A pleasant conceite penned in verse Collourably sette out, and humblie presented on New-yeeres day last, to the Queenes Maiestie at Hampton Courte. Anno. Domini. 1593.

A Pleasant conceite penned in verse . Collourably sette out , and humblie presented on New-yeeres day last , to the Queenes Maiestie at Hampton Courte .

Anno. Domini . 1593.

AT LONDON , ¶ Printed by Roger Warde , dwelling in Holburne at the signe of the Castle .

To the Queenes most excellent Maiestie .

MAY it please your Maiestie , so long as breath is in my breast , life in the hart , and spirit in the heade , I cannot hold the hand from penning of some acceptable deuice to your Maiestie , not to compare ( in mine own ouer weening ) with the rare Poets of our florishing age , but rather counterfeyting to sette foorth the workes of an extraordinarie Painter , that hath drawne in a pleasant conceite , diuers flowers , fruites , and famous Townes : which pleasant conceite I haue presumed ( this Newe-yeeres day ) to present to your Maiestie , in signe and token that your gracious goodnesse towardes me oftentimes ( and cheefely now for my pencyon ) shal neuer goe out of my remembrance , with all dutifull seruices , belonging to a loyall subiect . So vnder your princely fauour & protection , praying for your prosperous preseruation and Royall estate , I proceede to my purposed matter .

Your Maiesties humble Seruaunt , Thomas Churchyard .

A pleasant conceite . THE Painter thought , to please his owne delite , With pictures faire , as poore Pigmalion did : But staring long , on kindly Red and White , He found therein , a secrete nature hid . A frayde to fall , like Flie in flaming fire , He finely cast , cold water on desire , So shaping grapes , and graine another while , At his owne workes , the Painter gan to smile . Because with grapes , the byrds were once begield , And men might dote , on goodly corne and graine : At more conceits , this merry man he smield , As though he had , possest some Poets vaine , As Petrarch had , who did his tryumphs make , In sweetest sorte , for Lady Lawraes sake . Thys Painter tooke , in pensell such a ioy , As hee could make , much matter of a toy . A rush a reede , a feeble feather light , Was ground enough , for him to worke vpon : What euer came , to mind to view or sight , Stoode for good cloth , to clap hys collours on . But his most skill , was how to sette forth flowers , And showe at full , trym Townes and stately Towers . Not eu'ry Towne , he meant not now to tuch , For that their names , cannot auaile him much . NOrth-hampton first , the Painter tooke in hand , As cheefest work , his pensel lately drew : Because the plot , did come from forraine land , In that faire forme , as doth appeare to you . Not roughly heaw'd , as tymber is in haest : But smoothed well , and with great honor graest . A woorthy peece , of workmanship so rare : With golden Fleece , North-hampton may compare . WArwicke he drewe , in collours sad and graue , In elders dayes , a noble name it bore : It builded was , on vertues rare and braue , As auncient seates , and Citties were of yore . The walles were reard , on constant Rock ful fast , That durst abide , the brunt of enuies blast . The streetes were paude , with plainnes mixt with grace , Where good report , fild vp each empty place . The houses hie , shone bright against the sun , And all the walkes , and steps were smoth & cleere : This famous Towne , great loue & laud hath wun , As by the brute , of world doth well appeare . It stands and staies , on honors pillers large , Sure props that can , beare vp a greater charge , When Warwicke thus , the Painter sette in frame , He turnd his hand , to Townes of stranger name . BEdford he made , in goodly sumptuous sort , With collours ritch , bedeckt and cleere set out : Like Towne of state , as strong as warlike Fort , With wise aduice , well senced round about , Not to be won , the watch and ward was such , Ne fraude nor force , durst not attempt it much . Bedford is blest , for from that house and soyle , Sprunge many a branch , that neuer yet tooke foyle . OLde Lyncolne now , that stands on mighty Mount , Yet lowe in earth , the first foundation lyes : He drew for that , it was of great account , And lifted vp , in fauour to the skyes . The best we know , did loue olde Lyncolne well In former age , her beautie did excell . Of latter tyme , her credite was not small : For some doe say , that Lyncolne past them all . KYldare came now , to minde among the rest , A right fayre seate , and so sette foorth it was : As Gods aboue , and nature had her blest , Which seem'd to sight , as cleere as Christall-glas . From Hawthorne bough , whose blossoms brings in May Kyldare did come , and ioyes therein this day . Kyldare commaunds , more men than thousands do , Yet dutie bids , it be commaunded to . HArtford he calld , vnto remembraunce than , A Towne where Tearme , is kept as cause doth craue : It fauourd is , and likt of each good man , It dooth in world , it selfe so well behaue . Gallant and gay , and gladsome to the sight : Framde from the stock , that still growes bolt vpright . Most meeke of minde , and plaine in eu'ry part : Where dutie ought , show loue and loyall hart . NOwe Huntington , was drawne in order due , As did become , the value of that seate : The honour olde , the name is nothing new , The worth not small , the soyle and place is great . The buildings fayre , and stately too withall , Stands strong and sure , as doth a Brasen wall . Full glad to please , both God and man indeede , And prest to serue , the Prince in time of neede . WOster that once , like Huntington did looke , Stoode still farre off , as it would not be knowne : Yet soft and fayre , in ranke her place she tooke , She worthy was , of right to haue her owne . In fame and praise , and worldly honor both , In noble name in vertue grace and troth . If Painter had , not toucht this Towne no way , God knowes thereof , what might good people say . SOuth-hampton came , in view and iudgement now , A Hauen towne , of great esteeme and praise : Of nature good , and well disposed throw , And nobly hath , bestowd both yeeres and daies . A princely Porte , where shyp shall safely ryde , Against all stormes , how euer turnes the tyde . From Mountague , whose trueth no time might staine , South-hampton tooke , her forme and manner plaine . PEmbroke a pearle , that orient is of kind , A Sidney right , shall not in silence sit : A gemme more worth , then all the gold of Ind , For she enioyes , the wise Mineruaes wit , And sets to schoole , our Poets eu'ry where : That doth presume , the Lawrell crowne to weare . The Muses nine , and all the Graces three : In Pembrokes bookes , and verses shall you see . NOwe Shrewsbrie shal , be honourd as it ought , The seate deserues , a right great honour heere : That walled Towne , is sure so finely wrought , It glads it selfe , and beautifies the sheere . Her beautie standes , on bounty many waies , That neuer dyes , but gaines immortall praise . Her honor growes , on wished well won fame : That people sounds , of Shrewsbries noble name . OXford came last , like sober Sibbill sage , Whose modest face , like faire Lucyna shone : Whose stayed lookes , decors her youthfull age , That glisters like , the Alablaster stone , Her blotlesse life , much laude and glorie gate , And calld her vp , to be a great estate . The Diamond , dooth lose his daintie light , And waxeth dim , when Oxford comes in sight . THese Townes and all , the people dwelling there , And all the rest , that loues theyr Country well : And all true harts , and subiects eu'ry where , That feareth God , and doe in England dwell , Salutes with ioy , and gladnes this New yeere , Our gracious Queene , and soueraigne Lady deere . All wished haps , and welcome fortunes to , Still waites on her , as handmaides ought to doe . With long good life , with peace and perfect rest , And all good gifts , that euer Prince possest . The Painter stayed so , yet rising from the floore , To Courte then did he goe , to Presence Chamber doore : And peeping throw the same , he saw in euening late , Full many a noble Dame , sitte neere the cloth of state . Where the stood 5. faire flowers , whose beauty bred disdaine , Who came at certain houres , as Nymphs of Dians traine . Those goodly Nimphes most gay , like Goddesses diuine , In darkest night or day , made all the Chamber shine . Dame kinde with collours new , gaue them such liuely grace . As they had tooke theyr hue , from faire bright Phoebus face , If such faire flowrs qd he , in Presence men may find , In Priuey-chamber sure , some faire sweet saints are shrind . The Painter as he might , with that did him content , And wondring at the sight amaz'd he homeward went . Where he is drawing still , some works of stranger kind , If this may gaine good will , for plaine true meaning mind . THeyr names are heere , that honour much our state , Who dwels in Court , or Courtiars were of late : Who sendes to Court , theyr New-yeeres gifts to show , Our gracious Prince , the homage that they owe . FINIS .

To the generall Readers . REade with goodwill , and iudge it as ye ought , And spare such speech , as fauour can bestow : So shall you find , the meaning of his thought , That did this work , in clowd and collours show . Wrest things aright , but doe no further goe . In ballance thus , wey words with equall weight , So wisdoms skill , shall scanne the matter streight . The booke I calld , of late My deere adiew , Is now become , my welcome home most kinde : For old mishaps , are heald with fortune new , That brings a balme , to cure a wounded mind . From God and Prince , I now such fauour find , That full a floate , in flood my shyp it rydes , At Anchor-hold , against all checking tydes . The houre is come , the Seas doe swell againe , And weltring waues , comes rowling in a pace : The stormes are calmd , with one sweete shewer of raine , That brought my Barke , vnto the Porte of grace , Where clowdes did frowne , now Phoebus shewes his face . And where warme sunne , shines throwly cleere and faire , There no foule mists , nor fogs infects the ayre . The Sayler stayes , at anchor in good roade , Till winde blowes ore , ill weather from the seas : The Pilot wise , will not put out a broade , Till winde serues well , and men may sayle with ease . The Writer first will his owne fancie please , Than to the rest , that will no word mistake , He sends those scrowles , that studious man did make . The learned sort , scannes euery labour well , But beetle-braines , cannot conceiue things right : And if good works , comes where disdaine doth dwell , Despight in hast , bloes out cleere candles light . I hope this booke , comes not in enuies sight . Whose staring lookes , may make my betters blush , Yet all his chat , nor babble worth a rush . If he mislike , a babe but newly borne , It is condemnde , for no offence at all : Ne wit nor skill , can scape the scowling scorne , Of bold male boush , that like ban-dog doth ball . The sugar sweet , he turnes to bitter gall . The Vargis sower , hath not so sharpe a tast , As hath his words , that spyte will spend in wast . No Writer now , dare say the Crowe is blacke , For cruell Kytes , will craue the cause and why : A faire white Goose , beares feathers on her backe , That gaggles still , much like a chattring Pye . The Angell bright , that Gabrill is in sky , Shall know that Nashe , I loue and will doe still , When Gabrils words , scarce winnes our worlds good will . No force , my hope , lyes not in hatefull men , That cannot helpe , themselues in time of neede : So I please those , that haue the gyft of pen , Or such as can , thinke well of that they reede , The bargaine is , well made and wonne indeede . That dogge scarce bites , that daily lowde doth barke : Each winde beates not , true Archers from theyr marke . In rouing sort , my feeble shafts so flies , Drawne to the head , yet from my head doth goe : I wish but that , my shooting please the wise , That lookes vpon , or dooth a marke man knoe , The rest God mende , let him be friende or foe . Thus now no more , but as I turne about , This worke I end , till greater bookes comes out . FINIS .