Acolastus his after-witte. By S.N.

ACOLASTVS HIS AFTER-WIT . Eubulus . Acolastus . Eub. GRase on deare Flocks , & tend your blessed feeding , While your sad Master wofull and forlorne , In his poore Lambes a pensiue lesson reading , With Sin-bred sorrow hayles the weeping morne ; The morne , who sampling men their sinnes to rue , Hath washt earths motley face in weeping dewe . Faire Queene Aurora , Beautie of the East , What vncouth chance thy wonted cheere hath blent ? Whose blithsome vp-rise makes Nights prisoners blest , And greets their waking harts with sweet content : What spite hath rob'd thee of thy golden rayes , The mild fore-runners of our Sommer dayes ? O may it be the Heauen-threatning deeds , Of Earth-bred Gyants , Adams sinfull brood , Thus gars thee maske in mal-contented weeds , Drowning the daies light in a mistie moode ? What makes Heauens weep , thee lowre and earth to grone ? T' is men haue sinn'd , oh let them learne to mone . O bottomles benignitie of God , In schooling his poore sheepe from wanton gates ; Stead of Reuenge , he doth but shew the rod , He loues our saftie while our sinnes he hates . See , see , ( O man ) thine euerlasting shame , All creatures rue the rigour of thy blame . The brazen heauens conspire against our good , Wreathing their watry browes in cloudes of raine : The earth denies to nurse her wicked brood , Wishing all flesh within her wombe againe . All creatures crie vpon vs for offending , And will not cease till we professe amending . The seruants rating should rebuke the sonne , A wise man schooles himselfe by others follie , With the dumbe creatures Iustice hath begunne ; Gods fire is fierce , yet with the flame we dallie : Our turne is next , Wrath beateth on our shoares , Death and destruction linger at our doores . Our neighbour countries burne in ciuill fire , And Nero-like warme vs by the flame , Securitie that false-suggesting lier , So maskes our eyes , we doe not feare our game , Till we haue proued with too deare a price , That to our chance , their Fortune casts the dice . We of all people once that were the pelfe , Thrust in a frozen corner of the North , Almightie Ioue hath chosen to himselfe , And made vs famous ouer all the earth ; Crowning our Land with Plenty and with peace , For nothing hinders when the Lord will blesse . Frost-bitten snakes , the Lord tooke pittie on vs , Warming our Clymat with his Sunne of grace , And more to powre his blessings downe vpon vs , Makes vs triumphant in our foes disgrace : That all our Neighbours in amazement stand , To see heauens rayne downe graces on our Land . But O friend-losing , base ingratitude , Blacke lothsome ditch where all desert is drownd ; What doth Gods deepe benignitie allude , But that we should be thankfull to the ground ? The ground , the roote , the fountaine of our blisse ▪ For God the founder of each blessing is . But Serpent-like , we sting his blessed name , And staine Gods honour by the filth of sinning ; Our wicked liues are now the very same They were when as our light was young beginning : Our liues ( said I ) oh t' is my sinnes O God , That merit beating with thine yron-rod . In the May moneth of my blooming yeares , Liuing in pleasures , ease , and hearts content , Now am I forced to lament with teares , Contempt of dutie and my time mispent : O thou from whom repentant humours grow , Raise in mine eyes an euerlasting flowe . Thou broughtest fountaines forth a stony rocke , Manna from Heauen , Quailes came with a wind : O teach me how to seeke , to aske , to knocke ; Let frailtie fauour , sorrowes succour find : Teach me to spend the remnant of my dayes In sinnes rebuke , and thine eternall prayse . Although the Aprill of my dayes be spent , In seruice of the world , flesh and deuill ; And though my antick-age was freely lent To the committing of accursed euill : Yet let , oh let an old mans sacrifize Obtaine some fauour in thy gracious eyes . Thou callest some at morning , some at noone , These beare the heate and burthen of the day ; And some thou call'st , when toyling time is done , Yet giuest them all an equall parted pay : Bidding them rest contented with their lot , Since not desert , but Mercie paies the shot . Thou gau'st Repentance to the dying Theefe , Pronouncing him true heire of Paradice : His teares obtained pardon through beleefe , Of frozen Conscience for to thawe the yce : Thou badst him laugh at death , though it did paine him , Abrahams sweet bosom straight should entertain him . Vpon these presidents though not presuming , With prostrate heart , and eleuated hands , The heauie burthen of my hearts griefe tuning , Before thy throne , where Truth and Mercy stands , I boldly come to beg my soules release , And reconcilement to thy blessed peace . Forget ( my God ) the folly of my youth , How I misled , haue led my doting daies , How spitefully I spurned at thy truth ; And skorn'd to set my footing in thy waies ; In this thy Mercy shall appeare much greater , For pardoning him that was so deepe a debter . Thou that didst once remoue so many deuils From Magdalen the penitent offender ; Roote out of me a legion of euils , And I proportionable praise will render . Worke in me Lord , and heare my poore request ; Then will I dare the most , and vow the best . And for ( O Lord ) one right-conceiued thought Comes not in compasse of my poore election , But that my words and workes , and all are naught , Safe-conduct me this day by thy direction , That for my youth-bred follies gone and past , My Teares may make attonement now at last . Acolast . Come pining Cares betroth'd to Discontent , Heart-killing griefs , sad sighes come dwell with me , Helpe with your teares my fountaines of lament , Least ere my sorrowes cease , they dried be : If weeping dewe be wanting to my woe , My heart will bleede , euen to supplie their flowe , Affections Thrall , Afflictions Slaue I am , O cursed life led captiue in this sort , Dame Fancies foole , and Fortunes chiefest game , Which vnto each assault yeeld Reasons for t . O vnaduised , Treason-working eyes , You are the cause my life in passion dyes . So long I warm'd my selfe by Beauties fire , Deeming it dead , much like a painted flame , Till secretly I burnd in hot desire , And grew to be a Cocke of Venus game : My martyrd minde was cast in Cupids iayle , And none but one my prisoned thoughts can bayle . Vt vidi , vt perij now I duly sing , Moaning my skant foresight with wealaday : For at mine eyes my heart did sucke the sting , That workes my ruine and my liues decay . No maruaile men enioy a seldome rest , Nestling such Traytor foes within their breast . O passing priuiledge that blind men haue , In wanting sight , they want a thousand sinnes ; And neuer any yet was Venus Slaue , But in his eye the venome first beginnes . Blinde are not poyson'd with the baites of Beautie , Which Syren-like , tise men from God and dutie . Poore foolish Blinkard , Beads-man vnto Christ , For restitution of long lacked sight , I maruaile what they fancie so inticte , To be desirous of this lothsome light ? Alas , what profit haue we by our eyes , Saue sinnes attaint in viewing Vanities ? Lament O Heauens , sight robbeth thee of Saints , And mourne poore soules , sight spoyleth you of grace : Yet sight deserueth not these hard complaints , Lust is the theefe , Sight but his entring place . Yet must I say Sight is not free from sin , Since theefe he is , that theefe receiueth in . Why rage I thus against my retchles eyes ? No sense but train'd me to my Tragedie , And cowardly consorted to deuise ? My liuing death , past hope or remedie : Yea all my parts tooke part to doe me wrong , And I alone must battaile with my tongue . Poore helples helpe , that wronged louers haue , When harts deep wound is veng'd with shallow words ; The Prisoner rayling , yet is made a slaue , Griefe fights with shadowes , while it feeleth swords : So pecks the Doue , whilst Rauens pierst her brest , So fares the Wren , when Children rob her nest . Finding my senses foes , I made appeale To the right-deeming censure of my hart ; Hoping that Reason would become my bayle , And rid me from this inward pining smart : But long ere this , the Senses insurrection Brought Reason , Heart and all in foule subiection . Where should a man goe seeke for siluer streames , When springs are poysned , fountaines turnd to mud ? What brightnes can arise from borowed beames , When Phoebus fleets , the soueraigne of our good ? Or wher 's the soules Atturney , when the hart , Being once corrupted , takes the worser part ? Misguided heart , made alyen from the forme Of thy pure Makers glorious Creation ; Coward , why didst thou yeeld to Fancies storme , And stoupe to Lust that foule abhomination ? Hadst thou with Reasons bit , checkt raging will , A small foresight might haue forestald this ill . O where was Prayer the Soules Ambassadour , To muster heauenly troupes of powerfull ayde , When Sinne and Hell first labour'd to defloure Thy bodies Temple , Gods vnspotted Maide ? Christ bids thee knock for help & thou shalt haue it , Then let him helples dye that will not craue it . Thou shouldst haue sommond Hope and Charitie , Mount-mouing Faith , hot Zeale , and perfect Loue , Free-giuen Grace , true Courage , Constancie , With such like gifts descending from aboue : The smallest handfull of this holy band , Had kept the diuell from seazing on thy land . Looke as the Chaffe disperst before the wind , Or as the dewe exhaled by the Sunne , Or as a dreame which waking none can find , Or as a thought ended ere well begunne : So fancies dye , so soone we stifle euill , If we resist the motiues of the deuill . O hartles hart , false slaue to false delight , Why didst thou tremble ere the Trumpet sounded , Yeelding thy selfe to sinne before the fight , And dastardly depart the field vnwounded ? When Guides misguide themselues , the simple sort By their ill-sample render vp the Fort. Fye foolish man , why stormst thou at the hart ? When Eyes and Sense are muffled vp in blindnes , He steppes on Stage , and this is all his part , To welcome Beautie with a world of kindnes : As is the sympathie twixt flaxe and fire , Such is the heart compar'd to hot desire . Poore Heart , I wrong thee with my wrong exclames , Seeking to crosse my foe , I kill my friend , Extremitie still vrgeth such extreames , And sorrow smites at him that next doth stand : Much like a Curre , who smitten with a stone , Bites the poore peble , let s the Man alone . Much like a Curre ( said I ) nay not so wise ; For why I know my griefes vnhappie ground , I see the roote from whence my passions rise , And view the lure , that did my life confound : O blab-tongue Tantalus , why dost not eate ? Fondling , t' is I must pine in sight of meate . Then let me learne at last to leuell right , See where Contempt sits laughing at my fall ; Ye hel-borne Furies helpe to frame a flight To kill Disdaine , that holds my life in thrall : That words with woes may some fit measure keepe , Helpe me to rage , to curse , and then to weepe . O faire and kind ( O filthie monstrous lye ) I cry you mercie Madame for mistaking , The blind man colours hardly can discrye , And my poore reasons light is now but waking : ( iest ; What heart once thought , now tongue bewraies in Thou foule Apostata , notorious beast . Can I report her foule impietie , When as my tongue did tremble once to name her ? Faine would I speake , but when I speake , I die ; My ioynts apall'd with feare , refuse to shame her . Courage my Heart , for loue she left thee griefe , Make change a robbry ; and so call her thiefe . O shallow-braind inuention , course discourse , In this high taske I doe her merits wrong , The spring is drie it seemeth by the sourse , When naught but New gate tearmes can store the tongue . I 'le fetch from hel , sterne words to shake the Center , And with mine action make them fiercely rent her . O proud , presuming , foule , abhominable , Sinnes shop , friends shame , hels bait , and natures mole , Worse then the offall of Augias stable , Ill thriue the beast that brought vs such a foale , And let fell crosses all her ioyes depriue , Through whom my faithfull heart thus dyes aliue . O wooluish heart wrapt in a womans hyde , That spurnst at profferd dutie , lendest loue To Lads that seeke a Lemmon , not a Bryde , Whom neither time hath try'd , nor seruice prou'd . In men ( t' is said ) their wils must stand for pay , But Lust-breathd fury guides a womans way . If loue be hated , hate be blest with loue , If Merit merit standing next the doore , If haile-shot winne when Cannons cannot moue , If Trueth and Promise soiourne from our shoare , If weaker vessels weare the crest on high , While mens best hope , is hopeles for to die ▪ Why are not Natures workes in generall , Prone to like crosses and to like confusion , The greater seeking still to hurt the small , The mightie wrong the weake by fell intrusion ? Why shines not Phoebus in the fulsome night , While Luna lends the day her duskie light ? Why fall not Starres as thicke as winters haile ? Why is not Sommer colde , and Winter warme ? Or why doth not the earths foundation faile ? Sinking in seas , that long haue sought his harme ? Why doe not all things that on earth remaine , To their rude-formed chaos turne againe ? O excrement of all exceeding ill ! How couldst thou wrong my true affection so ? I gaue in pawne my heart , my hand , my will ; Yet didst thou from thy plighted promise goe ; Vowing , if all were dead saue I alone , Thou wouldst forsake me , and be wife to none . Were I deformed ( though I am not faire ) Ill-nurturd , Naturd , churlish and vnkind ; Did any member Monster-like appeare , Or did I faile in faculties of mind ; Then hadst thou some pretence of reason , why Thus all askaunce thou holdst me in thine eye . But these are false , then whence deriues this hate , Vngratfull guerdon of my zelous loue ? Perchance thou seest my shallow-ebd estate , The thought whereof thy liking doth remoue : T' is so : I know it by too true a token ; For why , thy selfe the same hast often spoken . O Vertues blemish and thy sexes blot , Base dunghill bird , nere sprong of Gentle blood ; Vile is thy mind , but viler be thy lot , That mak'st earths drosse the soueraigne of thy good ; To cause men curse thee , and to pittie me , Thus doe I rate thy god if golde be he . Heauen-skorned mould , base skin of barren earth , Springing in Caues , where death and darknes dwell , A monstrous mettall proued by thy birth , Since men diue for thee halfe way downe to hell . O cursed engine of light hating euill , Fauourd of men , but found out by the deuill . O sacred thirst of golde what canst thou not , Sinnes chiefest agent , enemy to good : Thou , thou art sought to pay fond Pleasures shot , Yet often found with losse of dearest blood . Some termes thee gylt , that euery soule might reede Euen in thy name , thy guilt is great indeede . Guiltie thou art of Murther , Rape , and Theft , Guiltie of Briberie and subornation , Guiltie of Treason , Periurie , and shift , An accessarie by thy slie temptation , To all sinnes past , and all that are to come , From Adams downefall to the day of doome . Mishapen mettall , smooth-fac'd Hypocrite , Whose golden splendoure masketh mortall eyes , Moth of the minde , false slaue to false delight , A diuell lurking in a strange disguise : What is thy lustre when it shines most bright , But Sathan clothed in an Angels light ? The want of thee is cause I want my blisse ; For whither flye the Gnats but to the Sunne ? The Swallow still repaires where Sommer is , And womens hearts with heapes of gifts are wonne . So dunghill wormes must catch the finest fish , Else man shall neuer traine him to his dish . Through thee one kingdome swelleth gainst another , The Father butcherd often by his Sonne ; The Daughter giues a pasport to the Mother , Fearing that else her daies would nere be done . Through thee each murthring Roscius is appointed , To act strang scenes of death on Gods annointed . For thee the Merchant leaues his countries shore , Wife , Children , Parents , and what else is deare , His heart presaging nere to see them more , Such are the circumstances of his feare ; The waues , the winds , the rocks , the cruell foe , Consort in one to worke his ouerthrow . But all the dangers of his wils obtaining , Fright not this fondling from the sweets of gaine , Nor weake-built hopes perswade him to abstaining , When gold 's proposd the guerdon of his paine . Thus Syren-like thou trainst him to the deepe ; Where waues oft lull him in his latest sleepe . T' is thou false hell-hound , right corrupting coyne , That makst poore Souldiers , needy , bare , disgraced , While greedy guides their stipends doe purloyne , And martiall discipline stands quite defaced . O manners , times , O world-declyning daies ! Where might is right , and men do what they please . When spend-thrift Iohn , that goodly gentleman , Hath swallow'd Lordships downe his dainty throte , And brought his Fathers fortunes in the wane , By gadding Cities in a silken Coate ; Then to some friend doth Lusty-blood complaine him , His Bank-rupt birth-right can no more maintain him . A man he is , and Hector was no more , Then why not Captaine too as Hector was : Besides , it is not as in times before , When mens deserts were viewd in Vertues glasse . A man may compasse wonders with a gift , Then why not this ? Distresse will haue a shift . Thus , plotts he meanes , to get a prettie traine , Pretending honour , and his Countries cause ; And then he musters vp each simple Swaine , Himselfe not knowing Armes , nor Martiall lawes . He stalkes the streets , as who say , This is hee , ( I meane that first will teach his men to flee . ) Vnto this Captaine flocke both young and old , He buies his seruant out , and he his sonne , O monstrous times when men are bought and sold , Who goe vnransom'd thinkes himselfe vndone . For what great hope or comfort can he finde , That maketh one where blinde do leade the blinde . The raskall remnant of these sillie men , Are summond speedily by sound of dromme , And Skapt-thrift wishes euery one were ten , Of greater number , greater gaines will come : Well on they march , and still he steales a bite , To feede his auaritious appetite . This tuch and goe sets all his teeth on edge , He 'le be no Tantalus amid such treasure : A thousand lawes the Lyon can alleadge , To pray vpon poore Asses at his pleasure : Yet pollicie perswades him to forbeare them , Till far from home , the Wolfe may boldly teare them No sooner are their trauailes at an end , But fresh afflictions full as fast beginning , Yet sillie Lambes they deeme the Foxe a friend , They shrinke no dog vntill they see him grinning : They little thinke the end of his conduction , Is wealth & honour bought with their destruction . This Iudas set in Councell with himselfe , Not how to foyle his foe and win the field , No , no , he gapes for gaine and rusting pelfe , No palme he seekes , but that doth profit yeeld : Saies , When the yron's hot is chiefest striking , Tyme serues my turne and bids me doe my liking . What long before was plotted in his head , The Monster prosecutes to this effect , He purseth all the pay of those are dead , The diuell needes no councell to direct : He that could bring himselfe to beggars plight , Knowes how to rob another of his right . This done he monthly minceth small their paye , Sings Nunc dimittimus to halfe his Band , The rest must liue on pillage and on praye , Such as they seaze from Boores vpon the land . Who best bestirres him for his Princes paie , Takes halfe in hand , the rest at latter daie . O spightfull spectacle , who could behold thee ? That frightst my senses in th' imagination : While to my selfe my selfe doe thus vnfold thee , How am I rauished with indignation ; Those that to mount by others fall haue sought , O might their heads mount higher than their thought As he that trauailes in an vncouth wood , Fraught with those Fortunes which his father left , Is sodainly surpriz'd by Robin Hood , And in a theeues name there receiues his shrift : So stand these sillie soldiers at a bay , Robd of their hire and basely sent away . Poore playning Prodigalls , now must they wend , Backe to their countrey with remorse and shame , But wher 's the feasting Father , or a friend , To welcome home his sonne , forgiue his blame ? Alas our yron age will not afford it ; What ? help the poore ? the Deuill still abhorrd it . Yet some there be that of a holy motion , To harbor strangers , lodge them in the Cage : And some because that fasting helpes deuotion , Denie them foode their hunger to asswage : Some whip them for their sins & former swaruing , More of their curtesie then the Poores deseruing . Who right conceits the miseries of Iob , His children , seruants , goods , and cattell lost , His bodie botched , basest ragges his robe , His mind with millions of temptations tost : Can fittest deeme their griefes true qualitie , And sympathize poore Souldiers miserie . Hell-damning drosse , thou art the fountaine cause Of this iniustice , rauen , and confusion , No man would spurne at dutie , God , or lawes , Had not his heart to thee a false allusion . O wracke of soules , the diuels adamant , Deuouring numbers both by wealth and want . The Infant-childe delights to play with golde , The young man seekes it to maintaine his pleasure , It is the life and Gods-good of the olde , All ages deeme it as their dearest treasure . Who giues a Rose to gaine a worthles weede ? We sell for good in shewe our good indeede . Witnesse my Mistris , now no Mistris mine , Who though no Queen hath made King Midas choise , For none must plucke the Redrose of her prime , But he that gaines her with a golden voyce . So young and couetous , a ten daies wonder , The diuell ioynes and I 'le not put a sunder . Say shameles Betresse , haue I made thee blush , Rating the saint , whom thou dost rate so deare ? Or is thine impudencie growne so flush , Thou waighst no credit , or thou wilt not heare ? O if thou bear'st a part of woman kinde , Let some relenting pittie pierce thy minde . The senseles marble moued with my plaining , Wets his pale cheekes and seemes to weepe with me ; The showres which daily from mine eyes are raining , Draw the dum creatures to a sympathie : Poore Philomele that sings of rauishment , Forgets her tune to listen my complaint . If in the woods I breath abroad my woes , Each bow doth bend to steale away my tale ; And still as I her iniuries disclose , Great trees for sorrow seeme their tops to vaile . Let me but sigh and say , She is vnkind , Echo replies aloude , She is vnkind . The strugling flood that still for passage grones , Pausing his course , and wrapt in admiration Of my laments , hart-breaking sighes and mones , Sobs out the deskant of my desolation : And runnes no more , till riuers growing ranke , Cause him depart or ouerflowe the banke . The vallies , rockes , and hollow caues resound , Bearing the burthen to my wofull dittie ; My plaints haue power to pierce the stonie ground , And moue the sauage Brutes to manly pittie . If Rockes , and Earth , and Beasts bewaile my state , O looke on me , and be compassionate . The heauens as grieu'd locke vp the lightsome day , And Phaebus fleeting fayles the world of light ; Starres change their course and wander all astray , The Mayden Moone forgets to shine by night , Sham'd , that a Maid so shameles should be found , Fiercer then Beasts , harder then stony ground . The heauen-died flowers , sweet of spring of the prime , That gilde the medowes with their sommers pride , Fading as in the frostie winters time , Pitying my passions hould their heads aside : The Siluan-Satyres in their green-wood-songs , Tell how disdaine sits laughing at my wrongs . O learne of these ( slint hearted ) how to grieue , Dumme showes they are , yet shew to thee thy dutie , They weepe to see thee laughing in thy sleeue , Thou laughst to see me snared in thy Beawtie : Thinke thy affections dull , thy trespasse deepe , When trees , & stones must teach thee how to weepe , If so my sorrowes cannot pierce thy hart , Yet force a teare , and faine to make a plaster , Breath sighes , as if thou deeply feltst my smart , And kisse me to as Iudas kist his Master : And when I rage , seeme thou withall to tremble ; It 's hard when I must teach thee to dissemble . So shall my selfe enioy thee in conceite , And what is Loue , but a conceited pleasure ; Small fishes are content to see the baite , While greater sucke the sweet and gaine the treasure . Loue in conceit 's a cony-catching play , While I feed thoughts , he steales the wench away . O woe beset , vnhappiest man aliue , Seeking to wreake my selfe , my selfe am wounded ; Poore snared Byrd , for libertie I striue , Yet in the trappe , still more and more confounded , As one that wipes his wound , yet still doth bleede , So more I speake the worse alas I speede . He that with oyle the wilde-fire seekes to quench , Or bound a riuer in with banks of sand ; He that hath lou'd a stony-harted Wench , And now with brawling thinks to quench the brand ; Learne this of me , late proued to my paine , It 's hard to bayle imprisoned thoughts againe . When I sate downe to ease my griefs with plaining , I thought my chiefest remedie to rate her , Hard words seemd swords to murther loue remaining . And deep loue skornd , wold make me deadly hate her : But while I seeke to quench loues hot desire , My wind of words hath blowne a greater fire . My time-bred troubles are but now beginning , I loue , I loth ; I hate , I wish withall , My threed is cut , and yet the Sisters spinning , I liue , I dye , I stand , and now I fall : I laughing weepe , I hope and yet despaire , I say she 's foule , and straight I call her faire . Hence idle words , seruants to shallow braines , Vnfruitfull sounds , wind-wasting arbitrators , Your endles prattle , lessens not my paines , His suite is cold , that makes you mediators . Since fates haue made me bankrupt of my blisse , My dying life a very torment is . In vaine I cauill at her crueltie , At gold , at eyes , at senses , and the hart , In vaine I spurne against my destinie , In vaine I seeke to ease an endles smart ; No antidote at all can doe me good , But the effusion of my harmeles blood . Poore hart why tremblest thou at this decree ? Thy selfe art easd by ending of this life , For sorrow kild , thou gainest libertie , But if I liue , thou liuest still in strife : Tell life , I 'le not a minuts respite giue , Since that is lost for which I sought to liue . O wretched life , what is thy benefite ? Whose chiefest sportings are calamitie , Whose daies are spent in troubles , care , and spite , Whose pleasures , sinne , whose all is vanitie : Whose last is short , whose strength is but a breath , Whose date vnknown , whose end is suddaine death . O wished death , come kill all murdring greeues , My soule suruiues in neuer dying feares , Which round ingirt me like as many theeues , And load my hart with pangues , mine eyes with teares . If on the earth there may be found a Hell , Within my soule , her seuerall torments dwell . Yet dye I will not till my Testament , The briefe contents of discontented mind , Writ with my blood into the world be sent , Bearing true witnesse to my faire-vnkind , That as her loue might once haue made me biest , Her skorne hath sheath'd this dagger in my breast . My spotted soule to him doe commend , In whose compare the heauens are most impure , On whose free promises my hopes depend , To share the ioyes that euer shall indure : My bodie I bequeath vnto the earth , The common Mother that first brought it forth . My blessing I bequeath vnto the blade , That makes the breach for grislie death to enter , She shall not ride my patience like a iade , If death-wrought resolution may preuent her . O welcome engine of my cares releasing , That kill'st Despaire to make my hopes increasing . My sorrowes , cares , hart-breaking sighes , and crosses , Woes , lamentations , pining and despaires , My teares , complaints , foule iniuries and losses , Griefs , shame , misfortune , and my daily feares , I giue to her that now giues me this fall , The sole efficient of my Funerall . Let her haue time to rent her Amber haire , Lether haue time to thinke on me and raue , Let her haue time of fauour to despaire , And skorn'd of all to liue Affections slaue ; Let her haue time to beg and none relieue her , And euery day bring crosses , more to grieue her . Let her haue time to proue her friends her foes , And see her olde acquaintance all forsake her , Let her haue time her honest name to lose , Abhorr'd of men , and cursed of her Maker . And euery minute let her finde a time To rue my death her vnrecalling crime . My Halcyon daies of blisse and happines , The milde forerunners of this fearefull storme , I giue to those whom better starres doe blesse , Which neuer felt the sting of womans skorne ; What euer else is mine , disbursed be To those that liue and thinke no harme of me . Come gentle knife , why lingrest thou so long ? Come ease my sorrowes with thy fatall stroke ; My heart is resolute , my hand is strong , My lingring life more torment doth prouoke . O King of graues , why killst thou them abhor thee . And turnst from me that now am readie for thee ? Auaunt thou viper , I thy spite defie , Where life is lou'd thou readie art to kill , But neuer once thy weapons wilt applie , To the redressing of a wretches ill . Come trustie hand for thou must doe the deede , Since other friends are fled in time of neede . The Starre that first made entrance in mine eye , And thence departing strooke my senses blinde , Then led my heart in base captiuitie , Yet to her prisoner proueth most vnkinde : Witnes faire heauens she , she , t' is onely she , That guides this hand to giue this wound to me . Eub. Stay , stay thy hand ( O Natures prodigie ) If blood and death must expiate thy rage , Pittie thy selfe ( foule beast ) and murther me , My life for thine , my selfe will be thy gage . Ten thousand deaths my soule indures to see Gods image wrong'd in thy mortalitie . In massak'ring thy selfe , whom dost thou kill , But with thy bodie that immortall soule , For whose redemption Christ vouchsaft to spill Those purple drops to quench the liuing coale Of his deere Fathers deepe-deserued hate , And to the heauens promote thy poore estate . Think'st thou by dying to preuent the paine , That seemes to pinch thee in this brittle life ? Alas this death begets thee life againe , When with thy selfe , thy selfe shall be at strife , When thou wilt thinke all paines consort in one , And that thy selfe sustain'st them all alone . O Acolastus , what foule fiend of Hell , Would glut his fury with thy harmeles blood ? Watching thy death here in some shady cell , To pray vpon thy soule , thy soueraigne good : Looke , studie , sigh for grace , and flye from euill , Grace and resistance driues away the deuill . Acolast . Art thou a God , a Man , or else a Ghost ? Com'st thou from heauen where blisse & solace dwell ? Or from the ayrie could-ingendring coast ? Or from the darkesome dungeon-hole of hell ? Or from the secret chambers of the deepe ? Or from the graues where breathles bodies sleepe ? Art thou a Hermite in this wildernes ? Or else some Satyre maskt in ages weeds ? Or ( by the heauens I charge thee to confesse ) Art thou her shape for whom my poore hart bleeds ? I , I , t' is so , thou art that cruell she , That wrought my death , now fain'st to pittie me . What bloody scene hath crueltie to act ? Death is the worst thy malice can inflict , And thou hadst seene my soules poore cittie sackt , But thy deepe policie did contradict , Knowing by death my troubles should haue end , Which to prolong thou mainly dost intend . O be content with robbing me of life , Why dost thou triumph ouer fortunes wracke ? The death of men determinates their strife , And warres are finisht with the Cities sacke . The Elephant and Dragon , mortall foes , Bury their hate in mutuall ouerthrowes . By life my soule was pind in little ease , By death I seeke my thraldome to release , Then let my life thy brutish hart appease , And giue me leaue at least to dye in peace . O let it not be said in time to come , A womans hate suruiues till day of doome . Eub. Fondling I am no God , nor tempting friend , Nor yet the woman that could wish thee dead ; Know me for Eubulus thy auncient friend , Witnesse this snow-white fleece vpon my head : Marke my complection , habite , tongue and yeares , How euery thing in quondam sort appeares . I am no flint-hart female , bloody minded ; Mocking thy senses with a borrowed shape , But one that sees thy sense through passion blinded , And sighes , and seekes away for thine escape : Then charme this mad infection , that doth raigne In beldam fury of thy witles braine . Be not as sottish as the simple sort , That wracke their wits vpon misfortunes shelfe , Nor yeelde thy reasons , beauty-battred for t , Crying God helpe , yet neuer helpe thy selfe : Thy crazed Shipp's not so farre runne on shore , But thou maist scape and flourish as before . Acolast . Et tu Brute , wilt thou stab Caesar too ? Thou art my friend and wilt not see me wrong'd , I pray thee leaue me without more adoo , For with my life my sorrowes are prolong'd : I know thou pleasurst not in my distresse , Then rob me not of deaths true happinesse . Yet since in sun-shine of my better daies , Thou wast a Father to my head-strong youth ; Training my rash-braind thoughts in reasons waies , Whose words I euer found the glasse of Truth ; My cares shall take a truce with death so long , Till I haue made thee priuie to my wrong . Loe here at hand , a circle-braunching tree , Whose leauie bosome makes a summer seate , Nature hath raisd this arbour purposely To shroude our bodies from the parching heate : Here while we sit within this gloomy shade , I 'le tell my Loue , and how it did inuade . Eub. Then yeeld me vp this irefull instrument , The destin'd engine of thy tragedie : T' is wisdomes rule , occasions to preuent , And giue no ground to Sathans trecherie . Well now begin , and giue thy sorrowes vent , I 'le sit and mourne with thee till day be spent . Mcolast . To shew the poyson of my endles pining , The taske is long and tedious to expresse , Bright Phaebus to the Westerne deepe declining , And repetition neuer made thing lesse : Who rippes the rancour of old-wounded flesh , In steede of healing , makes it bleede a fresh . Yet since the heauens are so propitious , To make my friend eye-witnesse to my fall ; Lysten kinde Father what I shall disclose , How Loue became Disdaines vnhappie thrall : And as I story my flint-mouing wrong , Weepe thou , to beare the burthen to my song .

Sic incipit Stultorum tragicomedia . THree months agoe , when Phaebus in his pride Had scal'd hot Cancers sunny-parched cell ; And Ceres cast her summers greene aside ; And flowres had chang'd their colour , forme , and smel ; When daies were long'st & nights were waxen short ; And yonglings met to wanton and to sport . About this time I singled out a day , With merry consorts to delight my selfe ; I thought my ship might sometime roue astray , And yet not run her selfe on euery shelfe . What Syren plaid , but I durst dance her measure ? Thinking to master Venus sonne at pleasure . Fortune , who long had ow'd my hap a grudge , Summond wild younglings to a sommers drinking , To which my merry mates and I did trudge , Of such an accident full little thinking : Where reuels raigne , and dancing holds a day , I' ts hard if Acolastus keepe away . Well , there was I , and there was Fortune too , Who had prepar'd baite to worke my bane ; There did I passe a pleasant houre or two , In dauncing for the gloues and other gaine : There did I gaze against that glorious Sunne , By which my heart was fir'd , my sight was done . O giue me leaue to sigh a little while , Before my hell of foule mishap breake loose ; But let not Fortune see me least she smile , And say , his mountaine thoughts end in a mouse , Oh , t' is a burthen that will breake the backe , To see ones foe triumphing in his wracke . Scarce had the Sunne attain'd his noon-tide pricke , Gracing our pastimes with a sommers daie , A traine of Ladies trouping very thicke , Directly towards vs made their speedy way : For want of worse our Musicke drewe them on , Pans pype plaies sweete , Apollo being gone . Looke how astonisht in a qualmy traunce , The man that meets a lothsome-visag'd Beare , Struck with amazement of this suddaine chaunce , Falls to the ground halfe slaine with very feare , Within his heart and sences are at strife , Past feare of death , and yet past hope of life . So was I daunted at mine eyes first gazing , Sweeping they came , and seemd to brush the ground , Their tipto-tripping pace bred double mazing , Their ratling silkes my senses did confound : It seem'd , Dianas Nymphes had left her Queene , To sport themselues a while vpon this greene . Or loue-sicke Venus in a huntresse weede , Meaning to seeke Adonis in the wood , Mounted vpon a snow-white coloured Steede , From Pegasus proude race vaunting his blood , Came marching onward with a mayden-pace , A thousand Nimphes attending on her grace . My mates all rauished with admiration , Stood like the men which once Ioues golden sonne , By his speares wonder-working Transformation , Turn'd into semblance of a sencelesse stone , Or as Actaeon standing at a Bay , Finding Diana naked in his way . Fortune and Loue chose me amongst the rest , As sweetest linguist of perswading wit , With modest motiues kindly to request , These sinfull Saints a little while to sit , And see how shepheards spend the holy-day , In youth-bred sports , and casting Care away . Twixt hope and feare I marched on to meet them , My rustick blush forbad me to dissemble , Met face to face , when I was ment to greete them , My words were done , and euery ioynt did tremble : Till my poore heart rebuking much my blame , Vntide my tongue , and bad me speake for shame . More faire and beautifull , then were those three , That found the golden fruite on Idas plaine ; Gods , Angels , Saints , or whatsoe're you be , Accept the proffer of a simple swaine ; Draw neere , and till the heate of day be spent Looke on , and laugh at Shepheards meriment . We haue no thing of worth for to present , We plead for pardon ere our sport begin , Our boldnes springeth from a true intent , Which makes an error oftentimes no sin : We boast of naught , saue that it shall goe hard , But our good wils shall purchase your regard . These words scarce past the limits of my lippes , Sounding a parley to their modest eares ; A wanton youngling from her fellowes skippes , Which like a Comet in my sight appeares , Causing my silly wits and me to sunder , Infusing me with prophesies of wonder . For by this crosse aspect I gather'd well , ( And yet not well , because I could not shun it ) In her faire face my ioyes defac'd to spell , My battaile lost before her words begin it : For from her eyes , a kinde looke did she dart , Which through mine eyes diu'd down into my hart . A prettie while this prettie creature stoode , Before the engin of her thoughts began , Seeming to sympathize my heauie moode , Pittying my prone lookes , and my colour wan : Till blushing forth a pure vermilion dye , With low-tun'd voice she made me this replie . Shepheard we see you are disposde to flatter , That frumpe vs with a false-supposed fayre ; Mens words are Metaphors , it makes no matter , You know poore women , sir , are made to beare : But since you made so plausible a motion , This day we consecrate to your deuotion . Mistris ( quoth I ) if any take offence , My heart makes good the trespasse of my tongue ; Humanitie full easily can dispence , Where loue and zeale are authors of the wrong . Good wine desires no bush to set it forth , And I too meane to blaze your beauties worth . But ( Ladie ) if a swaine may be so bold , To craue admittance mong'st your other men , My selfe will bring you where you shall behold Our rusticke reuels at your ease , and when In Thetis lappe the Sunne shall drowne the day , I le set you forward in your former way . As fares the man conuict of Heresie , Whose Iudgement doomes him death by cruell flame , The world eye-witnesse of his infamie , Bearing a fagot for his further shame , Full faintly wending onward to the fier , Where selfe opinion shall receiue his hire : So marched I before this mayden-trayne , Loue swore , excuses should not serue my turne , Quoth he , Thou thinkest me by Reason slaine , Thou holdst a false point , now recant and burne : I cry'd retyre , and he inioynd this smart , To beare fond fancies fagot in my hart . Who so hath seene the tender Mary-gold , Spreading her pride against the worlds faire eye , But when the sunne his glorie doth infold , This prettie Creature shuts and seemes to die : So did I loue to gaze vpon my Sunne , But when she turnd away , my life was done . Thus while my sight was surfetting on Beautie , We sodainely surpriz'd the bashfull Swaynes , Who shewed their harts-ioy by their homely dutie , Kissing these louely Ladies for their paynes ; Seeking all meanes to farther their delight , While thus I ruminate on Fortunes spight . Inconstant minion , mother of mischance , True Vertues crosse , delighting still in chang , When most thou fawn'st thy fauour 's but a glance , Thy naughtie nature loueth still to range : Great pittie is it , were there remedie , That men are tyde to thine extremitie . Thou art a stepdame to each honest thing , Training vp vices like a louing Nurse , Crowning the begger , pulling downe the king , What euer Nature made thou makest worse : Thou helpst a man a while to cast his dice , And turn'st thy wheele vpon him in a trice . Thou dost vsurpe the worlds round circled stage , Acting thereon thy variable scenes , Where oft inspired with a bedlam rage , Thou plaguest the innocent with endles paines : And those that seeme to day but lookers on , Thou makst thine actors ere tomorrow gone . O hatefull Hag ! thou hast betray'd my life , In giuing weapons vnto Cupids wrath ; Perceiuing Loue and Reason were at strife , Thou falsly train'dst me on to Errors path ; Where taking vantage on my hard distresse , Loue forst my heart his valour to confesse . For Loue had labour'd long to worke my fall , Battring the bulwarke of my naked brest ; But Reason gaue his force no ground at all , Bidding the blinde Boy set his heart at rest : For more he sought to trie this fond conclusion , The more my courage shin'd in his confusion . Till thou to spit the venome of thy spite , Subornedst Cupid how he soone might slay me , Abandoning his bowe and arrowes quite , You laid this priuie complot to betray me ; When Fortune first had brought me to the bay , A Maydens eyes should steale my heart away . Immortall heauens , and ye great powers aboue , From whose faire influence all iustice flowes , Worke your reuenge on Fortune and on Loue , From whom the title of my trouble growes : That men beholding it may safely say , No sinne can scape vnpunisht past his day . While thus I prosecute my fruitles playning , Two Shepheards summon'd me to see their sport , Whose suddaine sight soone mou'd me to abstaining , Least they might heare my tragicall report : Clearing my face from cloudes of discontent , With these two louing swaines away I went . Like as the soft and tender leaued flowre , Whose drouping colour shewes his life is done , Being lately drenched in some dismall showre , Till he attract refreshing from the sunne : So I whose hopes but lately seem'd to die , Was now reuiu'd by beauties fresh supplie . For now in Tropicke of false Fortunes height , My nest was built by sweetest Beauties side , Loues yoke was easie now I felt no waight , My ship was carried with a gentle tide : I sate too hot , yet still I did desire , To liue a Salamander in the fire . Now did I wish the day would ne're be done , So loth I was to leaue this Paradise , Or that our reuels were but new begun , But swift-wing'd Pleasure passeth with a trise : For Loue had sworne when ere I did depart , I should perchance goe home without a hart . Now while I court the Loadstarre of my life , And with her prettie parley feede mine eares ; O sugred words , yet sharper then a knife , Distilling Nectar-droppes on all that heares ; The merry swaines broke of our priuate pleasure , And musicke summond vs to daunce a Measure . Taking this Ladie by the lillie hand , I taught her quickly treade the shepheards round : Lo now blowes vp the secret-smoking brand , Which did my reason and my sense confound , For Loue is nine-liu'd kill him ne're so much , The wanton Boy reuiueth with a tutch . Looke as a man stung by the noysome Aspe , Whose hony-poyson tickles with delight , Sucks in the venome of this mortall waspe , Wholy suspecties of the serpents spight ; So I so mad , that reason could not turne me , Bath'd in the flame , which afterward did burne me . Oft did I striue to take her in mine armes , And tell my harts griefe by some silent motion , She was too young to leuell at my harmes , Or picke a meaning from my dum deuotion . Oft would my dotage make me daunce amisse , And then begin new measure with a kisse . She bad me dance true , but I lou'd my faining , ( Hang him that loues and has no mother-wit ) I said our musick err'd in ouer-straining , No meruaile then my footing could not hit ; And to preuent the iarres that came by this , Our lips made musicke where our feete did misse . Our countrey Round by this was almost done , When wanton wearie suddainly she grew ; Nay then ( quoth I ) would we had ne're begun , Faire Nimph cheere vp thy selfe and dance a new : For if thou droope , our hearts will fall as fast , As Autumne leaues before the Winters blast . Behold the sunne-beames for thy Beauties sake , Dancing Lauoltoes on the liquid floare ; The whistling winds vnwonted musicke make , Whiles Syrens sit and sing vpon the shoare : Yea the fierce Wolfe is come to see thee play , And for thy sake our Lambes keepe holyday . See , see faire Flora deckt in summers pride , Burning in emulation of thy beautie ; And Venus nestled by Adonis side , Seeking to doe his loue peculiar dutie : Faire heauens Queene sits dallying with her Ioue , Least he should see thee , and so change his Loue . If then the treasure of thy supreme faire , Breed iealousie in gods , wonder in men ; O doe not thus thy beauties worth impaire , Quitting our kindnes with vnkinde disdaine : Gentilitie should beare a gentle minde , And perfect Beautie neuer proues vnkinde . This said , I train'd her friendly from the rest , Into a sweete and solitarie place , Where Loue himselfe might daigne to build his nest , All things consorted with so great a grace : Had Mars plaid double here with Loues faire queen . Their double-dealing Phaebus ne're had seen . For why such was the shadow of this groue , All thicke beset with circle-branching trees , It gaue no passage to the sunne aboue , Whose piercing light our actions ouersees : But here and there small day-holes did appeare , To light the ground , and let in cooling aire . Amidst this Thicket with a silent gliding , A Christall brooke ran in a flowrie brim , Where labouring Swans train'd vp by natures guiding , Record a thousand sweete notes as they swim : Sweet notes they were , tun'd with a sweeter voice , That charm'd the trees , and made the stones reioice . Here summers Queene had made her flowry bed Of the white Lillie , and the crimson Rose , With thousand other kinds of white and red , Whose heauenly hew her art did so dispose , As bred amazement in the dazled sight , And cloy'd the senses with a worlds delight . The chirping Birds to shunne the heate of Iune , Fled to the shelter of this shadie ground , Where praising Nature in a siluerie tune , The hollow caues and vallies made resound : In briefe , this plot contain'd the perfect sum Of all the sweetes in faire Elisium . While towards this Paradice we made our way , We were incountred by the glorious sunne , Who purposely to force this faire Nimph stay , Some hotter now then when his course begunne ; That he might feede his false eye with her sight , Whose beautie dimm'd the glorie of his light . My Loue was faint , and forste to set her downe , Whose Angels face distilled pearly sweate ; Loue bad me giue her there a grasse-greene gowne , In spite of Phaebus , and his forced heate , But while my lingring thoughts stood to deuise , I saw God Morpheus seazing on my prize . Whereat I fell into a iealous trance , Sleepe eyes ( quoth I ) see not my Loue prophan'd , Or if heauens power haue power to helpe mischance , Let not the Rose of beautie thus be stain'd : Fie , fie ( quoth Reason ) where 's thy wits in keepe● Disturbe her not , thy Loue is but a sleepe . I laught to thinke hart-burning iealousie Should build a stage for Puppets in my braine , Presenting visions to my phantasie , That nothing were , nor could returne againe : Self-biting Curre , a bolde vnbidden guest , Whose foule disturbance marres true Louers feast . Me thought her sleeping proued sleepe diuine , Me thought the windes for pitie would not blow , Shut were the casements of her christall eyen , Which waking , like two siluer Moones did show ; Shut were the day-bright eyes , where all might see Faire Beautie linckt in loue with Chastitie . Sleepe on ( quoth I ) sweet Saint of puritie , Yet sleeping , smile thy beautie on the aire , That euery creature humbled at thy knee , May offer homage to thy supreme faire : But turne from Phaebus , least his fond desire Cause him descend and set the world on fire . I 'le charme the brazen doores of fearefull dreames , And bind the sterne God Morpheus in a chaine , Least he molest thy minde with idle theames , Which in the fancies of the night doe raigne , And guard thy person with as deare a price , As if I kept the gates of Paradice . For thy sake Acol shall perfume the winds With costly Myrre , and curious Ambergreece : I 'le venter more then Iason did to find The happie fortune of a golden fleece , Which I my selfe full safelie meane to keepe , And wrap thee in it , when thou g'ins to sleepe . And you sweet birds , whose nimble-relisht notes , Rauish the soule of man , and cheere the day , Stay the shrill descant of your siluery throtes , Till Beautie wake and bid your musicke play : Or if you needes will sing , some tune deuise , Whose Angel-sound may charme all Argus eyes . Thus did I greete the Idoll of my hart , Offring vp teares before her sleeping shrine . And was beginning to bewray my smart , When loe , as if her spirit could deuine , Opening the closet of her lockt-vp eyes , She did preuent me in this cunning wise : Shepheard , I glory in the happie chance , That made me Mistris of so kinde a man , And one so well my praises can aduance ; Good Lord , how long since you the whetstone wan ? Your high-pitcht words are like the torch by night , That wasts it selfe in giuing others light . Tell me whose person did you passionate ? Expressing motions of internate woe , Grieuing your selfe to gesse at others fate ? You were to blame , that would not let me knowe , Nor seeke my helpe to play some tragicke part ; For I can sigh too , yet ne're rent my hart . Belike your Swaines intend a Comedie , To be presented in some solemne place ; And loue-sicke you these passions must descrie : Which to adorne with action and with grace , You daily thus make triall of your part , With sighes and teares that neuer pierce the hart . Ah would to God flint-harted wench ( thought I ) Thou feltst the crosse which loue hath laid vpon me ; Or that my woes gaue not thy words the lye , And my poore heart had power henceforth to shunne thee . Thy Mother ( wanton ) was not halfe so olde , Yet knew she when a sutors tale was tolde . Loue brought me in to acte this wooing scene , The argument was written in thy face . The words were such as might expresse my paine , The end to win thee to a liking grace : And euery period had his sense made plaine , With teares , which Chorus-like mine eyes did raine . Thou didst not sleep , yet hearing could not moue thee , ( A colde presage for him that meanes to wooe ) My wanton gesture seem'd to say , I loue thee , But all was labour lost that I could doe : My suite was sleeueles , thy regard so colde , As if that I anothers tale had tolde . This said my hart , but this I durst not say , So loude the regent of my hart might heare me , The place vnfit my fancie to bewray , The time and other circumstance did feare me : Her scene perform'd , my tongue thus acts his part , Hiding the Loue , that reuel'd in my hart . Faire Saint , if Loue haue forste me to offending ▪ With yrksome prattle , crossing thy repose ; O blame the beautie on thy face depending , That giues a tongue of praises to thy foes . Then graunt me leaue , how euer others deeme , To giue thy Beautie excellent esteeme . But please thee ( Sweeting ) finish out our walke , ( The pleasure great , the labour is but small ) And in yond Eden see how euery stalke , Brags the sweete blossomes he is blest withall , I 'le load thy lappe with Floras tender pride , And bring thee homeward in the Euen-tide . Thus said , I brought her to this shadie rest , This green-dy'd groue , this summers Paradice , Where Loue by pleading hard might make me blest , Where I was bent to cast my Fortunes dice , And in a minute ease or end the strife , Or win my Loue , or else to lose my life . Now while the Damsell wondring Natures store , Seaz'd on the flowry treasure of the spring , And more she gatherd , still desiring more , ( The last is best , and new sels euery thing ) I madly tost betweene Despaire and Ioy , Prai'd for successe to the blind-seeing Boy . Great Prince of Loue , to whose victorious hand My frozen hart was forste perforce to yeeld , And in my bosome entertaine the brand , Gainst which weake Reason neuer man could sheeld : O be propitious to an humble Swaine , And giue my loue successe , to quite my paine . Thou art so little ( else our Poets misse ) That thou canst hide thee in a wanton eye , So subtile thou canst enter with a kisse , So craftie thou canst counterfaite to dye , Or being dead , thy qualitie is such , To liue againe by vertue of a tuch . O lend me thy insinuating power , Words steep'd in syrop of Ambrosia , To force my Danae with their golden shower , That she may blesse me with a yeelding nay : Each sentence be a sweet inchanting charme , Vpon her hart-strings playing loues alarme . So shall thy glorie be immortall still , The conquest woon to set thy captiues free , And cure their wounds , whom thou mighst iustly kill ▪ O exercise thy pittie then in me ; That finding her to ease my heauie bands , May blesse the time I fell into thy hands . By this her bosome stor'd , her lap was full , And wanton weary , quickly set her downe , No prettie flower there was , but she did pull ; No colour set in Ariadnes crowne , Or in the compasse of faire Iris Bowe , She did not gather to enrich her showe . Now powrefull Loue that reuel'd in my hart , Contrould my silence , hating to be mute , Still rubs the soare that made my wound to smart , And strongly vrg'd me to commence my sute : Till fancie growne too headstrong to retire , Thus in a word I tolde her my desire . Goddesse ( quoth I ) for lesse thou canst not be , God lieue thou couldst , or that my birth were better , My loue , my life , both consecrate to thee , I offer as an insufficient debter : O stand propitious to an humble Swaine , That craues but loue to answer loue againe . I call to record Venus and her Sonne , No meanes vnsought , no art vnwrought by me , To quench this flame when first it was begunne , Foreseeing still this foule extremitie ; But wisdome weake , my Reasons force was small , To conquer loue , which conquers wit and all . I know no bastard Hauke can soare so high , As doth the Hobbie towring high by kind ; Nor Aegle-like behold the worlds faire eye , But with his beames their sight is stricken blind . I know gainst Nature actions are in vaine , And high-pitcht thoughts reape nothing but disdaine . Yet Phaebus shining , little Gnats may play , Small flies may pearch them by the Aegles side , It lies in compasse of thy yea , or nay , To be my bane , or to become my Bride : Loue strikes a match t'wixt mortall men and Gods , Sweete loue me then , can be no greater oddes . O be remembred , was not Vulcan lame ? Yet was he Lord of louely Venus bed ; Or if he were not , more his wife to blame , That rul'd the raynes to make him beare the head . Such Vulcanes now are ours , who doting olde , Marrie young Maids to keepe them from co-colde . Diuine Aurora full as faire as she , Whose heauen-di'de face the Graces still admire , Lou'd gray-beard Tython , as ill fac'te as he , And in her choice so pleas'd her chast desire , That oft she said , when Beauties dowre is spent , Mine old-mans loue shall yeeld me sweet content . I will not muffle vp a meane estate , As smoth-tongu'd sutors daily vse to doe , Bragging of Birth , of Friends , of this and that , Of money , lands , yea and of Vertue too , Breathing vaine boasts of many a golden shower , And things ( God wot ) were neuer in their power . A shame to boast of bloods antiquitie , Wherein no honour nor true Vertue lies ; Each Brute may bragge hereof as well as we , One still succeeding as another dyes : T' is Vertue ( Minion ) doth nobilitate , And makes a Monarch of a meane estate . Let others promise Mountaines if they list , Intrapping fooles by false insinuations , Till womens hopes doe end in Had I wist , And make them say , Mens words are but temptations . I hate all shifts , plaine dealing still is blest , I like the meane , and here set downe my rest . My dwelling is within a countrie Farme , My table richly furnisht with Content , My robes are such as keepe my body warme , My pleasures rate sits at an easie rent , My cheere is great , my charge is very small , My fruits , my flocks ; my foes are none at all . My life is nothing but a world of Loue , I loue my God , and next I loue my King , I loue my Caesars friends that sit aboue , I honour Vertue aboue any thing : I loue my countrey and my dearest kin , Briefly I nothing hate but mizers sin . I spend the day time on these pleasant Plaines , And while my Lambes grow wanton with the spring , Vpon an oaten pype I cheere my paines , And being wearie , straight I fall to sing : This done , I laugh againe , and shake my crowne , To see the world of late turn'd vpside downe . Our Fathers plained in their weary daies , How much the world was chang'd from that of yore : We say of late , t' is turned many waies , Yet will not stand as Adams did before : Each side is turn'd , and yet it standeth wrong ; And will doe still , I 'le tell thee wench how long . While Kings do thirst for Countries and for Crownes , And Princes pray vpon their Neighbour Landes , Might treads down right , and Treason selleth Townes , Iustice lies fetterd in oppressions bandes , So long the righteous gods will surely frowne , And we shall finde the world turn'd vpside downe . While Nobles vainely vaunting of their blood , Doe sell themselues to sensuall appetite , Neglecting time to doe their Countrey good , To punish wrongs , ayde the poore-mans right ; So long the righteous gods will surely frowne , And we shall finde the world turn'd vpside downe . While citties swim in Lucre , Lust , and Pride , No art but craft , no gainefull trade but sinne , While veluet breeches is allow'd to ride , And aged Wisdome walketh bare and thinne ; So long the righteous gods will surely frowne , And we shall finde the world turn'd vpside downe . While Leacherie and Lucar strike a match , Making a compound of two deadly sinnes ; And or'e th' Hesperian fruite like dragons watch , Or as the Eden-keeping Cherubims ; So long the righteous gods will surely frowne , And we shall finde the world turn'd vpside downe . While poore are pincht by grunting Auarice , And Gentils forste their ioyntures for to sell To Father Grauity , whose biting vice Will send his soule for handsill vnto hell ; So long the righteous gods will surely frowne , And we shall finde the world turn'd vpside downe . While younglings chuse their Louers by their coyne , Seeking to graft vpon a golden tree , Goods make the choice , the diuell he must ioyne , But ware their soules , the Priest will haue his fee ; So long the righteous gods will surely frowne , And we shall finde the world turn'd vpside downe . Briefly while Vices maske in Vertues weed , And Reason made a Baude to each abuse ; While Beasts are fatted , good men suffer need , And all things altered from their proper vse ; So long the righteous gods will surely frowne , And we shall finde the world turn'd vpside downe . Thus while the world in sinne is madly tost , Some beare the purse , but Iudas loues no poore , The rest in pleasures Labyrinth are lost , And would returne , but Custome keepes the doore ; I sit aloofe and laugh the world to scorne , Happie in this , to be a Shepheard borne . I am a King , my Conscience is my Crowne , My Court is thoughts , enriched with Content , My minde to me is as a walled Towne , My Treasure , Grace which neuer can be spent ; The want of worldly things is very small , To him whose heart desires them not at all . I make my power the limits to my will , And count wel doing summe of all my wealth , My wishes fewe , and easie to fulfill , My care is none but soule and bodies health ; In Heauen my happe , on God my hopes relye ; Loe thus I liue , and thus I meane to dye . Say me then ( Sweeting ) dost thou like mine offer , My loue , my life , and all at thy commaund ? Say , canst thou stoope vnto a poore mans proffer ? Thou art my Iudge , here I holde vp my hand ; Now passe the speedy doome of life or death , Or cure my bane , or kill me with a breath . I had no sooner said , but straight began The cloudes appeare that menaced a storme , Her face faire skie being turned pale and wan , What might I hope but tempest euery houre ? The cursed Fates haue cloud-ecclipst my Sun , Whose light once lost , of force my life is done . First darts her amiable brow coy frownes , And cruell hate inserted in disdaine Inthrones her selfe , then scorne and wrath abounds , And where before Loue-tempting lookes did raigne , There proud Contempt arm'd with disdainfull ire , Scornd proffer'd seruice of my poore desire . Heart-slaine with lookes , I fell vpon the ground , Her meaning strooke me ere her words were done , As weapons met before they make a sound , Or as the deadly bullet of a gunne : Yet all my passions had no power to moue her , But thus she rates me , that so much did loue her ? Presumptuous Swaine , proud selfe-conceited groome , Whose climing thoughts at last will breake their necke , God lieue my hate might helpe to build thy tombe , And I suruiue to triumph on thy wracke ; That when the world shall see thy loue disgraced . Men may beware of loue too highly placed . What wanton marke of loose immodestie Could'st thou decipher in me all this while ? Dar'st thou presume to touch a deitie , Before she grace thee with a yeelding smile ? ( thought , Poore foole , what starres bewitch thy wretched To fancie her , that sets thee so at nought ? Thou seest my bodie straight as Cedar tree , That fames the woods of rich Arabia : My browes embost with heauens rich Heraldree , Tables containing Beauties perfect lawe : Mine eyes two twinkling stars , whose piercing raies , Haue power to dim the brightest summer daies . My face the Sunne-enlightning beauties skye , Whose charmefull spels the proudest can controule , Loues Adamant to euery wandring eye , That like a Syren can inchant the soule ; The shop where Nature sets her art to showe , Where crimson Roses sleepe in beds of snowe . Poore foolish flie , why plaist thou with the flame ? Looke not on beautie for it soone will burne thee : Shun , shun the thought which may procure thy shame ; The fire once kindled , t' is too late to turne thee . I am mild Venus mongst gentilitie , But fierce Medusa to thy baser eye . Thy birth too base for me to beare thy name , Thy person nothing hath that may commend thee , Thy liuing will not let thee play such game , Thy threed-bare loue full little can befriend thee ; Renounce thy suite , roote out these fancies straight , Thou art no Atlas for so great a waight . Or else in sight of heauen , I here protest , I loue thee so , to liue thy foe till death , For could one kinde looke euer make thee blest , First would I forced be to yeeld my breath . The more thy loue , the greater is thy paine ; I will not stay to heare thee speake againe . With this she left the Melancholy place , This fatall groue , the bed of mine vnrest ; And backe vnto her fellowes hies a pace , Leauing me prostrate , heauily distrest : Looke how a bright starre shooteth in the night , So fast she fled , and vanisht from my sight . Farewell ( quoth I ) sweet Saint of puritie , Wonder of women , and the worlds admire ; More was I speaking , but it would not be , Griefe stopt my dumbe tongue with too much desire ; That I was forste to sigh insteede of speaking , As if my swolne heart were already breaking . Then brake th' vnchannel'd issue of mine eyes , My teares gaue vent vnto my tired soule , Who breath'd hot sighes like lightning from the skye , Such is Desire , which no man can controule ; And pining griefe still thinkes it treble wrong , When heart is barr'd the aydance of the tongue . Thus as a man laid speechles in a traunce , Or one resembling deaths anatomie , The birds in silence wondring at my chaunce , Abruptly ceast their busie harmonie : Till some propitious powre to ease my paine Restor'd my sense , and thus I cri'd amaine ; O quis te nostris oculis , pulcherrima Virgo , Obiecit Deus , & visam te protinus idem Eripuit nobis , saeuo vt consumerer igni ? Illa meo nunquam facies de pectore abibit ; Illam vos etiam mecum discetis amare Intonsi montes , vos vmbriferae conualles . Siue greges inter captabo frigus & auram , Flumina seu propter salices in valle putabo , Aut agitans instabo aliud quodcunque , tibi ante Carmina pauca canam , & te pectore suspirabo , Toto vnam te corde ; priùs ( dediscet amare Gramina ouis , nemora alta ferae , vaga flumina pisces , ) Quàm tua de nostris vellatur cura medullis , O decus , atque animi nostri pergrata voluptas ! I lookt about if any would replie , ( Griefe best is pleasde with partners in his plaining ) The Damsell gone , I saw no creature nye , Saue trees and stones which could not know my meaning : To whom shrill Eccho in pittie of my paine , Records my woes , and tels them o're againe . And now the night with darkenes ouer-spred , Had drawne her sable curtaines ore the earth , And from her cole-blacke melancholy bed , Sent foggie mists and filthie vapours foorth ; When home I went poore , haples , and forlorne , Cursing the day that euer I was borne . O blacke Despaire , foule lot of faithfull Loue , Blasting our hopes , ere they begin to bud , Whose dogged nature pittie cannot moue , Nor ought can pacifie but humane blood : A thousand times thou end'st a wretched life , Which liues againe to pine in further strife . The Nimphes and Satyrs in their ayrie bowres , Dansed their Chorus , but it would not please me , No pastures , walkes , nor wreath of sweetest flowres , No flocks , no friends , nor no delight could ease me ; Her doome is past , intreatie could not stay it ; I owe Despaire a death , and I must pay it . This plot , this place , this melancholy groue , I singled out to lay my Cares to sleepe , To end my life , and with my life my loue ; Pitty not me ( sweet friend ) forbeare to weepe : Death chang'd to life I neuer shall repent , That life is dead , that liues in discontent .

Eub . The weary Sunne now settles in the West , And time permits not speake what I was ment , This night I purpose thou shalt be my guest , I 'le tell thee things perhaps to thy content ; And e're our Lambes lye downe to rest to morrow , I 'le find a salue to counterpoise thy sorrow .