpendes his tyme in teares.

They both are ſtroken with one Darte. the one, the other feares.

He doubtes of her, She feareth hym, See here of loue the fource:

Yet want of knowledge ſunders them they can haue no recourſe.

The wearie night weares thus awaie Aurora shewes her light

He leaues his bedde, he walkes abroade of her to haue a ſight.

No gate he ſees, but he lokes in no windowe wantes his Eye

No Lane, no Streat, no Place at all whearin he doth not prie.

And walking thus from morne to night. and foodeles coming ſoo:

Retournes into his reſtles bedde, repleate with care and woo:

The ladie as her loue doth mourne, ſoo likewies mourneth ſhee:

Her ſtomake fades, her flesſh doth fall, ſhe is as ſicke as hee.

The mother markes the daughters plight with ſorrowe of her mynde:

And of the ſicknes of the childe ſhe ſeekes the cauſe to fynde.

But ſecreat couert loue (alas) Soo perceth fleſh and fell:

As death might breake her hart, but ſhe, thoſe ſecreates, wolde not tell.

Her mother who had ones been Yonge and felt of Cupides ſting:

Did feede her childe, wih tender woudes, and poyſing euery thing:

Myne owne (quod ſhee) discloase thine harte, and roote of this thie greefe,

To hidden ſores, the ſikmans talke muſt bring the first releefe.

To wourke on the by medecins Arte, before thie caſe be knowen:

Thie death : my bayne , thie fathers fall: to gether ſholde be ſowen.

Thou arte my childe, and from my lyfe, Thie life did firſt proceade:

Oh ſeeke not then, by ſilence thus, To ſhred my fatall threade.

Faire childe, (and then ſhe kiſt her mouth), Her teares did moyſt the grounde

Diſclose thie greefe, leaſt lacke of talke, Thie mothers Ioyes confounde.

Whie wepeſt thou? oh whie doſt thou weepe? redobling thus my woo:

The mayde lookt vp, but could not ſpeake, a traunce did take her ſoo.

The dolfull dame calles fourth the Nurſe, who firſt did weane the childe.

And ſtryuing bothe, the lothſome lyfe, the ſence againe doth yelde.

And then with heauy hart and teares, ſhe leaues her daughter ſoo:

And with right wofull waylyng ſobbes vnto her ſpouse doth goe.

Oh Sir (quod ſhe) ſo long as we. haue lyud together heare:

So iust a cauſe did not compell, my griefe and griping cheare.

Our daughter man, our onely ioye, and Iuell of our age.

With ſicknes is full ſore oppreſt, eche parte of her doth rage.

And mortally I feare and doubte, ſhe ſtroken is with death.

So pale, ſo wanne her viſage is, ſo ſhorte ſhe draweth her breath.

The Father who did tender her, a man both ſage and wiſe,

ſaide to his wief, then for her helth, ſome meane we muſt deuiſe.

And not this rage as you beginne, it tokeneth lytle wit:

And to our ſtate and horye heares, a thing right farre vnfit.

Goe to her yet with good aduice, and geue her tyme to pawſe.

Marke when her paine, doth greue her leaſt, then learne therof the cauſe.

The Mother who already had endeuored with her might,

As you haue hearde, of this her greefe to knowe the cauſe aright:

To god agayne was halfe diſmaide it greued moch her mynde:

But yet to pleas her huſbande with an errande ſhe did fynde.

And coming to the chambre wheare her daughter ſicke did lie

A thousande couert meanes ſhe ſaught The roote therof to ſpie.

Her ſkilfull tonge with ſmiling talke ſaide to her daughter than:

See here thie mother, howe ſhe cares To help the what ſhe can.

That thou arte ſicke, to trew it is the cauſe therof diſcloaſe:

Tell me thie grefe my darling deare, ſome truſt in me repoſe.

Or if the roote of this thie care from the doth hidden lie

The manners of thy painefull pangues to me with ſpede diſcrie

The daughter viewde the mothers face whiche cloaſe by her did ſtande:

She threwe her arme out of the bedde and tooke her by the hand.

Oh you, from whence this corps of myne (ſaide ſhee) did take releefe:

No lengre will I hide from you the manner of my greefe.

Soch ardent heate doth bourne my harte, as it is parching drie.

And floodes of fylthie frosen Ice enrowndes it by and bye.

Thus hot, thus colde, thus drie, thus drownd I lie heare in mye bedde:

Loo hear you knowe my greefe, and yet: I nere the better ſpedde.

But howe I came by this diſeaſe the lorde (not I) doth knowe

Content you then, your daughters mouth no more to you can ſhowe.

With that the virgin tournd her ſelfe ſhe ſighed very ſore:

Her wourdes did falter in her mouth her tongue colde talke no more.

What heapes of greefe the mother felt in hearing this diſcourſe

Deame you that Parentes are by kynde with pytte and remourſe.

And yf that ſhe poore hart (alas) was drownde in ſorrowe than

Note that it was a mothers parte: who thearfore blame her can?

But ſhe full warelie did witholde her ſecret hidden greefe

Her inwarde care ſhe couered ſtill ſhe ſaught her childes releefe:

And ſpake thus to the aged Nursh my true approued frende

In whome I haue affied moſt, and will vntill myne ende

My daughter and your darling deare of truſt to you I leaue:

Of truſt agayne with all my harte good nurſh do her receaue.

Nurſh thou arte olde, and I am not yonge, what thinkeſt thou her diſeaſe?

What beſt is for her appitite? what will her fancy pleaſe?

Madame (quod ſhe) yf age and wit, weare equall in my braine.

This your demaunde could I diſcloſe, and eaſe your daughters payne.

But age to much, to litle wit, in women olde we finde.

But since it pleaſeth you to aſke, I will diſcloſe my mynde

I feare leaſt that the ſparkes of loue, are kindled in her breſt:

And then (ſwete hart) the lord doth know, how ſore ſhe is oppreſt.

Then muſt be learnd ſomewaies with whom ſhe ſo bewrapped is,

And warely muſt you graunt or not, Take good aduice in this.

For if ſhe be in Cupids thrall, as you and I wot neare,

(Then is ſhe in her golden pryme, Of age full ſixtene yeare)

And hauing choaſe her ſelfe, a mate, and doubting your good will.

The dolefull doubte within her breſt. may ſone your daughter ſpill.

Therefore a meane there muſt be founde, by ſome that ſhee loues well:

That may prouoke by circumſtaunce her, all her mynde to tell.

Whiche thing by her once vttered, and to your wiſedome knowne.

Then of the herbes to euer her, the ſeedes are ſurely ſowen.

Good Lady blame not myne aduyſe, loue cauſeth me to ſpeake,

and onely loue and your requeſt, makes me my mynde to breake.

And one precept (if I may tearme my foliſh ſentence ſoe,

Take from my mouth, and marke it well, before you from me goe.

If you do like the choiſe that ſhee vnto her ſelfe hath made:

To graunt it then you nede the leſſe to doubt or be afraide.

But if the matche be ſo vnmete, as ſhe may chaunce repent.

Yet may you not in rigrous ſorte. denye her your conſent.

For as the fallyng drops of rayne, which from the gutters gone:

In length of tyme, and fallyng ofte, doth pearſe the marble ſtone,

That els by ſodeine ſeas or floods, ne myghty ſtreames at furſt:

By rigour nor by force at all, woulde yelde it ſelfe to burſt:

So wiſe men haue long tyme of loue. the lyke oppinion helde:

That loue in time may be repreſt, but will not be expelde.

Lo here, you heare my fond aduice, my ſmall approued ſkill:

Accept it as a womans tale, proceading of good will.

And as you leaue with me your child, ſo I the ſame receiue:

And that nothing ſhall want in me, I truſt you ſhall perceiue.

I geue the thankes good gentle Nurſh, for this thy ſounde aduiſe:

Therby I truſt my daughters health, my ioye and all ſhall riſe.

And vnto your diſcrecion, to know my daughters mynd:

I leaue the ordre and the waies ſome parfect meanes to fynde.

Heare with the mother goeth awaie the nurſh ſites by the childe,

The nurſh is growen an oratrice. her tongue is ſmothelie field

The maide lokes vp, the nurſh it ſpies Oh ſwetehart ſaieth ſhe than:

That God ones ſende you quyet health that helpeth euery man.

Comaund euen what you may deuiſe Your hed or harte to pleaſe:

What nurſh (quod ſhe) do holde your tongue your talke doth me diſeaſe.

Leſſe wourdes to her that is ſo ſike and moch more quiet, reſt

(Me thinkes your age ſholde teache you wyt) that, for my ſtate were beſt.

The nurſh thus nypped to the brayne ſhee had no wourde to ſaie:

A ſobving ſigh the mayden fette, and tournde her hed awaye.

Nowe all the while the mayden thus with pangues laſe ſore diſtreſt

Her loue (that ſeconde Troylus) was neare the leſſe oppreſt.

But all effebled was his ſtrengthe his mirth was growen to move

His fleſh was fallen , his iointeſ wear weake, he could ſcant ryſe alone.

Yet euerye daie in ordre dewe by ſtarry light he roaſe:

And ceaſed not to ſeake his chaunce till night the daie did cloaſe.

Who firſt had ſeen ſoo faire a face And nowe ſeen hym againe

Had been his harte more hard then flynt muſt yet bewayle his payne.

For they that loue do knowe, (elles none) the heat of Cupids fire:

And loue can ſee, and none but loue this dolfull mans deſire.

Who, for to eaſe his heauie harte his lewte wolde ofte aſſaye

Yet, ere his fyngers, ſpast the freates the knewe not what to playe.

Then wolde he proue, by wonted voyce ſome ſollemne ſonge to ſing:

The notes whearin he wont reioyce doth nowe but ſorrowe bring.

Then from his quyuer wolde he take and ſaie to bende his Bowe

Whear of the ſtring he colde not ſtire his ſtrength was brought ſo lowe.

Then of eche thing he had delight he called to his minde:

But all his ioyes did tourne to greefe no comforte, colde he fynde

For that which earſt in other cares did moue him ſome delight

In this his greateſt greefe of all did wourke him moſt dispight.

Thus when he ſawe that euery hap, whearin he wont to ioye:

Was nowe conuerted to miſhap and Fortune lookt acoye:

And that his life was nigh fordoon and had no helth at all:

He thought to proue by medeſins arte what might to him befall.

And to hisfrende a man expert a Doctour in that arte

He gat him then in ſecrete wies, and thus diſcloaſde his harte.

A man I was of late (quod he) and paſt my tyme in ſporte:

as fits my youthfull yeres yet though cares do cut me ſhorte.

A bliſfull life I led a while, I had that did me pleaſe:

So haue I nowe , but what alas? That may me moſt diſeaſe,

In couert woordes thus could I couche my grife, and ſo to proue

your ſkill: but what auaileth that, my ſicknes came through loue.

But whome I loue , or what ſhe is, the gods not I can ſhewe:

A heauenly thing , vnmete for me, I think ſhe be to knowe.

And where I ſawe her once in dede, (my wits do ſerve ſo well)

Or dreamde of her, I ſtand in doubte , of truth I cannot tell.

But this I know, alas and ſhall by dreame or els by dede:

I that of late was like a man, am nowe become a weade:

In ſleape, nay: ſlomber as I lye, I ſee her face to face:

I goe to her with louing chere, To me ſhe comes a pace:

I craue her loue: ſhe graunts it me, her hart I doe deſire,

I geue to her my hart and that is all she doth require.

The match is made, we clap our handes ſhe is my wedded wife:

I wake with ioy and find her not, I then repent my lyfe.

The ſeeming ioyes within my ſleepe, doth growe to perfect care,

My brackish teares do weat my cheeks, and ſorrow is my fare.

Like ioyes as I within my ſlepe, coulde neuer louer tell:

Like paines to myne, when I do wake, were neuer felt in hell.

This is my griefe , and I of it do feele the paſſing ſmarte:

Do helpe me now, and if thou canſt, I haue diſcloſde my hart.

Or if without recouery, thou iudgeſt this my woe:

To rid my life prepare ſome thing, and geue me ere I goe.

And all the ſubſtaunce that I haue. I geue the for thine hire:

Saue vnto her my hart I yelde. whoſe harte I do deſire.

And when that I am deade and gone, this onely do I craue:

This Epitaph that thou wouldeſt wright in ſteele vppon my graue.

Not Troylus lieth here (god knoweth) that Croſſed looud ſo well:

But here lyeth one, that in trewe loue, did Trollus farre excel.

My Teſtament thus haue I made my frend, thy cunning trye:

and els do helpe my heauy happe, or graunt that I may dye.

Whiles in this rage, this worthy wight ſtoode wringing of his fiſt:

One knocked at the Doctours dore, and euery thing was whiſt.

The latche was looſe, a ſhade was ſeene, the dore gan to unfolde,

A woman entred in thereat, the Doctour thought her bolde.

ſhe brought an uryn in her hand, wherein ſhe praide to knowe

The Doctours ſkill and eke that he ſome waye to helth would ſho we.

Faire wife (quod he) ſtaye here a while, while I do with my frende ,

conclude our matter now begonne, which almoſt is at ende.

And then wherin myne arte and I, may satiſfie your mynde,

That in me is to doe you good, right reddy ſhall you finde.

And then he ſaide vnto the man, full ſtraunge is your requeſt,

content you with youre paine a while, and I will do my beſt.

To morow come to me againe, Do follow myne aduyſe,

Thereby I truſt your ſore ſhal ſwage, your helth againe ſhal riſe.

Till then ſet fancies cleane a ſide, let trouble not your hedde,

Endeuour to the moſt you maye, to reſt in quiet bedde.

The louer thus left of his talke, he gate him thence alone,

His wery legges did bow for fainte. His heavy hart did grone.

What heapes of griefe, he felt this night, no louer but may geſſe:

But I becauſe they moue my teares, the ſame do here repreſſe.

Then to the Doctour doth the Nurſh preſent the vryn thoe,

and to his cloſet, from the hall, the Nurſhe and he doth goe.

And after certaine wordes, he takes the vrynall in hande,

she prayeth by his learning that the vryn might be ſcande.

With perſing eye and ſkillfull brayne, he doth the ſtate peruſe:

He warmes it by the fire againe, no paines he doth refuſe:

And viewing euery circle there, did note the ſubſtaunce to,

and coulde not fynde that neded ought for Phiſikes art to do.

But ſkilfull learned men can ofte by circumſtance preuaile:

And cauſe the rude Propoſitor to aſke, and tell the tale.

Dame quod the Doctour to the Nurſh. I thinke it be your will:

And eke the cauſe why you did come, to know herein my ſkill.

Note, of the corps of euery wight, both feminyne and male:

A thouſand ſecret maladyes, the inward part aſſayle.

Which at the firſt this famous arte, that I do here profeſſe,

By certaine rules infallibly, doth geue a certeine geſſe.

As when the lyghtes, the longes, or ſplene, or els the noble harte:

The kidneys, raignes, or to be ſhort, what other in warde parte,

For lacke of moiſture ſicate war, through moyſture els do rot.

(For raging griefe in man is not but eyther colde or hot)

Then by the ſickmans vryne ſtraight expert men haue a rule:

(As I) I ſpeake not boſtingly, by practiſe and by ſcoole,

Whereby we knowe what inwardly Within the corps doth rayne,

Whereof procedes the maladye, what eke wil eaſe the paine.

The Ellymentes are foure, whereof we mortall men are made,

And contraries they be eche one as iuſtly may be ſaide,

As fyre, water, earth, and aire, wherof, if one abounde,

Aboue the reſt: then in the corps no perfect helth is founde.

Thus twiſe two are the Ellymentes three principalles againe,

Ther is in man: to wit, his hart, his liuour, and his braine.

Now euery chiefe and princely parte which principalles we call:

To pourging places haue of right, to pourge themſelues withall.

The braine behind the ſickmans eare, doth pourge his ſecrete griefe,

The harte doth through the Armeholes ſende, groſe humours for relife.

The lyuour ſomewhat lower ſtoopes, and ſendeth to the grindes,

That noyſome to the blood, or els, vnto it ſelf it findes.

And hereuppon is founde the rule. That we Phiſitions uſe,

The circumſtaunce within this ſtate, I perfectly peruſe.

But oft when nought but parfect helth, is ſene within the ſtate,

Death is become vnto the ſicke. a fellow walking mate.

And therefore we that learned be profeſſing Phiſickes arte,

Do iudge when leaſt is ſeene in ſtate, that moſt doth gripe the harte.

Of trothe then ſaide the Nurſh to hym, of all that ere I herde,

Your knowledge doth ſurmount the reſt, your connyng is preferde.

For as you ſaye the ſilly wenche, that did this water make,

Would ſeme as ſhe no ſicknes had and yet doth neuer ſlacke

Her panges, her paines, her freting fits, her depe and deadly ſmart,

Which will ere long, in ſonder ſhred her yong and tender harte.

And if it be not ſparkes of loue, that doth the ſame poſſeſſe,

What it ſhould be I promiſe you, I haue no wit to geſſe.

Nurſh quod the doctour you haue tolde that I did meane to tell.

You ſhewe a ſkilfull aged hed, I like your woordes ful well.

Her vryn ſhewth ſhe is but yong, and youth doth woorke by kinde,

That youth from youth vnto it ſelfe, a youthly mate ſhoulde fynde.

Then meane you not quod aged Nurſh, to geve her ſome receate,

Of theſe her pangues, and burning plague to cole the freting heat.

No Nurſh , loue neuer yet did burne with heat of ſuch effect:

But colde fourth with the Patients hart as ſtraungely did infect.

Then, if to quenche her burning heate, colde ſurops I ſhould geue,

When courſe doth come by colde ye know, how ſhould ſhe longer liue?

What then is your aduice? ( quod ſhe ) a remedy to fynde,

Nought els but that you ſuffer her, in rage to haue her mynd:

Nor do you alter what ſhe ſaith, where it be wrong or right,

But feade her fanſy ſtill that waye, wherein she doth delight.

Whereby I truſt in tyme her health to her againe ſhal grow:

If not (good Nurſh) this is my houſe, let me the daunger know.

And I beſides theſe fixed rules, perchaunce, ſome way can finde:

But Nurſh you know not all at firſt, ſome ſhall remaine behinde.

Nurſh boweth now the croked knee, Nurſh geues the Doctour thankes:

Nurſh homewardes packes with better chere and to her Lady prankes.

And I dare ſaye that in ſeuen yeare, which paſſed laſt before:

The ſilly Nurſh applied her not to ſtudy any more:

Then now she ginnes to doe (poore ſoule) in theſe her latter Daies:

To ſet the Doctours conning out, and geue him worthy praiſe.

The gentlewoman olde ( god wot ) that ſtaide her comming home,

Tooke griefe becauſe the Nurſh did leaue her childe ſo long alone.

And looking out did ſpie from farre the faſt unwonted pace,

Of aged Nurſh ſhe coulde not chooſe, but muſe at it a ſpace.

Which when ſhe ſawe ſhe did reiect her firſt conceiued collour:

And gaue good eare to Beldame Nurſh nowe ſworne the Doctours ſcollour.

Nurſh gladly would haue tolde the tale, which earſt ſhe did pretende,

But that with haſte , her breth made ſhort her ſentence woulde not ende:

Which ofte begonne not ended tale, did much the Lady flight:

Who ſaide, good Nurſh take tyme ynough, beginne thy tale aright.

Theſe paſſhons which I ſee in thee, that trip thy tongue ſo ſore,

To double ſtill my ſorrow, and do make my griefe the more.

Good Lady (yet with ſhaking voice) The Nurſh beganne to ſaye:

Mourne not at all , all ſhalbe well, this is a happy day.

I haue bene with the ſkilfulſt man, that euer learning taught:

Who at the firſt (the water ſene) youre daughters griefe hath ſaught,

And ſaieth that other malady is in her body none,

But Cupids darte (I wene he ſaide) It was that made her mone.

I craude of him ſome remedy, of it to kill the yre,

He ſaide that quiet gouernement, woulde ſooneſt quench that fire.

If not, he chargde in any wiſe, I shoulde retourne againe,

And he by Phiſike, or ſome arte, woulde quenche her raging paine.

This is the ſome, let me alone, your daughter yet to rule,

For I am growen the conninger, by ſeing Phiſiks ſcoole.

The mother which to heare theſe newes, with ioy was fully fraight,

(Her crayſed childe left with the Nurſh) went to her huſband ſtraight.

To whome ſhe wiſely opened the dolour of the maide,

In all that euer ſhee coulde ſee, or was by Phiſike ſaide.

To whome alſo the vryn was by Nurſh comitted to,

What dyet was preſcribed, and what els he ment to doe.

Then to the doctour in the morne, to ſend was his requeſt.

This was the fathers owne deuice, This pleaſde the mother beſt,

Thus now the day is ſpent and gone, The doctour goth to bedde.

Wheare like a frende the ſicmans ſore he calleth to his hedde.

And altogether he doth not forget , the maydens ſtate

Becauſe his frendes, and her diſeaſe weare both of equall rate.

And calling to his memorie the yongemans wofull race:

Whearin he had moſt ruefully aboad nighten wekes ſpace.

What torments, and what toſſing fites his frende laie tombling in

His brackiſh floodes fell from his eyes and ſoo embrewd his chyn.

Wherby he ſhewed his nature good, and howe he wolde haue borne

His neighbours croſſe, for care wherof his beard he wolde haue torne.

But reaſon ſtept before his will aduiſing him to take:

That waie that beſt might helpe his frende and ſo his ſorrowe ſlake.

And not to caſt away the man that elles coulde not recure:

In doing to hymſelfe this wronge which he wolde nowe procure.

To reaſon wiſlie he did yelde and vowed he wolde not ſhrinke

But that he wolde to aide his frende do all that he might thinke.

Then calde he to his mynd the tale that Reaſon did him tell:

And eke the dolour of the mayde he marked verie well.

Perchaunce it is the will of god (quod he) that I sholde doo:

That which he chargeth no man ells in copling of theſe two

He loueth more then feruentlie but whome he doth not knowe:

She takes of loue as bytterly, towardes whome ſhe cannot ſhowe.

A lykelyhoode by this appears I canne none other deme

But that the one to others uſe is kept I muſt exteme.

Thus toſſing ſtill his trobled brayne to wourke his neighbours health

Dame Nature ſent out ſubtell ſlepe, which caught his hart by ſtelth.

And then within two howres ſpace fayre Lucifer the ſtarre

Which plainely telth to euery thing Aurora is not farre:

Gan gloriouſlye to decke and ſhewe her ſelfe within the ſkies:

Which he that longe had watcht for it, (the ardent louer) ſpies.

And therwithall he ſtarteth vp. and clothd hymſelfe ſo faſt:

As to the Doctours houſe he ronnes his poyntes untruſt for haſt.

He gaſpeth then, his breath was ſhorte he wolde haue knockt at dore

But haſt had made his membres faynct he had thearto no power.

But when his ſtrength and memorie retourned backe agayne

He wayeth not the Doctours reſt no yet regardes his paine:

But through a broken querell that He, in the windowe ſpide:

Awake (alas) your frende is heare he to the Doctour cried.

Who fourthwith roaſe, and let hym in and ſhewed a frendlie face:

As frendely is to comforte frendes in ſoch diſtreſtfull cace.

Oh louing frende the ſickman ſaide eche thing doth wourke me ſpight

Howe much aboue all Natures courſe hath been this yerkſome night?

I think the ſignes, and planetes to and all and euery ſtarre

Which in the ayre, are fixt or moeue againſt my lyfe do warre.

And yet unhappie hated lyfe that from me will not flie,

And curſed arte thou cruell Death that wilt not let me dye.

And curſed to I clayme the tyme whearin beginning was:

Of ſpouſall twixt my parentes, and did after come to pas.

But be you curſed euermore and hatefull to the earth

The daie of my natiuitie the houre of my bearth.

In which if that the lyuing lorde ſholde iuſtice do aright

No sonn , nor Mone, ſholde ſhewe it ſelfe, no starre nor other light.

Howe good had nature been to me If borne I had been deade?

Or ſtopped had my weſen been when firſt I tasted breade.

Or when my feeble fyngers firſt did toche or handle knife

How curſed was mine arme alas it did not rid my lyfe?

Whie graunted not my fortune foule a Cockatrice had been

A preſent to my tendre ſight the firſt that it had ſeen.

Whie not amonges the Caniballes were ſpent my yeares fresh

Who in my ſicknes wolde haue kilde me and haue eat my fleſh?

Or elles amonges the tyrant Turkes I had been captiue caught:

And then that dolour and that greefe had now my quyet wraught.

The poets fayne in heuie hell ſometyme is quiet reſt:

But I in earth from tyme to tyme am more and more oppreſt.

Whie Venus, arte thou cruell blynde? or ſeeing wilt not ſee?

Or firſt thou ſtil and laughest at the wrong thou doſt to me.

Or doth thie cruell ſonn, and thou together both conclude:

In hating yonge mens quyet ſtate their ſences to delude?

What ſtaye ( quod the Phiſition ) what meanes your frantique braine?

What booteth this undecent talke? What eaſeth it your payne?

So long haue I geuen eare, to you as doutfull was my minde

Wheare you of humane nature weare or elles of brewtish kynde.

Is ther no god at all thinke you? howe do you banne and curſe?

Or do you think in hym is not tamende or make you wourſe?

But if you cannot pacifie your rigour and your thrall,

Doo ſeeke ſome other frendes aduice, come not to me at all.

I ioye to ſee your helthfull bliſſe I greue to ſee your payne:

And ſhortlie hope recouerie ſhall yet retourne againe.

If you canne take this quyetlie till God do ſende you reſt:

He tourneth alwaies commonly the hardeſt to the beſt.

And where you iudge that in the world none hath so harde a hap,

What? is thear anny alwaies may ſit in good Fortunes lap?

No: happie is that man, and bleſt at laſt that maye aſpire

And after many trobled daies obteyne his hartes deſire,

Your tendre yeares cannot geſſe how farre it is unmeate,

For witles youthe before the ſoure to feele, or taſt the ſweate.

What Iuell doth a man eſteame that he doth lightlye get,

Somoche as that by endles coſt and trauayle he doth ſet?

Or what is that, which eaſelie comes to a man alone

But that againe, as ſoddenly doth pas away anone?

Marke well, and waie within your hed that harde obteyned grace

Foreuer cleaueth to a man to death will geue no place.

Howe moch then are you bounde to God that wourketh for the nones:

That all your cares together come to ende your greues at ones?

Content your carefull harte awhile, within a moneth and leſſe:

On my reproſe, I warrant you Your cares ſhall tourne to bleſſe.

And he ſhall graunt you your deſire so that you ſarue hym well:

And all the grefes that gripe you nowe will vtterlie expell.

The louers plantes were watered in ioye of this deuice

He yelded hym both hand and harte vnto his frendes aduice,

Reiecting of his follie cleane and womanly complaint

And hoping after good ſucceſſe which long had had reſtraynt.

Thus talke , which makes the tyme ſeme ſhort doth drive the tyme awaie:

The Starres begynnes to hide themſelfes it waxeth parfect daie.

The Doctour ſhakes of ſluggiſh ſlepe and geues himſelfe to riſe

And willes the yongeman laie him downe and followe his aduiſe.

A quiet ſlepe perchaunce may catch your tomoch trobled hedde:

Unreſtfull men ſometyme take reſt in unacqueynted bedde.

To bed he goeth warme couered, and falleth ſtraight a ſlepe:

The Doctour leaues the ſleping ſoull vnto the lorde to kepe.

Perchaunce the hope of bloſſull ioyes which hee did truſt ſholde come

Did cauſe ſo ſwete and ſoddeyne ſlepe through all his powres to ronne.

Perchaunce it was the ſoddeyne ioye that warmde his hart and breſt

And other partes, that weare halfe deade and brought them ſo to reſt.

Perchaunce the newe unwonted ioye. that nowe was in his brayne

Did cauſe this ſounde and reſtfull ſlepe through want of wonted payne.

But likeſt is that nature wolde to ſhewe her power geue reſt

To hym that not in thre monethes ſpace did ſlepe in quiet neſt

I leaue the cauſe to learned men, that thearin haue more ſkill

And to the matter I beganne, I muſt retourne and will.

The Doctour leaues the ſick a ſlepe and glad he is thearfore:

He ſtealeth from his chambre, and he ſtandeth at his dore.

Wheare ſcantly he had tarried the eight parte of an howre,

But aged Nurſh he ſpied from farre come from her maiſters bowre.

Which thing he wolde not ſeeme to ſee he lookt an other waye ,

Till Nurſh with curteſies two or thre gan to the Doctour ſaie.

Your good aduice (good gentle ſir) that you to me did tell:

My maſter and my ladie bothe through me perceiue it well.

And wiſh that they had longe ago ſought out your dwelling place:

Your counſell and your learned help to eaſe the wofull race:

That ſhe theſe thre monethes ſpace hath roon of whome you ſawe the ſtate:

But nowe good folke they deme with teares your conning comes to late.

And I haue cauſe to ſobbe and wale aſmoch as anny ſhee

Becauſe her neuer parting paine my weping eyes do ſee.

This night (alas) this wicked night, I thought her hart wolde breake

For ſounding ſighes, and ſoking ſobbes nolde ſuffre her to ſpeake:

But lie and wepe , whoſe tendre teares haue ſoo embrend her chekes:

As Hellins huſbandes neuer was , the dolefulſt of the Grekes.

Now ſcarcelie canne ſhe drawe her wynde and by and by ſhe cries:

As though ſhe ment thearbie to perce the high and hugie Skies.

The racking of her ſprites thearwith doth ſeeme to rent her hart:

And I pooer ſoule ( aye me alas) looke when ſhe ſholde departe.

But this cauſde not my cumming nowe my maiſter doth requyre,

And that you wolde come ſee the ſike with harte he doth deſire.

God nurſh your maiſter may commaunde I yeld me to his will,

He ſhut his dore, and with the Nurſh, he goeth to proue his ſkill.

The Nurſhe doth bring him to the houſe, ſhe telles her maiſter ſtraight:

and fourth he comes and welcomes him for whome he long did waight.

With ſober wourdes, and comely chere, tone greetes the other then:

Theire meting was not woman lyke, they met like ſober men.

The fathers fained cheere, not ſtraight ſhewed fourth his inwarde griefe:

Nor by and by bewailde his childe, his wordes were not ſo reefe.

But thus beganne his wittie talke, now ſixtene winters paſt:

accompting from the tenth of March, which was amongeſt vs laſt.

My dame gaue vp, and tooke her leaue of yong wifes wiſſhed ſute,

And brought me out a daughter, as the ende of all her frute.

In whome I ioyed very much, I had no wenche before:

But for her grace, and uertues ſake, I ioyed muche the more.

Yet ſonnes I had, that might haue proeud good men, a foure or fyue:

Death tooke them all, I was content that ſhe was left alyue.

In whome I ioyde for vertues ſake, and parents duetye to:

As natures will becomes a lawe, and forceth men to doe.

Nowe do you ſee, that god hath wilde, ſuch fate on me to fall,

She is become, my ſonne, myne heire, myne onely childe and all.

And ſike ſhe is, and very ſicke, the lorde him ſelfe doth know:

Your counſell and your helpe I craue, your conning eke to ſhewe.

But what doth meane my witleſſe wordes? why do we lingring ſtand?

He wilde the Doctour walke with him, and lead him by the hand,

Into a chamber princely decte, yet wonderous cloſe and tight:

So as the watchers had theire willes to haue it darke or light.

There laye the heavy penciue childe, there ſat the mother ſadde:

There wanted naught, by money might or frindſhip els be hadde.

And when the mother knewe by Nurſh and by her tatling talke,

That he the learned Doctour was, which with her ſpouſe did walke,

She roſe, and leaft her wery ſtoole and did ſalute him then,

with ſuche a welcome as was mete to welcome frendly men.

Who coulde eftſones, with equall grace, ſalute the dame againe,

And also ſearch, to ſhewe the Sire, the daughters griefe and paine.

Her beating poulſies, he gan feele, her temples and her feete,

And other ſuch demonſtratiues, as apt he thought or meete.

And ſaide vnto the heuye mayde, Good hart thou art oppreſt:

with painfull pangues and freting fits, which god torne to the beſt.

Then to the parents both at once, the Doctour gan to ſaye,

Though I be bolde yet beare with me, I pray you goe your waye:

And let me talke a little while with this your childe alone,

Who will perchaunce, the franker ſpeake, yf that you both were gone.

They went, and he retourned backe to the diſeaſed childe,

And toke her by the hand againe with countnaunce very mylde,

And ſaide to her ſwere hart I ſee your tomuche troubled braine

will not permit your tongue to talk without exceſſive paine.

Therefore apply your eare to me, which am your faithfull frende,

though yet unknowen, the truth shall trie my trauaile in the ende,

And if you liſt that I ſhall ſaye, the ſecretes that I ſee

ſome token that you are content, vouch ſafe to ſhewe to me.

With that ſhe lickt her parched lips, and faintly did ſhe ſaye:

Good ſir ſpeake on your mynd to me, I knowe no cauſe of ſtaye.

Well then (quod he) I aſke no more, but that you heare me talke,

And blame me when diſorderly, my tongue or woorde ſhal walke.

Heare doth the ſubtell Doctour nowe, tell fourth the ſickmans tale :

And finding both their ſtates alike, thinkes therby to preuaile.

Not yet (quod he) two daies agoe, this iollye auncient mate,

(Appointing to the aged Nurſh) did bring to me your ſtate.

Whereon my conning earneſtly, and learning I did proue,

I muſt be plaine, your ſtate did ſhewe your greefe did grow by loue.

Then towardes the cares continuance, I did adiecte my mynde,

And that it was night three monethes old, my certeine rule dyd fynde.

And ſearching by that argument, the plannet and the daye,

I fourth with founde (good Lady myne) that in the midſt of maye:

By walke or talke, or otherwiſe, you ſought your moſt delight,

And therin loſt your libertie, by twinke or sodeine sight.

Now, if my rule be certaine ſtill, as it was wont be ſure:

Confeſſe to me: and doubt you not, I ſhall your paines recure.

This hearde did ſet the ſences ſoe within the virgin odde:

As els ſhe thought it was a dreame, els thought ſhe him a god.

Whoſe perfect perſing eye and ſkill, ſo coulde detect her wounde:

And therwithall twixt ioy and care, ſhe fell into a ſounde.

But he whoſe praiſed ſkill (god wot) exteamd it of no weighte :

Did almoſt uſe no force at all, yet did releue her ſtraight.

And then with fixed eye and face, with colour pale and wanne,

With ſhaking fleſh and quaking ioynts, her tale ſhe thus beganne.

Take from my castles mouth (ſaith ſhee) which is thriſe double furde.

By meanes that not this ſennightes ſpace, no talke my tongue hath ſturde,

This feeble foliſh aunswere, that from ſuch a place ſhall fail:

Full rightlye haue you tolde the truth, my cauſe my care and all.

And you that can by ſkill fynde out ſo ſecrete hidden griefe,

My thinkes againe your praiſed ſkill may finde out my reliefe.

Well ſaith the doctour ſince you haue to me diſcloaſde your harte,

Conceiue in me no doubt at all, for I will do my parte.

And this muche by my knowlege I dare to you heare auowe,

That euery griefe which you haue felt, ſhal torne to pleaſure nowe.

For Fortune hath bene much your frende, The conſtellacions tell,

And he on whome you ſet your loue, Loues you againe aſwell.

A man he is of noble bloode, and hath eche lygnament,

Of nature, and in favour ſtandes, of euery Ellyment.

His Father dead, he is his heire, and Fortunes darling to,

You blame your chaunce, and what can more good Fortune for you doe?

And if you will, I will diſcloaſe this to your parents ſight:

and you ſhall ſee your dearling to this inſtant preſent night.

Would god (quod ſhe) right chierfully that theſe your woordes were true:

Then of my long and pinching paine at all I doe not rue.

The Doctour called t hen the Nurſh in ſober wiſe and mylde,

And willes her pray the parents both, come nowe and ſee theire childe.

She ronneth ſtraight: they come in haſte, no let doth cauſe them ſlaye,

And fourthwith in the childes be halfe, the Doctour gins to ſaye.

Good Sir in all extremities, the cauſe muſt firſt be knowen :

And then with leſſer care andtoyle, the grefe is overthrowne.

When I came firſt you ſaid to me, one onlye childe you had:

Whoſe languiſhing extremitie, did make your hart full ſad.

You wild me know, and if I coulde, the cauſe of her diſeaſe:

you wilde me uſe my ſkilfulnes, her pierſing paine to eaſe.

Thus haue I done, and this I aſke of you, as of my frende,

To heare my tale, and graunt good will your daughters paine to ende.

There is within this myle and leſſe, an heire that you do know:

Of noble blood, and worthy ſtate. his name I nede not ſhewe.

Whoſe parents of continuance. haue louede your parents long:

And you muſt loue the man againe, or els you doe him wrong.

He loues your daughter paſſing wel, and ſhe loues him againe,

And both they are extremely ſicke, and loue doth cauſe the paine.

Your daughter you have wel brought vp, at home ſhe learnt to wurke,

(As fits a maide,) but travaile hath ſhewed him both Iewe and Turke.

His ſoo diſpended youthful daies, did cauſe Oblivion black,

By diſtaunce of the place and time, theire memories to racke:

And pul the face of tone of them ſo farre from tothers ſight,

As childiſh knowledge twixt them twaine, was ſo devoyded quight.

yet was it equall chaunce to both, at once to mete in fielde,

Where Cupides ſtroke, unknowne to them, cauſde tone to other yelde:

Which done they both do get them home, in this theire overthrowe :

They loue (alas) and yet theire loue doth neither of them knowe.

This hath bene griefe to both theire hartes, hereby they haue beene tried,

Hereby theire frindſhips and good willes, both plaine and true is ſpied,

Hereon doth hang the helthfull ſtate, and dolour of the mayde,

hereon, as on a procke or crutch, the ſickemans lyfe is ſtayde.

Which hard and when the parents ſawe wherto they both were bent:

They ioyed at the happy matche, and gave theire cloaſe conſent,

Although they warely did hold backe theire wordes within their bounde,

Leaſt by theire ſuddeine ioye, theire childe might suddein death have founde.

And thuſ ſaide to the doctour then, We thanke you for your talke,

and paynfull trauaile, and do praye that he and you woulde walke,

At pleaſure when you liſt to come to this our ſimple home,

And welcomer then you ſhalbe this daye there liueth none.

And cauſe I would not haue you thinke, but I your paines regarde.

Have heare (quod he) here is fyue poundes accept this ſmall rewarde.

Now was the parentes in ward care, ſomewhat in better reſt,

The mayden late that curſt her ſelfe, doth thinke her fortune bleſt,

and other houſholde talke was not, within that houſe that daye,

But that the woer might him ſelfe come, euery one doth praye.

Now are the ſeruauntes all and ſome, calde fourth unto theire charge,

Now to the beawtie of the houſe, eche thing is ſet at large.

Now doth the mother with the childe, conſult of euery thing,

And howe they might beſt welcome hym that ſholde the Doctour bring.

I leaue to tell the virgins ioye the halfe I cannot thinke:

Moche leſſe then canne I ſpeake the ſame Or wright with penne or ynke.

Did not Eneas ſtealing ſteps wourke to poore Dido wrong?

Did not alas Penelope, thinke her Vlyxes longe?

Then thinke the ladie lengre thought to ſee whome ſhe loeud beſt

Whoſe pryncely preſence onely might perfourme her quiet reſt.

The Doctour that thus wrought his feat with ioye retourned backe :

And doubted moche the ſickman ſholde or this ſome ſolace lacke.

But when he came unto his houſe and chambre wheare he ſlept

And did perceiue that all this while a quiet ſlepe hym kept

He tooke thinges oderyferous ſoch as he did ſuppose

Were comfortable to the ſicke and cocht them neare his noſe.

And with ſoche thinges as he thought mete he made a meſſe of meat

Which he thought beſt was for the ſick when he did wake to eate.

And leaſt that in unwonted ſleape ſome daunger might be founde:

His conning handes did take his Lute and thearon gan to ſounde.

The armonye wheareof, and eke the ſavour ſweete did make

The waight of ſlepe to weare awaye and cauſde the ſicke to wake.

The noiſe did cauſe his eyes loke vp thearwith he felt the ſmell

and thought hym ſelfe in Paradiſe they pleaſd his powers ſo well.

Howe nowe? quod the Phiſition haue I not doon you wronge?

Or feele you not ſome iniurie by ſleaping ouer longe?

No, no, quod the distreſſed ſoule I thinke that I was bleſt,

When firſt through you, and your aduyce I laide me downe to reſt.

And ſoo I pray the lyving lorde From daunger you to keep :

As I the more am quieted by this my ſugred ſlepe.

Oh, that my mynde were quieted as this my bodie is:

Who then but I moſt happie man ſholde feele moſt happie blyſſe?

Firſt must you learne to creape (quod he) then after muſt you goo

Then after may you ride or roon the courſe of thinges are ſoo.

Firſt hath a quiet ſleape refreſht your weake , and yele brayne.

Nowe feede on this which I haue made let not your ſtomake frayne

And conſequently ſhall appeare what payne and heuie plight

That I poore ſoule haue ventured to bringe you to delight.

The man as in a rage for ioye conceued ſoch a truſt,

As firſt the broth and then the meat into his throat he thruſt.

And thearwith loking vp in haſt and gaſping yet for wynde

Saide to the Doctour ſpecelye: nowe let me know they mynde.

You haue ( quod the Phiſitian ) conceiued your greefe by loue,

By loue agayne texpell the ſame It is in you to proue.

Then wolde you not thinke all your tyme to be expended well?

To learne wheare ſhe which hath your harte doth at this inſtant dwell.

And thearwithall to bring you ſo into your ladies grace

As frankly you may talke your mynde vnto her face to face.

And that wyth ioye ſhe ioyouſlie in your ſholde take delight

Wolde not thinke you this bliſfulnes auoide your ſicknes quight?

Thriſe happie weare I happie man to that then aunſwered he

If that my mortall eyes might ones theſe happie tyndinges ſee.

Then ſholde I thinke my frendlie fate texcell, all others farre

And farther to then brighteſt ſonn doth paſſe the darkeſt ſtarre.

Then wolde I ſaie good Fortune had ones tornd her whele aboute

And plaſte hym equall with the beſt that carſt ſhe had ſhut out.

The happie lyfe of Priamus before the ſiege of Troye

For aye ſholde then be ſhaded quyte by meanes of this my ioye.

Then wolde I theſe ſo happie daies aboue thoſe daies extoll

Whearin the happie Hercules enioyde the lady Eoll.

Then Saturne put from princes throne to pryſon and to payne:

And after ſet by Iupiter, in kingly ſtate agayne:

Was not ſo heigh aduaunced yet by fortune and her grace

Nor halfe ſo heigh as I ſholde be to ſee my ladies face.

What happie man might euer ſaie that he had his deſire:

So moch as I, yf I may to my ladies loue aſpire.

If that I might aſſueredlie ſoo ſtande in Fortunes grace

What wronge hath all my paynfulnes don me this quarters ſpace.

None other, but that ſuddeyn blyſſe ſholde not my harte anoye

Good Fortune ſent a prepratiue to mittigate my ioye.

Then in my dredfull dollour, and the midſt of all my ſtryfe

My Fortune faire hath ſent to me my moſt deſired lyfe.

Well then (quod the Phiſitian) go put on ſome attire:

And come to me in comely ſorte you ſhall haue your deſire.

And then in token of the troth that I to you profeſt:

I will not faile to ſhewe you her I know that you loue beſt.

And that in ſoch a decent ſorte as can purſue none ill

I meane with both the parentes and elles, all the frendes good will.

Oh , happie heauenly Fortune that ſo ſuddeynly can chaunge:

Oh that thou canſt ſoo frendly be and yet canſt ſeme ſo ſtraunge:

Nowe, he that earſt did curſe himſelf his fate and all did banne,

Of all the reſt that lyue and ioye accomptes hym happieſt man

And he that as halfe buried, went ſtooping to the grounde

Nowe as a courtlie gentleman in comely ſorte is founde

Not royſting as the royſters uſe not gallant in the ſight

Nor weare his doinges prodigall ne yet in niggerdes plight.

Whiles in this comely clenlynes the louer thus was dreſt

The parentes houſe was trymmed vp the Doctour and the reſt.

The ſillie ſicke releued dame putes on the ſame attyre

Which ſhe did weare, when Cupid firſt did ſet her hart on fyre.

The mother that wolde trymmer haue the daughter ganne to blame

For leauing of her better weedes and doing on the ſame.

Nay, mother, ſaith the ſmiling childe. ſins thus I haue been toſt

I will fynde out my lybertie in weades that I it loſt.

I do reſerue your pleaſure yet and yelde me to your will:

Naie Daughter, at your lybertie do chaunge or weare them ſtill.

The frolike father he comes in he ſees that all is well

Harke ſaith the mother whoſe at gate? doth no man hear the bell?

The aged Nurſh that ſtandes in hope the wyſhed geſtes were come

Steps out before the reſt a pace and to the gate doth roonne.

Whear when the ſees the Doctour and with him ſo trym a wight:

Right comely ſhe ſalutes them both moſt ioyful of that ſight.

The maiſter was enquired for within he was, ſhe ſaide

That they might ſpeake with him forthwith the learned Doctour praide.

Gon is the Nurſh, and telles the ſire, and dame, what geſtes were theare:

I came ſtraight way the father ſaith: deſire them come neare.

Now ſtandes the yonge man amarous in hope of his releefe

Though doutfull paſſhones of the mynde doth ſhiuer yet his teeth.

Downe comes the courtly gentleman and frendlie doth embrace:

The Doctour and the woer to and ſtaieth ſoo a ſpace.

To whome the Doctour thus brake fourth: the frendſhip and good cheare

Which of your wourſhip I receiued the laſt tyme I was heare

Doth cauſe that I and this my frende though to your coſt and payne,

Do fynde the meanes (I warraunt you) to viſit you agayne.

Good cheare, alas why ſaye you ſoo you ſlaunder me ywis

But welcome are you both to me to ſoch chear as it is.

Oh that the muſes which do dwell on Hellicon the hill

Or learned Pallas wolde ſtep fourth to aide my froward will.

Or that the learned ſiſters thre which pas all other men:

Wolde take vppon them but a while to guyde and rule my penne.

Then ſholde you heare howe pleaſauntlie in ſhorte and ſugred verſe

The paſſing ioyes of theſe two folke my conning cold rehearſe,

Howe to the mother aged Nurſh dothe geue the man a prayſe

Aboue the reſt which with her eies ſhe ſawe in all her daies.

Howe that the mother, ere ſhe ſawe the man, or ought was doon:

In token of her inwarde Ioye did name hym for her ſoon.

How that the ſillie virgin coulde no lengre tyme abyde,

But with her knife did piers a hole whear through her loue the ſpied.

And then how many ſundrie ioyes replenyſſhed her hart,

And eke the yongemans bleſſull ſtate before I wolde depart.

But ſins that in ſo ſurging Seas I dare not hoyſe my ſale,

I muſt in baſer ſorte (god wot) tell fourth a rudes mans tale.

Your welcome ſaide the gentleman moch better is to me,

Then golde, or elles without the ſame, the greateſt cheare ſholde be.

Thus curteous wourdes, were ſpent apace: emonges this frendlie men:

and from the hall, the father wilde them to the parlour then.

Whear was the aged gentlewoman whear ſat her daughter to:

Whear one embraſt the other as the maner is to doo.

Whear as the father with the Nurſh of purpoſe gan to talke

And towardes the aged mother doth the Doctour gin to walke.

The gentleman ſaide merelye ſins hear are wemen thre

And two alreadie are in talke, the third is left for me.

And towardes her makes, a ſtately courſe her tendre lyps he kiſt.

Her fingers that wear fayre and longe encloaſing in his fiſt,

In ſecreat ſort he vttered then his longe vnquiet reſt

To her (who axt) colde not denye but that ſhe loued hym beſt.

Oh happie man that haſt found out the meane to quenche thine Ire,

And happy dame that Fortune hath enricht with thy deſire.

Who now may ioy but you alone? who is ſo iuſtly glad?

as you that haue your hartes deſire: whoſe frendes good will is had.

The Nurſh about her buſines goes, the father walkes aſide,

But ſtill the yonger couple do in talke together byde.

Theire talke and tales doth pleas them both, loath are they to depart:

And chaunging collours therwithall, bewraies the ioyfull harte.

It groweth faſt towardes ſupper tyme, the mother eke doth praye,

The Doctour and the woer to: that they would come awaye.

Unhappy harmefull voyce thinkes he, it is that doth depart

Two bodyes ſo ycopled that they both haue but one harte:

He thankes her yet, for manners ſake, and yeldes him to her will:

That would haue ſolde his ſupper fayne, in talke to tarry ſtill.

The father and the mother both, the woer and the maide:

The Doctour and a frend or two, at ſupper heare are ſtaide.

And firſt with ſome ſolempnitie, the woer he is fet,

And other Geſtes in order due, the father he doth ſet.

Here doth he playe the Huſſhers parte, and can the office quyte:

His wife he plaſte at vpper ende, and ſet his daughter right

againſt the man in whome good wenche he knewe ſhe ioyed much,

And he aſmuche in her againe, theire linked loue was ſuche.

No queſtion nede demaunded be of diet and of meate:

There wanted nought that might be wiſht, but ſtomakes for to eate.

The parentes ſtomakes, ioy had filde, to ſee theire daughter glad,

And ioy againe as ioynouſlye the louers filled had.

The reſt did feede right merely, and then beganne to talke,

as common is at every feaſt, where Bacchus wares do walke.

The father to the Doctour drank, the mother to the geaſt

that reaſon taught by perfect ſkill, did loue her daughter beſt.

With all her hart, I ſaye ſhe dranke to him in cup of golde,

Who pledgde the dame, and to the childe to drink he was as bolde.

Thus mery weare they euery one, right gladde and well apaide,

And ſhe I thinke moſt gladde of all that almost nothing ſaide,

Whoſe ioyfull, kinde, and louing harte, her paſhons coulde not hide:

But that which might not from the mouthe, from harte and eye did ſlyde.

Now lookt ſhe vp full chierefully, and then within a while:

Her collour chaungde from white to red, and then againe did ſmyle,

on him to whome by happy chaunce, ſhe thought her holely bounde,

By whome againe her ſecrete thoughtes with ſpedy ſlight were founde.

Wherewith the father did breake out, in decent ſober ſorte.

and that they all woulde heare his tale, he did his geſts exhorte.

They all attentiuely gaue eare, theire tongues and talke were ſtill

Applying them with might and mayne, to here the fathers will.

Who now his ſecretes doth detect, in plaineſt ſort he can,

and looking on his daughter, thus his ſober talke beganne.

This mayden whiche you know right well myne only daughter deare,

Hath choasſe this gentle gentle man, vnto her onely feare.

And he againe (I know not howe) doth in my daughters ſight

conceiue his chiefe felicitie. his comfort and delight.

Of tender yeares is the man, my chielde is young alſo,

And youth by aunſhent ſawe is ſaide, to reaſon is a foo.

Of worthy parentage he is, of noble blood by birth,

His parents frendes to myne alwaies, approued to the death.

His maners and behaviour, are comely as you ſee:

His preſence and his parſonage) delightfull vnto me:

Endewed with poſſeſſions, enricht with land and fee,

Not wanting ought that comelye is, in ſuch an one to bee.

My childiſh daughter is not ritche, well qualited nor feire,

Nor els wherin ſuch one ſhould ioye, but that ſhe is myne heyre.

And I an aged thriftles man, and like ynough to ſpend

my goodes, and eke poſſeſſions, before my lyfe doth ende,

Then to ſo ritch a gentleman, to match ſo poore a wife:

Is but a meane to kendle cauſe of endles care and ſtrife.

Except you may uouchſafe good Sir, a poore mans childe to take,

And of my daughter farre unmete, your wife and fellow make.

Whiche if you do undoubtedlye, the argument doth proue,

Your comming is of perfect zeal, and but for puer loue.

Which if (your direct aunſwere made) I fynde you that way bent:

My wife hath ſo perſwaded me, you ſhall have my conſent:

And when my Ladyes lyfe and myne, by death are once bereft:

you may accompt the ſame your owne, if any thing he lefte.

The Doctour would haue aunſwered, whoſe talke the louer brake,

And did reiect all baſhfulnes, and to the father ſpake.

Right worſhipfull, my duetye is, to tearme you ſo by right,

Becauſe of long continuaunce, you are a worthy knight.

To whome againe of right I owe a childly dewtye to:

As frendſhip, and your daughters loue, enforceth me to doe.

Yow know your daughter loueth me, and I loue her againe:

And yet in doubt you ſtand to make the match betwine vs twaine.

Although you canne on my behalfe, ympute none other lacke,

But that not many aged yeres, depende vppon my backe.

Age is a gift of nature that ſhe geues to many one,

Wit comming by the deytie, is geuen by god alone.

As Salomō was parfect wiſe, a childe yet by his yeres,

And Daniell in iudgement ſeat, and infant as appeares.

Do you not reade that Ioſeph to, in youth diſcreſion had,

Refrainyng foule adultery, him ſelfe but yet a lad.

A thouſand more, but that I will not trouble you a whit:

I could expres in youthfull yeres, had ſage and ſober wit.

Againe,an auncient prouerbe is, with men that are ful ſage,

That wit ſometime in youth appeares, and alwaies not in age.

I ſpeake not herein boſtingly: or that I woulde haue thought,

that I my wiſedome ſhould commend, or that my wit weare ought:

But that I woulde ſeme orderly to aunſwere to your tale,

and that to myne & her excuſe myne aunſwere might preuaile.

And to my parents wourthines, and ſtate of noble blood:

myne neuer were ſo worthy yet, but youres were as good.

And where you ſay my frendes and youres in amytie were knit:

I ſeeke to tye a ſuerer knot, and not to breake it yet.

And that my perſon and my ſelfe, are pleaſaunt in your ſight,

you cauſe me thereby to reioyce, and in my ſelfe delight.

My rents and my poſſeſſion,, and all my landes and ſee,

as equall are vnto your childe, as they are vnto me.

To whome me thinkes you haue done wrong in ſuch ſorte to diſgrace

a wight with worthy qualities, and eke ſo faire a face.

I did not ſeeke your heire (god knoweth) I ſought this worthy dame:

whoſe iuſt deſert already craues, an euerlasting fame.

As for your riches and your welth, I pray the lorde encreaſe:

And Neſtors lyfe I wiſh to you, tenioy them al in peace.

And me thinkes that a meter match, you ſawe not in your lyfe

Then to ſo wilde a gentleman, to geue ſo ſad a wyfe.

And how can I by any meanes, a greater Iuel take:

Then to receiue and kepe for aye, a wise and sober make.

The which if you beſtowe on me, your dede it ſelfe doth proue:

that you reſolue your ſorrowes both, and knit the knot of loue.

And do this aunſwere abſolute, within your hed conceiue

That either I muſt haue my hart, or you my lyfe receiue.

Wherewith he ſet a decent pawſe, and therewith gan to ſmyle:

and craued licence of the dame, towardes her to talke a while:

Who lyked ſo the former tale, the woer had begonne:

as ſo much more to glad him bad, ſaye on my louing ſonne.

My father (quod the gentleman) I ſpeake as I woulde haue:

with your conſent, I thank you both, to me your daughter gaue.

You ſitting by, me thought your face your willing hart did ſhow:

And with his wordes your ioynct conſent on me you did beſtowe,

The mayde, whoſe good behauiour hath ſtaide her wordes as yet:

by claſping of her fingers faſt, did ſeeme the knot to knit.

And I that ſeeke your childe alone, and craue none other good:

Receiue her ſo vnto my wyfe, with all my hart and blood.

And if that this conſtruccion, be parfecte ſaye you then:

vnto my hungry hart and mynd, with free conſent Amen.

With that the parents firſt began, and then all at the borde,

and ſtanders by, ſaid all amen, there was none other worde.

Oh ioyfull ſentence thus proclaymde oh thys obtained grace,

that hath with ſoch,and ſo much care, bene ſought ſo long a ſpace.

Now doth the faire and frendly beames ſplendiferous and bright,

Of ſmyling Fortune ſhewe themſelues in this deſyred night.

Nowe ſorrow doth abſent her ſelfe, and ioy poſſeſſe her rome,

Within thoſe hartes, which not long ſince did thinke them nere theire dome.

Nowe euery man doth well commend the freſh and filed wit,

Of him whoſe chierfull comely talke, doth fill theire eares as yet.

Nowe lacketh nothing think they all, byt that the maiden faire:

ſhoulde frankly ſpeake her inward thought, and ſo her mynd declare.

Wherewith her countnaunce gan to change, ſhe lifted vp her eyes,

The ruddie collour in her chekes eftſones begon to ryſe.

Quod ſhe vnto her father then and ſo vnto the reſt

The daie of my natyuitie the howre to was bleſt

Whearin my yonge, and youthfull ſight did pres and was ſo bolde

This firme and faithfull louer true at firſt for to beholde:

Perchaunce ſome hear may think it is a rude and rashfull parte:

A mayden in ſoch wies and ſorte thus to declare her harte.

Well next vnto this gentleman this bargaine doth me touch:

Whoſe loue to me is not ſo great but myne to him as much

To whom againe I yelde myſelf obedient at demaunde,

And wedding ones ſolempniſed his onelie to comaunde.

He hath diſcloaſd his honeſt mynde againe I for my parte

In recompence, for his rewarde do gyue to hym my harte.

And yelde hym franckly with the ſame my free and true conſent

my faith and all vnfaynedlie vntill my lyfe be ſpent.

Heare might I name the humble thankes that he his ladie gaue,

Heare might I tell the ſundrie thoughtes the geſtes emonges them haue,

Heare might I ſhewe the parentes mirth their firme and fixed ioyes.

The houſeholdes talke ye neighbours wourdes and elles a thouſand toyes.

But you haue heard the longe diſcourſe helde all this ſupper ſpace:

Then note the euening ſo is ſpent depe night drawes on apace.

The •••ers are ycopeleduery thing is well

Th• •••her poyncteth in the morneedding daie to tell

The banquetes are in ordre due by ſeruantes taken vp:

And euery geſt doth take his leaue that then and thear did ſup.

The newe betrothed ſonn in lawe his reuerence don doth parte

And takes with him his wifes good will and leaues with her his hart.

If that the parentes ioyed nowe who thearfore can them blame?

Or what ſholde let the louers but that they ſholde do the ſame?

And whie ſholde not the happie man leade nowe a pleaſaunt night

Whoſe happie hap had cleane berefte hym of his ſorrowe quyte.

I wyll not ſhewe the conference that nowe in ſecreat is

Betwixt the Doctour and the man nor thinke vppon their blyſſe.

And with the maydens merry ſtate I haue no mynde to mel

Bycause my hed cannot conceiue nor penne expreſſe it well.

But yet the blyſfull night doth bate the chierfull daie drawes on

The louer thinkes in Fortunes grace ſomoch as he is none.

For ſoner had not wiſhed daie expelde the mantell blak

And eke the pitchie cloudes of night the ayre had on her back

But ſtraight waie he wolde get hym vp and gaue hymſelfe to riſe

That he might of the wedding daie with his newe Sire deuiſe

Nowe wolde he go,it was to ſone: then wolde he ſtaie a while.

And phanſies ſtill that did renewe did former thoughtes exile.

When reaſon wolde not ſuffre hym from thence ſo ſoone departe

He fixt his hed and beat his brayne on her that had his harte

And gat hym to the windowe which did open towardes the home

of her, in whome he did delight that had his hart alone.

And by the windes which hitherwardes their flieng force did bende

vnto his ladie, al his thoughtes in couert he did ſende.

Nowe wolde he wiſh he weare a clowde and by and by a ſtarre:

Or other thing he wayde not what that fource had from ſo farre:

Of her to haue a ſight in whome he longe had pleaſured ſo

Or elles that tyme (alas) were come that he hymſelfe might go.

He wiſht that merry Marcurie might ſend vnto hym winges

And elles that longd to Poets arte he named a thouſand thinges

Or that he had the dulcet uoyce of Nightingale or Larke:

Or that in muſickes armonie he paſt eche other clarke

Or that he at this preſent tyme more drie then Tantalus

Had both the conning and the harp of famous Orpheus.

Firſt wolde he vſe his wiſhed winges and thither take his flight

Whear of his ladie he were ſure in bed to haue a ſight.

And then his princely Poets arte ſholde in right conning verſe

Vnto his ladie and his loue ten thouſand thinges rehearſe:

That yet for lacke of lucky tyime hymſelfe colde not diſcloaſe

Nor his ſo secreat matter durſt to any man repoſe.

Whearin, yf Poets fyled verſe ſholde ſeme to her to longe,

The reſt in conning armonie ſholde finiſh with a ſonge.

Then to her whome he wronged thus ſo long awake to kepe

(As Orpheus did the dampned ſoules) his harp ſholde bring a ſlepe.

As he poore ſoule, whoſe ioyfull hart nolde ſuffre to take reſt

Did alwaies beat his braynes on her that nowe he loued beſt:

So did the famous wourthie dame with firme and fixed mynde

Seeke out this longe and wakefull night a thouſande waies to fynde,

Whearby ſhe moſt might pleas the man or him moſt high aduaunce

That Fortune thus had made her mate by good, and happie chaunce.

The louers braynes thus occupied he caſteth vp his eyes

Unto the crayſed cloudes of heauen from whence he playnelie ſpies

The horſe of Phebus chariot begins their courſe to ronn

and ſheweth unyuerſally their gloabe or golden ſonn.

Which ſight this ardent gentleman doth heare his warraunt make

And thearuppon his iourney doth vnto the father take.

And eke doth praye the Doctour to euen as he hath begoon

To goe with hym and be his aide till his attemptes were woon.

Faſt towardes the fathers mantion theſe frendes together go

Their errand is, and they ſeeke out the wedding daie to knowe.

Whear when they came the father was the mother and the mayde

Which on the coming of thoſe gueſtes had all this morning ſtayde

If that the Doctour welcome was vnto the parentes,knowe

That then the louer welcome was vnto his wife: I trowe.

What neade I tell the breakefaſt which they had prouided heare?

What boteth of the coſt to ſpeake or of the royall cheere?

Or of the ſugred ſententes the mother did expreſſe

Therby to wourke her ſonn in lawe the greater cauſe to bleſſe.

What vaileth of the golde to talke, the plate, or of the rent,

Which thear was ſeen, or by the Sire might yearely be ſpent?

What neade I to expreſſe the heape of golde and maſſie muke

The father did appoynct the childe in token of good lucke.

What neade I name the louing toyes betwixt the louers fell?

But wiſh the longe continuaunce of thoſe that loued ſo well.

What vaileth that I ſholde at all heare play so fonde a parte

as might detect howe eche of them enioyed the others harte

Sholde I declare howe in the one the other had delight?

No, no, I will not wronge them ſo but thearof clayme them quyt.

Nor from the fathers aunſwere will deferre you any lengre:

Who naemd the wiſhed wedding daie the twentyth of Septembre.

And ſhewe you, how they and their frendes be glad and do reioyce:

To ſee ſo good ſucceſſion. had in ſo mete a choyce.

Did Venus thinke you ioy at all when ſhe the apple had?

Did not her promys Paris ioye and made his hart as glad?

Doth euerye louer with his loue content hymſelfe right well?

Then let them ioye, a lytle while whoſe ioyes I cannot tell.

And talke we nothing of the toyle the turmoyle and the race

The frendeſ had heare to compas things With in ſo ſhorte a ſpace.

Nor of the letters weare ſent out the kindredeſ to enuite

Thinke not at all, for of the ſame my penne no wourde ſhall wryte.

But pas we ouer fourtene daies which ſpedely were ſpent

The fyuetenth was the wedding daie ſet by the fathers ſtent.

In which of meare neceſſitie I muſt make ſome diſcourſe

Though that the Muſes in my nede of me haue no remourſe,

The happie long deſiered daie gins ſcarce to ſhewe her light

Ne yet the ayre had ſcant vnlewſt the mantell of the night

Ne had Aurora ſtretcht her armes her ſlombres of to throwe

Ne had the ſkies alhydden yet the ſtarres which earſt did ſhowe.

So ſone as had the gentleman put ſluggiſhnes to flight

And left his reſtles bed whearin he rolled all this night.

Vp calles he then his ſaruingmen and willes their help to raye

Their happie maiſter happelie in this moſt happie daie.

Ech thought that came vnto his hed but myrth and ioye did bring

He dreameth on mount Hellicon he heares the Muſes ſing.

Nowe is he ſet in Fortunes lap eche thing doth come aright,

And all his trobles and his cares are nowe deuoyded quyte.

And ſomoch more to glad hym with came to his windowe then

A ſet of violles conninglye plaide on by conning men

Whoſe parfect play was vttered with ſoch a ſkilfull grace

As he did thinke hymſelfe in heauen or in a bettter place.

He thruſt his hand into his purſe and what he thearin founde:

Out of the windowe, for their paynes he threwe it to the grounde.

And wild them that they ſholde fourthwith the rather for his ſake

conuey them to his fathers houſe and ſoo his wife to wake.

Whoſe beſt they haſtly did obeye whoſe mynde they did fulfill

Whoſe prayſe of lyberalitie? they do comend and will.

Whear when they come,they ſuddeinly such musicke did resounde

As if Appollo from the heauens, has ſent it to the ground.

Wh•arwith they loked out for ioye that ſlept,not longe before:

The Shepherd ſhewd his teth, and ſaide that Pan was at the dore.

The virgin whome the mother would not yet haue left her bedde,

No longer could abyde in couche, but nedes muſt ſhewe her hedde.

The father and the mother roaſe, the melody was ſuch,

As who had hearde the conningeſt, might there haue harde aſmuche.

Of noble nature was the Sire, and muſike did regarde,

And gaue the Minſtrelles for theire paine a royall in rewarde.

The minſtrelles that ſo ſone could not forget theire gotten gaine,

Do think in all theire lyues they not beſtowed a better paine.

And ſo drewe on right cheerfully the freſhe and pleaſant daye:

which ſeene did the muſitians faſt packe themſelfes awaye.

No ſooner were they gone from thence, but then the louer came,

In whome I dare auowe to you, was nothing out of frame.

In ſober garment clenly clad, without reſpect of coſt,

His lent like chikes had got againe, the fleſh that earſt they loſt.

Whoſe comely ſalutacion did his Lady ſo ymbrace,

As they that ſawe it coulde but muſe, and wonder at his grace.

The parentes did receiue theire ſonne, in ſuch a worthy wiſe,

as who that woulde haue wiſht a thing, coulde better not deuiſe.

The mother tooke him by the hand, and lead him rounde about:

To ſee the order of eche thing, within and eke without.

And how ſhe ment that all ſhoulde be in order did him tell,

The wourſt whereof he could not mend, nor ſcarce coulde wish ſo well.

Thuſ whiles ſhe vewed euery thing, the day ganne faſt to growe

and Titan gan his golden beames, from the ſoutheaſt to throwe:

Whereby he ſaw that ſlippery tyme away began to ſlyde:

And that the matrons of the towne came in to dreſſe the bryde:

And that the towniſh maydens did about the gates gin flocke :

His heedie hed coulde not leſſe deame, then it was eight a clocke.

From thence he then retired backe vnto his mantion ſtraight:

Where did right worthye gentlemen a nomber for him waight:

Who greted him, and praide the lorde to kepe him from anoye

And of the bargaine he ſhoulde make to ſend him endles ioye.

He thankes them all, and ſtoopeth ofte, he vayleth cap and knee,

and who that vſde him courtlyeſt, no courtlier was then he.

One of his ſeruaunts he hid ſende to churche from him away

To ſee the order of eche thing: and how did weare the daye.

And whiles that ſeruaunt ſo was ſent the reſt a roo right fine

preſented all the gentlemen, with wafer cakes and wyne.

Himſelfe brought furth a ſtanding pece of gay and gliſtring golde:

Ympleat with right good ypocrace, and dranke to yonge and olde.

Then did retourn his man againe, whoſe reuerence made and done

ſaide to his maiſter, tyme was now for ſeruice was begonne.

Wherewith the maiſter with ſome ſpeede and yet in order to:

Retourned backe vnto his wife, as maner is to do.

With ſuch a ſorte of gentlemen purſuyng at his trayne:

So well ymatched with their likes in order twayne and twayne:

As earſt not in an hundreth years the like coulde be eſpide,

to waight vppon a gentleman in honour of a bride.

So ſone as they were come in ſight night to the fathers dore,

a ſorte of ſemely Seruitures, of purpoſe ſet therefore

Eftſones do goe by courſe arowe, from firſt vnto the laſt

preſenting them with fancyes made of purpoſe for repaſt.

And eke that gentle Iem, the bride, trymd vp in her attyre:

As to her birth but decont was and this day did require,

In humble ſort did ſhewe her ſelfe, and in right harty wiſe,

Did yeld them all as harty thankes, as coulde her hart deuiſe.

To churche doth then the bridegrome goe, and all the reſt araye,

And for the comming of the bryde, not one but all do ſtaye.

Who forthwith cometh oute in dede, in ſuch a fyned frame:

As if of purpoſe it were done, To winne eternall fame.

Firſt was her countnaunce comely ſet, her eyes were fixt full ſure,

Her face was faire,her cherry chekes, her beawtye paſſing pure.

Her breſt out in a decent ſort, not proude at all ſhe bare:

Her heare was looſe, and on the ſame a Cronet paeſt she ware.

The collour of her heares did ſeeme to thoſe that did beholde,

as if that nature had them drawne, of bright and burniſht golde.

The length therof againe is ſuch, as ſome did make to muſe:

How well ſo yong a woman might ſo rare a Iewel vſe.

Next that aboutes her necke at leaſt, more then fiue double folde:

With diamondes and with Saphiers ſet, ſhe ware a chaine of golde.

Where to a pendent tablet was of ſuch exceſſiue price,

As howe I ſhoulde eſteme the ſame, ſurmounteth my deuiſe.

Aboue the which a partlet was, of carued worke ſo rare,

As through the workmanſhip thereof eche Iewel ſhewed fare.

Her kirtell was of ſatten white, embrodred very ritch

with ſiluer, and her gowne was blacke plaine veluet with a ſtitch.

About her waſt, a chaine of golde the girding place poſſeſt,

And at the ſame did Iuels hang, as riche as was the reſt.

Vppon her armes the ſleues did with the partlet ſo agree,

as all together did delight, the lookers on to ſee.

What ſhoulde I ſaye? nothing but well could then be ſeene in place:

But of the reſt the trimmeſt was her geſture and her grace.

And proper two yong gentlemen, in ſatten ſemely clad,

To church did leade her, and her hands within theire fingers had.

If that this merry morning thus did euery man delight,

I thinke it pleaſd the huſband well, the Lady and the knight.

Wel, as ſhe was,to church ſhe goes, purſued with a trayne

of ladyes and of gentilles ſuch, as not the world can ſtaine.

Where with the fearefull miniſter, did ſee ſo faire a face:

halfe doubtfull in himſelfe he thought Diana was in place.

And looking on the man againe, in trembling and infeare:

What god (thought he) ſhall I nowe matche vnto this goddes heare.

But all his fond amaſed ſprites, at laſt retourned backe:

The peoples ſight did ayde his powers, which ſuddein feare did racke.

and then with manly voice he ſaith as comely as he can:

Who geues this bride (quod he) vnto this Iolly gentleman.

One ſtepped forth right worſhipfull appoynted for that parte,

And ſaide I geue her to his vſe, to thee with all my harte.

Now ſpoken are the wedding wordes Now take they hande in hande,

Nowe is the wedding ring put on, a firme and ſuer band.

Nowe all the folke within the churche which ſcarce can ſtande for thronge:

Crye vnto god in perfect ioye, they may continue long.

whoſe decent doinges in this daye, the churche did ſo adorne:

and none that ſawe the ſame had ſeene the lyke ſince they were borne.

Now flies there wafers in the church, nowe Iunkets go about:

and ſome with wyne are waſhed ſo they hardly can get out.

The huſband with the former traine doth get him home before:

And ſtaith the comming of his wife within her fathers dore,

And then two aunſhent worthy knightes, the brydegromes kinſmen to

In honour of the bride ſtept forth, and thuſ much ſeruice do.

By eyther arme they take her theare, and homewardes leade her than,

And at her fathers doore do yeld her to her wedded man.

He thankes them all with hand and hart, and takes her by the fiſt:

Whoſe tender lips before them all is by the huſband kiſt.

And firſt he doth inuite his geſts that are of worſhips ſtate,

And then of his familiars spied by him at the gate.

Beſides a worthy companye of ſtates and Ladies gaye,

that long before inuited were againſt the wedding daye.

What ſhuld I wright? ye bride brought home, the geſtes are comely ſet:

Where plentie was, and mighty ſtore, of thinges were harde to get.

Where nothing wanted, that the mynde. the hed, or harte might wiſh,

No venſon wilde, no dillicate, no fleſhe, nor yet no fiſhe:

No pleaſant talke, no change of wyne, nor daintie dishe at all,

The want wherof might hurt the feaſte, or might the worship gall

The trompets ſounded pleaſantly the Cornets to were herde:

but alwaies were the vtolles and the lutyng men preferd.

The warbling voyce of quereſters, with ayde of ſinging men,

The conning ſonges, the ſubtill note, which were right common then.

The multitude confest, theire likes they neuer heard before,

For had Amphion bene aliue, he could haue done no more.

Heare bid the Bridegrome ſerue the bride The Bride vnto him dranke,

He did her pledge and with his hart right humbly did her thanke.

What ſhould I ſaye the pleaſure that eche pleaſaunt hart had found,

Not onely filde the emptie ſkies but did againe reſounde,

and flewe from frend to frende ſo faſt, as euery man was gladde,

And in ſo greate a multitude, no frowning looke was hadde.

Well thuſ the dinner ended is, Thus ſome do fall to talke,

and ſome to eaſe their filled gorge, about the fielde do walke.

Some then do caſt the barre & ſome do geue theire ſelfe to leape,

And euery man where he doth like doth healpe to mende the heap.

Some daunce, ſome ſing and ſome againe eche maiſtery doth proue,

And ſome do talke of martiall feates, and other ſome of loue.

And ſo the after none is ſpent ſo ſupper time comes on

And euerie gest at ſupper is in ordre ſet anon.

The Bridgrome hath his office lefte he will no longer waight

The knight the ladie and his wife ones ſet, he ſytteth ſtraight.

And as their fare at dynner was ſo fare they nowe agayne

But that the ſupper Iunketes were the better of the twayne

It, ſemde that Ceres cater was and Bacchus brought them wyne

And Eoſops ſelfe had ſupt with them ſomoch thear was and fyne.

But yet the maried cople were more ioyfull to eche geſt

then meat, or drinck, or armonie of Muſicke, or the reſt.

Scant had they ſupped and their meate in ordre tane awaye

But drome ſtroke vp, and in cam light more brighter then the daie,

So riche in tyre, ſo croked fact with ſoch diſguyſed geare

I thinke no man had ſeen, as doo the gay torchbearers weare.

As for the reſt the companie colde not remembre when

In all their lifes that they had ſeen ſo tryme dyſguyſed men

They lokt about the parlour then and did themſelfeſ aduaunce,

And matcht themselfeſìs with ladies faire and gaue themſelfes to daunce

And he that was moſt conningeſt in daunſing trickes ſo tride

Set fourth hymſelfe and by the hand did take the famous bride

They marched on, they ſtriued all who might excell the reſt

And euerie one thought in hymſelfe his connig was the beſt.

So ſpent they ther an houres ſpace in daunſing and delight

Right Ioyfull to themſelfes it was right pleaſaunt to the ſight.

Then hugie heapes of golde they threwe out of their box, on borde

And thearwithall a bale of dyce with mum and not a worde,

Of gentlemen thear was a route that kept themſelfes in store

To play with them,it was their willes the ſtaies but thearfore.

The maſkers lucke was very good Mum, mum, they all do crie

The brom ſtrikes vp,aboutes the houſe the mony gins to flie.

They leaue their playe, the gin to daunce about the houſe arowe

They take their banket or repaſt and thence againe do goo.

Thusnowe the wedding daie is paſt the wyſhed tyme coms on

That toyle is lefte, and weariness and euerie man is gon.

The bride with matrons ſad and wiſe within her bed is layde

Who taſts of euery Iunket, and thearwith do leaue the mayde.

And ſo the wedded huſbande is brought to his wedded wife

Which longe he had deſired, nowe the ende of all his ſtrife.

They both haue that which they can aſke naught elles they can require

He hath his wife, and ſhee her ſpowſe the ende of her deſire.

The cheare doth yet continue ſtill a nyne or ten daies ſpace

In which no emptie rome at all is in the fathers place.

In ende whearof the curteous man right free of harte and purſe

Doth recompence the ſeruantes all and eke his frende the Nurſh,

In ſo lardge and ſo ample wies as they them ſelfe did muſe

That so baſe folke, ſo ritch a man with larges ſo ſholde vſe.

And to his frende the Doctour doth for all his frendſhip giue

An annuall fee, right worth his paine ſo long as he doth lyue

Which donn from parentes houſe they drawe to Manour of his owne

And lead their lyues moſt pleaſauntly in his well ſtored home.

Whearin the wedded folkes haue ioy a quarter of a yeare

Soch as fewe wedded men or none colde euer yet come neare

Oh cruell cankred fortune that canſt heaue a harte ſo hie

And to the ſame,wyll yelde a cauſe of ſlipping by and bye

Oh that thou canſt ſo flatter men with graunting their deſire

And wilt not ſuffer them to cleaue to that they do aſpire

To whome in all thie life almoſt thie frendſhip doſt thou ſhowe?

But when he thinkes him ſaefſt of all hath then his ouer throwe.

What is he euer lyued yet and did the throughlie trie?

But rather then to geue the thankes may vengeaunce on the crie.

Howe didſt thou Priamus betray through Paris flatring dreame?

Howe dist thou all his children ſlaie and ſpoylde hym of his Realme?

Howe Titan didſt thou firſt aduaunce by berth the king of Creete?

Howe after,diſt thou hym ſuppreſſe vndre king Saturns feete?

How Saturne didſt thou eke begile and Titan cauſe agayne

To put hym from the Realme of Creete to pryſon and to payne.

Howe then alſo poore Titan was by Iupiter vndon:

His Realme by Saturne repoſſeſt his kingdom ouerroon.

Howe then did Saturne ſeeke to ſlaie King Iupiter his frende?

Which Iupiter did Saturne kil his father in the ende.

Oh Fortune didſt thou euer yet aduaunce a man on earth

Which yf he did affie in the had not vntymelie death?

Euen ſo thou haſt extolled heare theſe ſillie two thearfore

As feling now the bytter ſweete might wourke their wo the more.

Nowe hath my penne expreſſ’d heare in vayne, a ſort of tooyes

Of louers ſytes, of youthfull hartes and of their wyſhed Ioyes

Which after tornes from yll to worſe as tyme in ordre weares

You ſhall heare all, and yf I canne expreſſe them,for my teares.

As Venus hath been all this while the cauſe of mirth and wo

Betwixt theſe two which vows their faith from other ſhall not go.

So nowe the Marſhall planets do begynne to fall at farre,

And noble Mars enclines the hartes of Princes vnto warre

Nowe winters force begynes to fade the springtyme groweth on

The regions colde, the hugie froſtes within a while are goon.

Now, Ver, the nurſh to euery thing doth in her pleaſant mead

Geue ſappe and moyſter, and to men yeldes newe and pleaſant blood

Nowe thoſe whoſe currage winters force late had appalled quyte

Recept of freſh and recent blood encorageth to fight.

The youth which wynter made right gl•d to lead a quyet lyfe

Do now reioyce to talke and heare of warre and cruell ſtryfe

Nothing is talkt of in the towne But meanes to vnderſtande

Which way tanoye the enemy by water and by lande

The prynces preparacion his care and all his toyle

Is howe to saue his honour and to geue his foe the foyle

Whearfore are valyaunt Champions ſaught out both nere and farre

To ſtrength the frontires of the Realme, To furnyſhe eke the warre

Olde ſtagers are from Gariſons calde forth and ſet at lardge

And of the vnapproued men haue regiment and charde

Yonge gentlemen of lyuelyhode and eke of corage to

Are called out to trie themſelfes their deuour then to do

And he aduaunced, was preferred alwaies before the reſt:

that elles by ſtrength, or elles by ſlight colde ſhewe his courage beſt

Whearwith this ſtronge tale gentleman dyd euerie thing aſſaye

And from the moſt, or rather all did beare the prayſe awaye

And ſo the Bruyt, did ſtraight reſounde into eche Capteyns eare

As none like hym in towardelines nor manhood did appeare

His lyuing ſtraight, his forwardnes, ſo ſone alſo was knowen

As was his ſtrength and manliness by flyeng voyces blowne.

Heare whiſpering talke of Capteyns is from one to other herde

They prie on hym, they marke hym well his doing is preferde.

At laſt two of the worthieſt, of the Capteines that were theare

Did leaue the reſt and towardes the man ganne faſt to drawe them neare

And ſomoch more tyncorage thoſe that elles wear thear in place

Right curteouſlie, they dyd ſalute and eke did hym embrace

Comending hym in wourthie wies that thear had doon ſo well

And of their graund comyſſion gins thustheir tale to tell.

Theare is attempted nowe (quod they) againſt our noble prynce

Such warres as in our fathers tyme were not, nor neuer ſins

So couertlie compacted, and that in ſo cloſe a wiſe

As may the ſecreat ennemye with hed or harte deuiſe

And wolde not haue it knowen at all vntill they had begoon

What their intent or meaning is ne what they will haue doon

Our valyaunt prince thearof his mynde his purpoſe to hath bent

Their malice and their mynded force to tame and to preuent

Of purpoſe nowe his nauie, with all other ſhips,are made

Right reddy when he ſhall comaunde their vntrue to enuade.

And ſoo they fully occupied in bueſ ie warre at home

ſhall quayle their corage, and their luſt that elles abroade wold rome.

Whearfore we haue comyſſion that capteyns longe haue been

To choſe out other Capitayns and ſoldiours to bring in.

Infyne, wee ſee your manliness wee knowe your lyuing lardge

We wyſhe the prince, ten thouſand had ſo apt to take a chardge.

So meete ſuch matters to attempt with Soldgers care to mell,

So like to take the ſame in hande and like to ende it well

We thearfore, in the name of God and in the princes to

Comyt two hundreth men in chardge to ſerue hym vndre you.

And captaine ouer them you are they are your ſeruantes all

Prepare you then in reddines to ſerue when tyme ſhall call,

Thearwith the gentleman doth ſpeake in ſobre wies and ſade

Your chardge is ouer great for me in yeares yet a ladde.

The Romayne Capiteins verie graue were grown in yeares ſore

And children had no chardge at all who are vnmete therefore.

Mars will haue luſtie men in dede their princes quarelles fight

But Capiteins olde more graue then raſhe ſholde geue to ſuch their light.

I not denye, but fortune doth ſometyme on bolde men ſmyle

But if theire witts, not rule theire ſtrength, how frownes ſhe in a while:

I haue to ſerue my prince, my will, my hart, my hedde, my hande:

my boddy and my mouing goodes my chatels and my lande.

But what ſhould in my princes right, theſe thinges awhit preuaile:

If want of ſkill in all attempts my forward will ſhoulde quayle.

Well ſince the higher powers to you did this commiſſion make,

And that your countnaunce doth declare my ſcuſe no place will take:

I yeld me to the will of god, and to good Fortunes grace:

And now caſt of my wedding tyre, to ronne a ſolgers race,

The captaines which vppon his talke, theire ſtaying did depend,

His anſwere made,did take their leaue, and did his wit commende.

Lo heare the wauering whele of fate, ſee where ſhe fawneth beſt

She ſendeth troubles of the mynde, ſhe hateth now his reſt,

Who lately thought, his cares were paſt his ioyes wer permanent,

His troubles now beginning are, his happy dayes are ſpent.

Now leaues he of his pleaſant tales, he chaungeth here his talke:

His ſonges are tourned into cares, a captaines courſe to walke.

Now horſe, now armour,he prouides, and all municions to:

That to a captaine doth pertaine, and is in him to do.

Now gins he breake his dolfull chaunce vnto his louing wife,

who rather then to ſpare her ſpouse would choſe to loaſe her life.

Which hearde, from bright and bloddy red her cheekes wax pale and wan,

With ſecret ſobbes, and teares enough her wayling rale began.

Swete harte, what falt in me is founde what treſpas haue I done,

what doth alas conſtraine your hart, your weded wife to ſhoon.

Haue I vnwares committed ought, my loyaltie to break,

which in ſo ſharpe a ſort you ſeeke, on me poore wretch to wreak.

Haue I vnsemely doone the thing in decent for a wife?

If ye correct your owne,ſwete hart with loſſe of lymme or lyfe.

And part not from your promiſe thus let me not languiſh ſo:

Do chaunge your mynde, reuert your hart bend not your ſelfe to go.

Yet am I ſhe you wedded late, yet doth my beawtye laſt,

yet haue I perfect confidence your fancy is not paſt.

Let not then ſuch vngentlenes, in noble hart appeare,

To leaue a woman deſolate, in leſſe space then a yeare

What, think with what extremitie our fixed loue begonn,

and god forbid, with ſuch ſwifte foote the race thereof were roon.

Alas, good wife, (then quod the man) my teares nill let me ſpeake,

and yet your wondrous weighty words conſtraines my hart to breake.

Think not myne owne, alas think not, that I do from you go

For any falt I fynde in you accuſe your ſelfe not ſo.

And from the heauens I pray the lorde to let his vengeaunce fall

on me, if I conceiue in you, miſtruſt or falt at all.

and eke the hungry earth vnfolde her vncontented Iawe

and ſwallow me, euen yet a lyue into her mighty mawe,

And all the plagues that euer were on earth, or euer ſhall

let light on me, I aske not one but I demaunde them all:

If I do not accompt of you aſmuch as ere I did,

and that your loue within my hart, in wonted wiſe is hid.

againe you neuer did the thing, but pleaſed my deſire,

and eke the ſparkes of loue in me, are growne to perfect fire

This do a ſparke, thus feruently, becauſe you ſhoulde haue truſt,

That I am youres not to chaūge, vntill I turne to duſt.

Nor then: if it be poſſible the dead to haue his will

I meane to falſe my faith at all, but to be youres ſtill

But nowe, the prince hath nede of men, and ſo it doth befall,

That Fortune ſore againſt my will, a captaine doth me call.

You know good wife as well as I, the conſequents of yll,

That dayly doth beride on thoſe, whiche either dare or will,

Theire princes heſtes to leaue vndone, to satiſſye theire mynde,

All men may ſee they reape the ſowre that ſeeke ſuch ſwete to finde.

Then ſince to ſue it booteth not, nor will come to auaile,

and to reſiſt doth hinder much, and nothing doth preuaile.

Conſent that I my duty ſhewe, in beſt wiſe that I can,

Since that my princes pleaſure is, to place my like a man.

My carcas may the prince commaunde, my harte is youres ſtill,

Your harte againe the emptye place, within my breſt doth fill.

Then ſince it is but for a ſpace that we ſhall thus depart,

And that we haue with fixed faith, ychaunged hart for hart:

Content you heare to ſtaye awhile, with manly hart poſſeſt,

and I with youres in the fielde will ſhift and do my beſt.

Think how good Fortune hath of late, ſhewde vſ her fauour bright,

Perchaunce ſhe meanes to honour vs by guyding me a right.

Ofte haue we ſeene as great a ſhewe of battaile as is this,

where frindſhip hath preuented Mars, and wrought the princes bliſſe.

Ne doth Bellona alwaies ſtrike, whereas ſhe liſt to lowre,

But often geues them the ſwete, to whome ſhe ſhowes the ſowre,

And ofte the wight that ſhe doth warne, to warlike wery paine,

ſhe doth ere long geue golden reſt, and eke aboundaunt gayne.

Alſo in fielde hath many one, as farre vnlike as I

God honour in a month or two, and kept it till he dye.

And therfore whether warre purſue or peace towardes vs be preſt,

graunt your goodwill that I may bee as forward as the reſt.

You haue (then quod the gentle wife, diſcourſt your matter well,

yet ner the leſſe my griefe is ſuch as not my tongue can tell.

But ſince there is no remedye, as reaſon you do ſhowe,

To him, I cannot kepe at home, I muſt geue leaue to goe.

And I the wofulſt wretch alyue muſt with Penelope

kepe in my reſtles bedde alack whiles you do paſſe the ſea.

And ſince you ſaye you leaue with me your hart, and myne againe

do take with you:it muſt then be one ſtroke betwene vs twaine.

Therfore as loue betwene vs is and ſo continue ſhall

Let neither happy lucke nor chaunce nor yll to you befall.

Nor other fortune what it be, that happens to your hand,

but by your letters I your wife, the ſame may vnderſtand.

By promiſe he doth graunt to her her ſorrowfull requeſt

and of his mynde in ſober talke declares to her the reſt.

And afterwardes he doth prouide to make his enſign, ſilke,

The halfe wherof as red as blood the reſt as white as milke.

Which ended once with ſuch deuiſe, as all men might it knowe:

Thereunder gan he muſter then, his ſolgers on a rowe.

His olde lewetenaunt expert was his ſargaunt and the reſt:

And who did well, he for his time was equall with the beſt.

His muſter booke was furniſhed, his clarke doth what he can,

He knoweth not the Capteins guile he wanteth not a man.

His nomber full, his furniture prepared for the nones,

They all imbarkt, do take the ſea the warre groth on a tones.

His wife, amongs a hugy ſorte which this gay ſight did glad

behelde theſame euen with the harte that wailing Dido had,

when falſe Eneas did her leaue at Carthage in her bed,

whiles he the falſeſt man a liue, the towne and citie fled.

And ſo they take theire lothſome leaue as wofull Troylus did,

with wailing woordes and teares ynough when Croſſed from her rid.

And whiles they cannot ſpeake for wo, and ſorrow of the harte,

The anker weyde, the ſhip aflote, they kis and ſo depart.

The ſaylers do hoyſe vp the ſailes, a right forwynd doth blowe,

The mayne, the top, the myſſen, and the ſprite ſaile all arrowe.

The ſoulgers do the netting deck, the Pilot takes in hande,

the rother, and an other ſoundes to ſcape both rocke & ſande.

The Barke is in her princely pryde, her ordnaunce do diſcharge,

Theire force wherein diſcried is, theire puiſſaunce ſet at large.

All men are mery in the ſhip, eche man him ſelfe doth proue:

But he alone who cannot choſe, but think vppon his loue.

And ſhe againe good ſoule doth ſtande vppon a mountaine hie,

Still viewing the vnhappy Barke, ſo long as ſhe might ſpie,

The hull, the maſt, the top, the ſayle, or any parte at all,

and then doth this vppon her knees beholde the ſkies and call.

O Thou the euerliuing god, do ſpede the courſe a right,

of yonder barke, and do the men from drowning daunger quyght.

And as thou art a god I knowe moſt conſtant true and iuſt,

Do helpe my loue as I alone in the do put my truſt.

Let Neptune ſtaye the ſourging Seas, Let Eolus not blowe,

Nor graunt that they conioynctly do theire force or rigour ſhowe.

Nor yet that any enemy with them do fight or ſtriue,

Before they in theire wiſhed porte, do luckely arryue.

With penſiue thoughtes ſhe riſeth thus and leaues her prayer ſo

and ſhe the wofulſt wight alyue vnto her home doth go.

Where when ſhe commes and myſſeth him whome ſhe doth moſt deſire,

Then weping doth ſhe waile her chaunce, then puts ſhe of her tyre

and with the worſt ſhe may find out her comely corps is cladde,

And neuer did ſhe mourne ſo ſore, but nowe ſhe is as ſadde.

She ſpendeth thuſ the dolefull day, the night coms on a pace,

She goth to bedde,and of her ſpouſe fyndes there the empty place.

Her ſtomake ſtraight appaleth ſo ſuch ſobbes from her do ſtarte,

As with her teares, to bleare her eies And ſeme to rent her harte

ſhe calleth to her memorie her happie tyme of late

The thought whearos doth ſo moche more augment her heuie fate.

Not Father can nor Mother may appeaſe the daughters greefe

Nor frende canne comforte her distreſſe her ſorowe was ſo reefe.

Hear gins ſhe nowe to curſe the man that ſhe doth loue ſo well

Vntrue (ſhe ſaith) thou arte alas, whie doſt thou thus rebell,

Againſt the lawes of God? by which tho didſt auowe to me,

Foreuer: not ſo ſhort a ſpace my conſtant ſpouse to be.

And wilt thou leaue thie ladie thus and wilt thou from me go

And wilt thou nowe abſent thie ſelfe and wilt thou leaue me ſo

And canſt thou nowe lie from the bedde that thou didſt so deſier

And canſt thou wourke my wo this wiſe and proue thie ſelfe a lyer

And darſt thou falſe thie fixed faithe and thine affied truſt

And darſt thou nowe, thou haſt obteynd thus proue thie ſelfe vniuſt.

In faith I thought the Sea ſholde firſt by waters want be drie

And that the ſoon ſholde eke forſwere the hie and hugie ſkie:

Or that an other Phaeton ſholde ſerue in Phoebuſ torn

And that the fyery footed horſe both ſea and ſhore ſholde bourne:

Before thou woldſt without a cauſe with me thie wyfe be wroth,

Or cruelly haue lefte me ſo and ſo haue broke thie troth.

In fayth ſins that it is in deade and I to true it trie

I will no more beleue thie wourdes before the daie I die.

Nor ſhall thie fawning letters help thie treaſon to excuſe

wherof thie preſent abſence dothe thie loialtie accuſe.

Well well thou ſheweſt now thie kinde thy doinges do declare

that onely men in woing tyme do flatter and ſpeake fayre

Thuſin her great extremytie ech Ioynct in her did ſhake

And faynctnes made her ſtaie a while and then agayne ſhe ſpake.

What am I warth and cruell wretch or brutiſh beaſt by kinde?

Thus with my true and conſtant loue, ſoch raging, faltes to fynde.

Who for hym ſelfe or his defence in abſens cannot ſpeake,

Whie doſt thou then, oh wilfull wench thie radge and angre breake

On hym that is thie huſband and thie loue and onely fyre

Allotted by the lyuing lorde euen to thie hartes deſire

Was he not preſt by princes power full loth he was to go

Oh cruell carle howe canſt thou then in abſence blame hym ſo

Did not his ſobbes his ſightes, his teares, that trickled downe his eye

His wayling voyce, his gryping greefe his doulfull noyse and crie

Which did (againſt his will) break forth when he did hence depart

Expreſſe vnto the (oh thou beaſt) his true and conſtant hart?

Coldſt thou at any tyme at all conceiue with in thie mynde

But all ſoch greefes as gripte thie hart lyke place in his did fynde?

Vniuſt thou arte, (oh folish girle) vnfaithfull and vntrue,

Vnwourthie arte thou of the man: Now giue thy hart to rewe.

That thuſ didſt ſclaunder thie true loue ſo ſore without a cauſe,

How canſt thou craue the aide of loue a rebell to her lawes.

Ah cruell wretch that ſhewſt thie ſelfe vnwourthie breth or lyfe

Wold God thou hadſt the murderer or elles the cruell knife.

That well might heare reuenge by right thie louer and his truthe

And for thie ſkilles ſclaunder ſake might bring thie ſelfe to ruthe

Thus whiles the ladie languyſhed his former talke and ſynne

agaynſt her lorde, her mother doth to ſee her childe come in

Whom ſhe doth fynde ſo ruthfully with teares beweped ſo:

As, whear ſhe might retourne agayne or to her daughter go,

ſhe ſtandes in doubte: her hart doth fayle the teares, breake from her eyes

ſhe kepes in couert all her cares and to her daughter cries

What daughter? what doth meane this grefe? what is it wourkes thie payne?

Is all thie pleaſure ſo ſone paſt? is care krept back againe?

Alas, ſhall neuer this myne age, nor theſe my horie heares.

Nor theſe my mystie eyes, beholde the but bewept with teares?

Good daughter guyde thie ſelfe awhile do not torment the ſoo:

Thie loue doth loue the paſſing well let foliſh fancies goo.

Who in the world hath God enrich with fortune or with fate

Somoch as thou? to whome is linkt a man of ſoch eſtate

As neyther ſtorme nor worldly woo no flame nor yet no thondre

No ſea, no flud, nor other let from the can kepe a ſondre.

A lengre tyme,then princes cauſe alone doth kepe hym back

Yet nay the leſſe his harte is thyne though thou his boddie lacke

Then homewarde come with me, myne owne reiect thy carefull mynde

And as I pleaſure in the moche ſome comforte in me fynde.

My ſoon, thy ſpouse, that faithfull man the fates will guyde by right

Ere longe, he will ſend vs good newes his hand begins to wright

What cauſe haſt thou to morne at all ſins that thy lord is well

His voiage paſt, his chaunce is good ſoch will his letters tell.

Oh, blame me not, good mother, ſaide to her, her daughter deare

If I the loſſe of ſoch a ſpouſe ſo greatlie dread and feare

For neither hath the Gretian dames nor Troyan ladies founde

Nor yet the hungry earth her ſelfe nor yet the cloddie grounde

Receiued, ſo iuſt and true a man as I haue for my parte

Whoſe truth (alas) ſo tried is as now doth rent my harte.

I ſyt alone, my thinkes the ſeas are grown in ſuch a rage

By Eolus his whorling blaſtes whoſe rigour will not ſwage

As he with ſourgies heaued to heauen the ſhip doth ſtraightway fall

The wallowes then do hide the barke the water drowns them all.

Then ſtraight I ſee hym in his arme howe ſtronglie he doth fight

Heare hath he ſlaine a gentilman thear hath he kild a knight.

This crowne by hym ycracked is that boddie doth he parte,

Then coms a traytour at his backe and thruſtes hym to the harte.

Shold not theſe thinges encreaſe my care? Sholde not myne eyes that ſpie,

My huſbande ſlaine before my face, prouoke my harte to die?

Alas pooer wench the mother ſaide alas poore louer to:

Thie fancie willes, but reaſon not comaundes, the thusto do.

If euery thing thou canſt conceiue in hed, doth worke thee greefe

Then thriſe ſo many hedes againe can bring thee no releefe.

Come come, come come, come home with me come to thy fathers houſe

Come glad thie mothers heauie harte Till tidinges of thie ſpouſe,

Shall ioye agayne thie ioyles ſprites, and geue the quyet lyfe

That coldſt not yet this twelue moneths ſpace auoyde inuented ſtryfe,

Nowe reaſon wourkes and nature to the daughter doth comaunde,

In this a thing ſo requyſite tobey the dames demaunde

They homewarde bende to fathers houſe the tyme they woulde begile

Which princes cauſe, and mortall warre, do kepe hym on exile.

Naught wanteth heare that mirth may make the daughter hath her will,

But alwaies doth the huſbandes want the daughters playnct fulfill.

So as no ioy nor ioyfull thing but doth augement her care

And ſomoch more becauſe ſhe will her corſey not declare.

Whiles in this great perplexitie this yonge and tendre wight

bewayles her huſbandes abſence thus as ſhe may do aright:

The noble man the louer true, is toſt vppon the ſeas,

Now at the will of Eolus, and then as Neptune pleaſe.

At laſt with wery courſe and paine, this weather beaten Barke,

doth of the hauen deſiered ſo, eſpie a certaine marke,

Nowe mates the maiſter cries a pace, good newes to euery man,

Haw Iack thou ſcuruy lowſy boye go tap and fill the can.

Be mery maiſters drink a pace, now make we all good ſporte,

our voyage almoſt ended is, I ſee the wyſhed porte.

Wherein by force we meane to land, as we haue done the like,

by helpe of god, and by the force of bended bowe and pyke.

Then ioye ech man within the ſhip, theire ſport is for a king,

and hey, how, ioly rombelowe, the ſaylers all do ſing.

Here might you ſee what ſolgers ſeeke and howe they toſſe and toyle,

on ſea, a ſhore, and euery where, to come to ſaque and ſpoyle.

But he alas alone good man whoſe mynde doth bring to ſight

his mylde and trewe companyon, his comfort and delight:

In ſecrete place doth ſtay a while, and wypes his flowing eye,

Till often wiping of the ſame doth all the moyſter drie

Then ſecretlie he ſendeth fourth a grone vnto the ſkies

Which from his faythfull harte fourthwith vnto his ladies flies.

And then he ſheweth hym ſelfe abroad right pewſaunt on the deck

And ſaith vnto his ſolgers all obedyent at a beck

My mates my frendes, my brethern deare my fellowes all in fielde

Next God my prince, and wyfe you are to whome my hart I yelde

Yen is the place you ſee it well Whear we muſt proue by ſtryfe

Howe moſt toppreſſe our enemye how leaſt to harme our life.

I am your owne aſſuredlie both hed both hart, and hand

I craue of you but willing hartes by me at nede to ſtande

Which if I fynde I ſwere to you that none of you ſhall lake

Whiles I haue lande or liuelihod or clothing to my bak.

Theſe wourdes ones paſt, they ſwere to hym yf he had cauſe to trie:

He ſholde perceiue, not one, but all, wyth hym wolde lyue and die.

Glad was the captaine of ſoch men glad was the ſolgers eke

The hauen to entre in beſt wies they all a meanes do ſeeke

The ennemy doth ſhewe his face lyke to the forrest boare

the cannon and the culuer ſhot about their eares do roare.

The ſkirmiſh enters very hot, yet doth the barke preuaile

and in they goe not loſing ought, but tearing of theire ſayle:

Wherwith they are in quietnes, the entring brunt is paſt

and they into their wiſhed porte are now arryued at laſt,

The mariners that babred ſore with ſtrained voices cries,

Saint George, Saint George to borough and they ſo do pearſe the ſkies.

The enemies perceiue therwith, theire purpoſe they had loſt,

They fynde that ſcantly will theire gaine beare halfe theire toyle and coſt.

and then they leaue theire rigour ſince they can no more preuaile,

and do forthink the tyme they ſpent which came to none auayle.

Well, night groes on a pace, and they that can find out their neſt,

Forgetting toyle, with mery mynds do geue them ſelues to reſt.

The worthy captaine yet thinks on his faire, and famous wife:

Whiche is his goddes and to him, much ſweter then his lyfe.

Now takes he paper in his hande, to wright that he doth thinke:

Which reddy is and pen alſo, but hath no whit of ynke.

Then with a quill he maketh him a Launcet very fyne:

and with a phillip pricks his thombe the point is made so kine,

wherout doth ſpring the bloddy drops ſo faſt as he can wright,

and ſerues his fyled penne to print, that coulde his hed indight.

Theffect wherof enſueth heare: my wits I will aſſaye,

His princely proaſe, in this rude verſe to tell you as I may.

Myne owne, to you your owne doth heare, his haſty letters ſende,

Leaſt ſcilence ſhould accuſe his troth and ſo he might offende.

Of paper had I ſtore ynoughe, my pens did eke abounde,

But to expreſſe my ſtate to you, no drop of ynke was founde.

But that coulde not my faith a whit nor promiſe from you ſtaye,

For I to ſhewe my dewty, did fynde out a nother waye.

And cauſe I knewe my letters woulde prouoke you ſome delight,

See here my ſhift which onely was with blode the ſame to wright.

I left your ſonnye ſight with teares, and Neptunes realme poſſeſt,

where till we came to happy hauen, we felt but little reſt.

And when we ſawe the porte or place. wherein diſcharge we muſt,

In deſpight of the ennemye therein our barke we thruſt,

And though by force of fighting foes, and turmoyle we were toſt:

The lord be praiſd, we gat the hauen, and yet no man we loſt.

And other newes haue I not now, but that I woulde heare tell,

That you my loue be ſtill in helth, then muſt I nedes do well.

wherein I pray you ſatiſfye my hungry mynde and hart,

and letters ſtill, for letters ſhall my writting hand reuart.

Farewell my harte, fare well my life, fare well myne onely make,

Though rude my letters be, yet do accept them for my ſake.

Commend me to your parents both, commend me to your frindes,

Comend me to your ſelfe againe, and thuſ my letter endes.

This letter to a meſſenger he did deliuer ſtreight,

That did conuey the ſame to her, e made it of ſuch weight,

Which when ſhe ſawe, the bobbling blood wrapt warme within her breſt,

Her teeth did cut the ſtring in twaine, ſhe could not be in reſt,

Vntill ſhe ſaw theffect and did the letters ouer reade,

Then was her mynde wel quyeted, then was ſhe glad in dead,

Then to her mother ſtept she vp, with wild and ſtaring looke,

For ioy ſhe coulde not ſpeake a worde, but tooke to her the booke.

At laſt, lo heare quod ſhe madame, ſe what my loue doth wright,

to me, to you, and to my Sire, that graue and aunſhent knight.

It gladdeth me I promiſe you more then my tongue can tell,

Nowe mother be we mery all, my huſband is ſo well.

For now my ioyes are permanent my cares are voyded quyt,

Oh happy hande, and honeſt harte, that canſt ſuch letters write.

Alas, alas, yet ſaide ſhe then, theſe letters do not ſhowe,

where he be ſlaine,ſince he them writ, how might I doe to know.

Then ſpake the witty mother thus and aunſwerd her againe,

I think no comfort comes to the, but doth renew thy payne.

What dotest thou oh foolish girle, or art thou worſe then mad?

Doth euery thing diſcomfort thee, that ought to make the glad?

Thy huſband is in perfect health his letters ſo doth ſhowe,

Theſe phancies then before to late, ſeeke from your mynde to throwe.

and wright to him right cherefully, let him not ſee you ſadde,

This ſhall in trouble comfort him, and this ſhal make you gladde.

What take to you, your penne and ynke, and ſatiſfye his mynde,

He wrytt to you his letters firſt, let him your aunſwer fynde.

The daughter therwith did relent her former fooliſh parte:

And writ to him to this effect euen from her pierſed hart.

Thou art myne owne thou ſaiest myne owne, and I am thyne againe:

Oh cruel ſea, how canſt thou cut a boddy thus in twaine.

Great haſt I had to heare of thee, thy letters did me good,

Yet haſt thou doon ſome wrong to me, to write them with thy blood.

No dewty doſt thou owe to me, I am thy ſeruant preſt,

ſhould not my hart ſerue the becauſe I fynde thou loueſt me beſt?

I ſorrow that my ſight did cauſe the to depart with teares,

and Neptune for his churliſhnes, a cankerd carle appeares.

And if I had the powr that hath the mighty Ioue aboue.

He ſhould repent thoffence he hath doon vnto the my loue.

For I do loue the paſſing well, and will do during lyfe,

which promiſe may compare with hers that was Vlixes wife.

And if I breake the ſame Oh lord, then let thy vengeans fall

on me, and euery plague that is, beſtow them on me all.

But yet how couldeſt thou, when thou ſawst the porte in warlike caſe,

poſſeſſed with a womans hart, geue charge to ſuch a place.

Thou didſt me wrong to venture ſo, yet may I not the blame:

For better is to venture lyfe then ende with Cowherd ſhame.

and I am bounde to thank the that no ſoner camſt to reſt,

but vnto me thyne owne thou didſt diſcloaſe thy ſecret breſt.

I am in helth and haue no cauſe now thou art well to morne,

Saue that I think thine abſence long: and craue thy quicke retourne.

Till then, I pray the lorde defende, thy moſt deſyred lyfe,

and ſend thy happy preſence once vnto thy louing wife.

Thuſ hath your owne more then her owne at large her mynde expreſt,

and ſendes you thankes from parents and from kindred and the reſt.

Farewell my hart, my ſtrength my power, my comfort and my truſt,

whoſe louer whiles I liue I am, and after death I muſt.

The meſſenger that brought the bill, beares aunſwer now againe,

and frankly is contented for his trauaile and his paine.

No ſooner comes he to the place, or peece where battell lyes,

But ſtreight this worthy gentleman the meſſenger eſpies,

vppon the rampiers of the wall, with pike in hand moſt ſtout,

and who that preſſeth to come in, he and his men kepe out.

Now here he ſlaith a ſcaling man, nowe theare he geues a ſtroke

Nowe this mans necke, now that mans legg, is by his puyſaunce broke

And as in this extremitie he dealeth blow by blow

whereby the ſtouteſt enemy his force and pueſaunce knowe.

So ſince he wrote the letter laſt, ſo ſtout he was in fight,

as iuſt deſert for vertues ſake, hath dubbed him a knight.

His enſign that of late was gaye the cullours freſh and newe,

nowe parte is torne, and part is burnt, it lookes of other hewe.

And he that tricke and trymly went, they wot that know the trade,

his armour burſt, his coates are torne, and he a warriour made.

Well, nothing yet remaines ſo long, but endeth at the laſt,

So night comes on,they cannot ſee, the battry, endes in haſt,

The trompets ſounde, on either ſide, they looked for retreat,

Some wipe theire faces ſprent with blood, and other ſome with ſwete

Here one diſmembred of his legge, for Surgens help doth crye,

Here one woulde haue his paunch ſowde vp here dead ſome other lye.

Nowe dromes ſtrike vp and gin to call eche ſolgers to his band,

Nowe both to know their loſſe and gaine, eche captaine takes in hande.

Now though this champions ſeruice was right equall with the beſt

His gaine is great, yet was his loſſe as little as the leaſt.

Whiles thuſhe ſtoode, in Fortunes grace much more then other did

He thought vppon his ſecrete frende which in his harte laye hid.

And wiſht of all the gods of loue, that he coulde think or name,

that they woulde by theire deities ſome Ingin for him frame:

Whereby he might when ſonne went downe with his ſwete hart deuiſe,

and be againe vppon his charge ere Phebus liſt to riſe.

Thuſ wauering thoughts poſſeſt his braine his paſſhonſ were at ſtrife,

whiles that the long deſyred man, brought letters from his wife.

The ſight whereof made him fourthwith, more ioyfull and more gladde

Then if he halfe the Regiment of faire Europa had.

He read his louers paſſions her conſtancy he ſpies

The ioye whereof did cauſe his teares to trickle from his eyes

What ſhould I ſaye in bliſfulnes, he doth accompt him than

much more, and farre beyonde the state of any wedded man.

Now doth he please the messenger and then he doth resorte

vnto the meriest company he fyndeth in the forte.

Now mournig wedes are cast away he ioyes in musikes songe

which erſt in heauy ſtate of mynde, had languiſhed full long.

Of pleaſant matters he doth geue his conning hand to wright,

Such as to her his learned hedde, moſt gladly doth endyte.

He leaueth of his painted proaſe, he wrighteth now in verſe,

Suche as my ſkilles penne pretends verbatim to reherſe.

Take from thy huſbandes happy hande, my true and louing wife,

The ioyfull tydinges which report the ende of abſent ſtrife.

And harken to thy lot whereby the marſhall gods prefarre,

the worſhip and the worthy fame whiche I haue wonne by warre.

For neuer came there chaunce at all that brought me to vnreſt,

but grewe from good to better ſtill, and ended with the beſt.

Oh heuenly happy fate and tyme, wherin I firſt was made

a man of warre, a ſolgers guyde the princes foo to fade.

For neuer did I yet in armes encounter wight at all,

But eyther yelded to my grace, or tooke his fatall fall.

Wherfore my darling deare, and Iem, ſome men do iudge by right,

That thou art made a Lady, and that I am made a knight.

nd I my ſelfe will come to the and that ere many daies

A parle hath concluded peace to god geue all the prayſe.

And I ſhall once againe, my ſelfe my louing wife poſſeſſe:

and thou thy ſpouse, my lamp of life with equall ioy and bles.

And we that founde our ſelfes agreeud with parting paines of late,

with lucky lot ere long time pas ſhall mete with mery fate.

My hart till then take thou and hand, my ſences all and ſome,

and couch them where thou thinkes it mete vntill my ſelfe do come

Whereof there ſhalbe no delay (yf death my lyfe not tryp)

a lenger tyme or further ſpace, then with the formoſt ſhip.

Till then content thy carefull mynde till then think on me to:

as I of thee my lot alone haue done and ſtill will do.

Fare well myne owne, fare well oh ſwete my comfort and my ioye,

Myne ayde, my helper, and my hope my ſuccour in anoye.

Take paines no more, do holde thy hand enforce not the to wright,

for ere thy letters can reuert my ſelfe wilbe in ſight.

And let my letters to thy frindes my harty thankes allude,

But I to the do geue aſmuch, and ſo I do conclude.

With flying foote theſe tydings came vnto this Ladyes ſight,

who neuer erſt did feele like ioy like comfort nor delight.

For not the thing vppon the earth that kind hath wrought with molde,

Or moyned is beneath the grounde no not the fyneſt golde

No pearle, no Iem, nor iuelles ritche ſo much coulde glad this wife,

as did the letters which reſounde the huſbandes helth and lyfe.

For with the ſodeine ſight therof, the chriſtall ſtreames did flow

euen from her yuery eyes, and hart and thence in order ſhewe

The ſecretes which ſhe ſought to hyde amidſt her modeſt mynde,

The like wherof, would chriſt eche man myght from his wedlock fynd.

But ſince it is a thing as rare as Phenix is, to ſee,

ſuch women in this worlde to liue, let her alone for me.

And ſpeake we of the parents ioy that do ioy in the man

aſmuch as any father may, or any mother can.

And howe that they preparaunce make againſt the knightes retourne,

and how they incence and perfumes in euery corner bourne.

And howe the wedding bed is made, and els to make it ſhorte

There wanteth nought but him alone whome they would haue reſorte.

Alas how often woulde the wife go viewe and ſee the ſkies,

and make the crayſed clowdes of heauen with euery wynd that flyes.

Alas how often lookeſ ſhe vp, to ſteples and to faynes,

howe often doth ſhe marke the driftes of moyſty myſts and raynes.

And all to viewe the wyndes that woulde ſend home to her againe

the man that ſhe deſired moſt whoſe want was all her payne.

Alas howe long in vayne ſhe lookt for that that would not be,

For that againe, the gods had vowed her eyes ſhould neuer ſee.

Oh diſmoll day,oh dampned dome ſo faſt that followſt on,

So ſoone as were the letters ſent, and was the bearer gon:

Who may diſcloaſe the dreadfull darte without haboundant teares?

Or who not drownde in brackish floddes may tend to it his eares

My hart doth faile, my ſences ſhake, my heare vpright do ſtande,

and eke to wright the ſame, my penne doth queuer in my hand.

Oh that when firſt I did pretend this dreadfull dome to wright,

My brayne had bene, ſo dull as not A word it coulde endight

Or elles that all the fayry gods, which Poets fayne haue ſkill,

had lept at large, and ſet theire handes to aide my forwarde will.

and then no doubt but teares ynow and wayling woordes would be

To mourne the mortall chaunce alas, which ſhall not ſtay for me.

No ſooner were, the letters gone, whiche you haue hard he ſent

vnto his loue, nor ſooner was the bearer that way bent:

Then was an accuſacion againſt the knight ymade

by enuy and by traytours gylte his worſhip to enuade.

and that in ſuch a ſhamefull ſorte as woulde amaze eche eare,

The fond and falſe affirmed tale with heauy hart to heare.

Which heard the knight could craue no leſſe but that in his behoofe,

his foe that had accuſde him theare might therof bring ſome proofe.

And did alledge by lawfull rule before the Piers that ſat,

and alſo by dame natures lawe, which did affirme it flat,

That heinous was thoffence of him that ſhoulde his life aſſaile,

With leſinges falſe which god forbid ſhould therin ought preuaile.

And therof claymd agayne ſome proofe before his face to heare,

that coulde (as he knewe well none coulde) him therof witness beare.

The Iudges deemd this iuſt demaunde good reaſon in theire ſight,

But when the prince a partie is, how harde is then to quight

The Lambe, that doth the wolfe purſue that ſeeketh onely blood,

as is the knight ſought here (god wot) by him that nere did good.

Who ſaid for aunſwere what is he that treaſon doth pretende?

Or els againſt his princes lawes him ſelfe by force doth bende?

That will make priuie any wight vnto his wicked way?

Except to ſuch from whome he hopes of ſuccour and of ſtay.

But this I ſaye and eke will ſwere and wil by combat try,

that he to prince a traitour is and ought for treaſon dye.

And on this proofe I offer heare my gauntlet in the fielde,

and haue no doubt befor youe all, to force the traitour yelde.

And this I think be profe enough for Mars demaundes no more

Wherfore I do accuſe him ſtill a traytour as before.

Then ſaide the knight vnto his foo vntrue, thou art vniuſt.

and tomuche on thy manhood duſt put thine affied truſt.

And firſt vnto my Piers I ſpeake, no ly my tongue ſhall tell:

For if I doo, I p••y the lorde my ſoule may burne in hell.

So clere I am from traytours gylte or damage of my prince:

as is the childe this night brought fourth, and ſcarce hath ſucked ſince.

If dead, yf worde, yf thought at all to ſuch effect I put,

From ioyes in earth, and bliſſe in heauen good lord my body cut.

But falſe thou falſly dost accuſe my troth , and I will try,

thy combate (Charle) heare is my gloue and I do the defye.

And in the liuing lorde my god I haue affied truſt,

the and thy malice to ſubdue in this my quarel iuſt.

The plaint and aunſwer both is harde, alleged by theſe twayne,

and eke the dreadfull blooddy othe before the Iudge is tane,

In whiche they both do ſtoutly ſweare by god that is of myght,

His othe is true (but yet olorde) thou knoweſt which is right.

No thing remaines but to appoint the bloddy battels daye,

and eke the place wherein to fight wheron the iudges ſtay,

At laſt the iudgement is geuen vp, and onely four dayes tane,

Wherin the dreadfull darte of death, is tried betwene theſe twayne.

In which tyme they do ſeeke which way with corrage them to arme.

and eke do practice fence, thereby to worke theire foe more harme.

And in ſuch fight the maner is, they know that ſee the ſame,

Two haue a man of either ſyde, which frenchmen fathers name,

And are for manhoode choſen out and equall frindeſ they be,

whoſe office is, betwene the foes an equall match to ſee,

That not the one in armour clad the other naked ſaile

Nor yet in oddeſ of edge, or length their weapons do preuaile.

But all theire carke and trauaile is, and ſubteltie to ſeeke,

That equall be the matche and that they both be armd alike.

Such two there are appointed heare and men in dede they bee

as apt to take ſuch thing in hande as euer man did ſee

So neat to proyne the place wherein this battell muſt be tryed,

So ſkilfull eke the plot to chooſe, the wethers to deuyde.

That who ſo ſawe, their perfectnes would theirein take delight

aſmuch as ſolgers wont to doe, to ſee ſuch combat fight.

The day drawes on, the one in red as fierce as forreſt bore,

comes in, to challenge blameles blood as he hath done before

and at his backe his father ſtandes as I before diſcride,

and ioinctly both, the knights repaire, and ſtay they do abyde.

Who with his battel father comes, his foe theare to deſpight,

and eke to ſhewe his giltles hart, is clothed all in white.

The bouſtrous battell here beginnes theire ſtrokes are paſſing ſore,

The oddes of men, the lokers on do very muche deplore,

For why? the one a Ruffyn olde in whome no drop of blood

there euer was: that did enforce or moue him vnto good:

The other was a famous man, though young a worthy knight,

Such one as did the bloddy man for vertue ſake diſpight.

Oh lord with cruell ſtrokes how ofte do they encounter heare?

how roundly doth the one lay on that doth the other beare?

How many doe with weping eyes as they may do full well,

Lament the churliſh chaunce alas, that theare that day befell:

And eke bewaile the harmfull hap of thoſe that here did trie,

theire manhod and their mighty force, wherof the one muſt dye.

How were the harts of ſome apalde, how do ſome other quake,

to ſee the bluddy blowes were geuen which onely death muſt ſlake.

And thoſe that loeud theire prince and realme had heare no power to choſe

But to bewaile the deathes of thoſe the Realme was like to loſe.

Alas when blood on either ſide, had blynded ſo the face

of thoſe did fight, as by theire piers they parted were a ſpace,

And proyned were as is the guiſe, buf to renew theire breth,

Howe ſharply doth the one again purſue the others death?

Oh cruel fight thuſhelde, and ſharpe whoſe ſtripes are dealt ſo ſore,

as ſtill the wiſhed victory hanges doubtfull more and more.

Vnhappy thruſts that then were thrown and ſore did hurt the knight,

But yet the traytours harme was ſuche as he no more could fight.

Then proſtrate lying in the grounde, thuſ to the knight he ſpake,

Not of deſert but of deſpight at firſt this quarel brake.

Wherefore before this company I do the mercy crye,

and claime the cler, and graunt my ſelfe moſt worthy for to dye.

Oh lorde the thundring noys that flewe, with ſkriches ſhrill and hye,

From mouthes of men, to him in heauen that guydes the ſtarry ſkye.

And gaue him thankes, that he had cauſed the truthe thuſ to be knowne,

and that the guylty man was by the guyltles, ouerthrowne

Wherewith the knight forgaue the falte, yet payde to him his dewe,

and with his ſworde he thruſt him in and ſo the traytour ſlewe.

Amazd I am here to expreſſe the ſeconde crye and ſhute

that ioy did make to paſſe the mouthes of all the famous rowte,

That looked on and prayſed god that he was ridde from blame,

whoſe luſt deſert did claime by right to be the childe of fame.

Whoſe golden trump did ſound ful farre, how did the knight him trye,

and how he cauſde the traytour ſo, by puiſſaunt arme to dy.

It cometh to the Ladyes eare, what act her knight had done,

howe that in fight he ſlew his foe, and kepte his honour wone.

Which wrought in her and all her frendes ſuch perfect ioye and bleſſe,

as nowe they thought them ſelues cut of from care and heauines.

For fame not yet had ſpred abrode the knightes moſt cruell wounde,

nor how in chayre he was brought home, nor how he ganne to ſwound,

Nor how that preſent night alas that famous man did dye,

Nor how his ſolgers and his frindes like children roare and crye:

Nor how he is brought to the church with mourning of the dromes,

Nor howe the knight is brought to graue with mightie ſhot of gonnes.

Nor howe his enſigne trayled is with ſorrow on the grounde,

Nor how nothing but ſobbes and teares in all the towne is founde.

This reſteth dead, they ioy a pace, they ſhoot at other marke,

vntill the comming home (alas) of the vnhappy bark.

Then is this tidinges tolde at large, to ſoone the lady heares,

Her heauy harte noulde let her ſpeake nor could ſhe ſhed her teares:

But ſtreight ſhe caſted vp her ſight vnto the clowdy ſkie,

She ſet a grone which rent her hart, and therwithall did crye,

vnto that god from whome doth glyde, the golden gliſtring ſonne,

From ſight of whome no wight at all hath power him ſelfe to ſhonne.

And ſaid, oh mighty king of gods oh thou that lieust for ay,

Impute it not to me for ſinne, that loue doth force me ſaye,

Didſt thou not giue to me a man that nature did adorne

With giftes of grace, that did excel the reſt that ere were borne?

The ſecrete ſubſtaunce of the ſoule in him did eke habounde

And nothing but thy feare and grace, within that man was founde,

And that I ſhould the vertues touch which to the body long,

Didſt thou not ſend him helth olorde and maedſt his body ſtrong.

And deckſt him with eche honour that this worlde might to him yelde,

and ſentſt him worſhip, which he woon by ſtretched arme in fielde.

How couldſt thou then in fragrant youth amidſt his honor got,

By traytourſ hand let him be ſlaine. whome coulde no Treaſon ſpot?

Ah, that I wretched wight haue cauſe with the thuſ to diſpute,

whome all the worlde, no ſainct nor deuill is hable to confute.

What? ſhould I curſe my fate oh lord? or rather craue to dye,

Or ſhould I piers the mighty heauens with hye and hugye crie,

Since that my curſed chaunce is ſuch as neither can I haue

my loue alyue, nor yet my ſelfe be buried in his graue

Well, well, oh lorde remyt my ſinnes euen through thy mercy moſt

wherwith ſhe ſtretched fourth her armes and yelded vp the goſt.

Much ſtrogling was but none auayle her ſences all were gone

Her lymbes were ſtiffe, her body ſtraight as colde as marble ſtone.

Thamaſed mother ſawe this chaunce, and ruthfully ſhe ſpake

To this effect did I poore ſoule all this preparaunce make.

Then let the worlde and thoſe that lieu yf aught be left, take all,

and for thy mercyes ſake good lord, ſend me my fattall fall.

Let me not liue, and lead my life a barren wife in age,

Nor yet to ronn the rufull race of rigours that do rage

But ſince thou haſt in ſoddeine ſorte bereft me of my ſonne,

And of my daughter to, whoſe lyues had yet long race to ronne,

And that I can, nor may not aſke theire liues againe to haue

Graunt at the leaſt that I may be a fellow in her graue.

And ſo our boddyes may againe in coffyn iointly lye,

That like as ſhe by me did liue, ſo I by her may dye.

Herewith her face did wax full pale, her body gan to faint,

and eaſy was, god knoweth to ſpye how death could her attaint.

She ſhriked out, and ſaid oh death, I feele thy force begins

Oh god, for Chriſtes ſake do graunt forgeunes of my ſinnes.

Wherwith ſhe did geue vp the goſt, as did her child before,

her fatall threde was ſhride in twayne and ſhe coulde liue no more.

For neither coulde their force nor might no bowing downe nor payne

reuoke her traunce, nor bring to her her lothed life againe.

The father ſawe, that he had loſt his daughter ſonne and wife,

Would faine haue dyed, but yet doth laſt his heauy hated life.

The ſeruauntes and the neighbours all and many men vnknowne,

do taſt the dolefull heauines, that theſe theire deathes haue ſowen.

In aunſhent howſhold tombe the dame and childe ſepulture haue,

and many conning Epitaphs is ſet vppon their graue.

And thoſe that knewe them euery one and ſees the ſiers vnreſt,

Do iudge of both, the wemens hap in ſorrow was the leſt.

God graunt him quyet life to lyue his cares away to pluck,

God ſend eche oue ſo true a harte, yet lorde ſome better lucke.

Finis . B. G.

Imprinted at London in fletſtreet within Temple barre, at the ligne of the hande and ſtarre, by richard Cottyll.

anno, 1565.