From the foul yoke of sensual bondage,
For though thine empire ftretchte to Indian fee,
And for thy fear trembleth the fardeth Thules,
If thy defyre have over thee the power,
Subject then art thou, and no governour.

If to be noble and high thy mind be moved,
Confider well thy grounde and thy beginning,
For he that hath eche ftarre in heaven fixed,
And gives the moone her hornes and her eclipfing.
A lyke hath made the noble in his working,
So that wretched no way may thou be,
Except foule luft and vyce doe conquer thee,
All wer that fo thou had a flood of golde,
Unto thy thirst yet fhould it not suffice.
And though with Indian stones a thousand folde,
More precious then can thy self devise.
Ycharged were thy backe, thy covetise,
Aud busy byting yet fhould never let,
Thy wretched lyfe, nede do thy death profet.

Rather therefore to chufe me thinketh wisdome, By lofs of lyfe libertie, then lyfe by prifon.

And yett me thinkes although I live and fuffer,
I do but wayte a time and fortunes chance,
Oft many thinges do happen in one hower,
i hat which oppreft me now may me advance,
In time is truft which by deathes grevaunce
Is wholy loft. Then were it not reafon
By death to chufe libertie, and not life by prifon,
But death wer deliverance where lif lengthens
paine,

Of these two illes let fee now chuse the best,
This bird to deliver that here doth plaine;
What fay ye lovers, which fhal be the best?
In cage thraldome, or by the hawke oppreft;
And which to chufe, make plain conclusion
By lofs of lyfe libertie, or lyfe by prifon,

Against bourders of money.

FOR fhamefaft harme of great and hatefull nede,
In depe difpayre, as did a wretch go,
With ready corde out of his life to fpede,
His fumbling foot did fynde an hoorde, lo,

Wyat being in prifon to Bryan.

SIGHES are my foode, my drink are my teares,
Clinking of fetters would such musike crave,
Stink, and clofe ayre, away my life it weares,
Poor innocence is all the hope I have,
Rayne, wynde, or weather, judge I by myne ears,
Malice affautes that righteoufneffe fhould have.
Sure am I, Bryan, this wound fhall heale againe,
But yett, alas! the fkarre fhall ftill remaine.

Of diffembling woords.

THROUGHOUT the world if it were fought,
Fayre words ynoughe a man shall fynde;
They be good chepe, they coft right nought,
Their fubftance is but only wynde :
But well to say, and so to meane,
That fwete accorde is feldome fene.

Of the mean and fure eftate.

STAND whofo lis upon the flipper wheele,
Of high eftate, and let me here rejoyce,
And use my life in quietneffe eche dele,
Unknowne in court that hath the wanton joyes,
In hidden place my time shall slowly passe,
And when my yeres be past without annoyse,
Let me dye old after the common trace,
For grypes of death do he too hardly pass;
That knowne is to all, but to himself, alas!
He dyeth unknown dafed with dreadfull face.

The courtiers life.

IN court to ferve decked with freshe araye, Of fugared meates feling the fwete repast,

The lyfe in bankets and fundry kyndes of playe.
Amid the preffe the worldly lookes to waite.
Hath with it joined of times fuch bitter taste,
That who fo joyes fuch kinde of life to holde,
In prifon joyes fettred with chaines of golde,

Of disappointed purpose by negligence.

Or Carthage he that worthy warriour,
Could overcome, but could not use his chance
And I likewyfe of all my long endeavour,
The fharp conqueft though fortune did avance,
Ne could I ufe, the hold that is given over.
I unpoffeffe, fo hangeth now in balance.
Of warre, my peace, rewarde of all my payne,
At Mountzon thus I restless reft in Spaine.

Of bis returne from Spayne.

TAGUS farewell that weftward with thy ftremes,
Turnes up the graines of golde already tryde,
For I with fpurre and faile go feke the Temmes,
Gayneward the funde that fheweth her welthy
pride;

And to the towne that Brutus fought by dreames,
Like bended moon that leaves her lufty fyde,
My king, my country, I seke for whom I live,
mighty Jove the wyndes for this me geve.

Of fodaine trufting.

DRIVEN by defyre I did this ded,
To danger my felf without caufe why,
To truft th' untrue not lyke to spede,
To fpeake and promise faithfully.
But now the proofe doth verify,
That who fo trufteth ere he know,
Doth hurt himself and please his foe.

Of the mother that eat her child at the fiege of Ferufalem.

IN doubtfull breft whyles motherly pitty,
With furious famine ftandeth at debate
The mother faith, O child unhappy,
Return thy blood where thou hadft milke of late.
Yeld me thofe lymmes that I made unto thee,
And enter there where thou wer generate,
For of one body against all nature,
To another muft I make fepulture.

Of the means and fure eftate, written to John Poynes.

My mothers maides when they do fow and fpinne, They fing a fong made of a fieldifh moufe,

That for because her liveled was but thinne,
Would needs go fee her townish fifters house.
She tought her felf endurde to grievous payne,
The ftormy blaftee her cave fo fore did foufe;
That when the furrous swimmed with the rayne,
She muft lye cold and wet in fory plight,
And worse then that bare meate ther did remayne,
To comfort her, when she her house had dight.
Some tyme a barley corne, fome time a beane,
For which the laboured hard both day and night,
In harvest tyme, whyle fhe might go and gleane,
And when her store was ftroyed with the floode,
Then welaway for the undone was clene,
Then was the faine to take inftede of foode
Slepe if the might, her hunger to begyle,
My fifter, quoed fhe, hath a living good,
And hence from me fhe dwelleth not a myle;
In colde and storme the lyeth warm and drye
In bed of downe, the durt doth not defyle
Her tender foot, fhe labours not as I.
Richely fhe fedes and at the riche mannes cost,
And for her meate fhe nedes not crave nor cry,
By fea, by land, of delicates the most
Her cater sekes, and spareth for no perell,
She fedes on boyld meate, bake meate and on roft,
And hath therefore no whit of charge nor travell
And when the lift, the licour of the grape
Doth glad her heart, till that her belly fwell;
And at this journey makes the but a jape,
So forth fhe goes, trusting of all this wealth,
With her fifter her part fo for to fhape,
That if the might there kepe herfelf in health,
To live a lady while her life doth laft,
And to the dore now is the come by stealth,
And with her foote anone the fcrapes full faft,
Th' other for feare durft not well scarce appeare
Of every noife fo was the wretch agaft
At laft, fhe afked foftly who was there,
And in her language as well as she could,
Pepe (quod the other) fifter I am here.
Peace (quod the towne moufe) why speakeft
thou fo loude,

And by the band she took her fayre and well,
Welcome, quod fhe, my fifler by the roode,
She feasted her, that joy it was to tell,
The fayre they had, they drank the wyne so clere,
And as to purpose now and then it fell
She chered her, with how fifter what chere?
Amid this joy befell a fory chance,
That welaway, the stranger bought full dere,
The fare fhe had, for as the lookte a skunce,
Under a stole fhe fpied two fleming eyes
In a rounde heade with fharp eares: In France
Was never mouse fo ferde, for the unwyfe
Had not yfene fuch a beast before,
Yet had nature taught her after guyfe

And made her there against her will remayne,
That had forgot her poore fuertie, and rest,
Forfeking welth, wherein the thought to raygne.
Alas! (my Poynes) how men do feke the beft,
And finde the worfe, by error as they staye;
And no marvell, when fight is fo oppreft,
And blindes the guyde, anone out of the way
Goeth guyde, and all in feking quiet life.
O wretched myndes there is no golde that may,
Graunt that you feek, no warre, no peace, no
ftrife,

No, no, although thy head were hoopte with gold, berjeant with mace, with hawbert, fword, nor knife,

Can not repulfe the care that folow should,
Eche kynde of lyfe hath with him his disease,
Live in delites, even as thy luft woulde,

And thou shalt finde when luft doth most thee please,

It yrketh ftraight, and by itself doth fade.

A fmall thing is that, that may thy minde appease:
None of you all there is, that is fo madde
To feke for grapes on brambles, or on briers,
For none I trow, that hath a witte fo badde
To fet his hay for conies over rivers,
Nor ye fet not a dragge net for an hare;
And yet the thing that most is your defire,
You do miflike, with more travell and care
Make plaine thine heart that it be not knotted
With hope or dreade, and fee thy will be bare
From all affeЯes, whom vyce hath never spotted;
Thyfelf content with that is thee affynde,
And use it well that is to thee allotted:
'Then feke no more out of thy felf to fynde
The thing that thou hast fought fo long before;
For thou shalt feele it fticking in thy mynde
Made, if ye lift to continue your fore,

Let prefent paffe, and gape on time to come,
And depe thy felf in travell more and more,
Henceforth (my Poynes) this shall be all and fome,
Those wretched fooles fhall have nought els of

me:

But, to the great God, and to his dome,
None other payne pray I for them to be,

But when the rage doth leade them from the right
That looking backward vertue they may fee
Even as fhe is fo goodly, fayre and bright;
And whylft they clafpe theyr lufts in armes
acroffe,

Graunt them, good Lord, as thou maist of thy might,

To freat inward, for losing such a lofs.

Of the courtiers life, written to John Poynes.

MYNE Own, John Poynes, fins ye delight to know
The caufes why that homeward I me draw,
And flee the preafe of courtes, wherefo they goe,
Rather then to live thrall under the awe
Of lordly lookes, wrapped within my cloke,
To will and luft learning to fet a law

It is not, that because I storme or mocke

Charge over us, of right to strike the stroke;
But true it is, that I have always ment
Lefs to esteeme them, then the common fort,
Of outward thinges that judge in their entent:
Without regarde, what inward doth resort,
I graunt, fome time of glory that the fyre,
Doth touch my heart, me lift not to report.
Blame by honour and honour to defyre.
But how may I this honour now attaine,
That cannot dye the colour blacke a lyer?
My Poynes, I cannot frame my tune to fayn.
To cloke the truth, for praife without defert,
Of them that lift all vice for to retayne,
I cannot bonour them that fet theyr part
With Venus and Bacchus all their life long.
Nor hold my peace of them, although I smart,
I cannot crouche nor knele to fuch a wronge.
To worship them like God on earth alone,
That are as wolves these fely lambes among,
I cannot with my woordes complayne and mone.,
And fuffer nought nor fmart without complaint,
Nor turne the word that from my mouth is gone,
I cannot speak and looke like a faint.
Ufe wyles for wit, and make defceit a pleasure,
Call craft counfaile, for lucre ftill to paynt,

I can not wreft the law to fyll the coffer
With innocent blood to feed my self fatte,
And do moft hurt where that moft helpe I offer.
I am not he that can allow the state,
Of hye Cæfer, and damne Cato to dye,
That with his death could fcape out of the gate,
From Cæfer's hands, if Livy doth not lye.
And would not live where liberty was loft,
So did his heart the common wealth apply,

I am not he, fuck eloquence to boft,
To make the crow in finging, as the fwanne;
Nor call the lyon of coward beastes the most,
That cannot take a moufe, as the cat can,
And he that dyeth for honger of the golde,
Call him Alexander, and fay that Pan
Paffeth Apollo in mufike many folde,
Praise Syr Copas for a noble tale,

And scorne the story that the knight tolde,
Praife him for counfell that is dronke of ale.
Grinne when he laughes, that beareth all the sway,
Frowne when he frownes, and grone when he is
pale;

On others luft, to hang both night and day,
None of these pointes would ever frame in me,
My wit is nought, I can not learn the way,
And much the lefs of things that greater be.
That afken helpe of colours to devife,
To joyne the meane with eche extremitie,
With nereft vertue ay to cloke the vyce,
And as to purpose likewife it fhall fall,
To preffe the vertue that it may not ryfe.
As dronkennefs good felowfhip to call,
The frendly foe with his faire double face,
Say he is gentle, and curties therewithall,
Affirme that favill hath a goodly grace.
In eloquence, and cruelty to name,
Zeale of justice, and change in time and place,
And he that fuffereth offence without blame,
Call him pitiefull, and him true and playne,

And for thy trouth fome time adversitie,
And therewithall this gyft I fhall thee give,
In this world now little profperitie,
And quoyne to kepe, as water in a five.

The fong of Jopas unfinifbed.

WHEN Dido feafted furst the wandring Trojan knight,

Whom Junos wrath with ftormes did force in LiSik fands to light.

That mighty Atlas taught the supper lafling long, With crifped lockes, in golden harpe Jopas fang in fong: [and name.

That fame (quod he) that we the world do call Of heaven and earth with all contentes, it is the very frame :

Of thus, of heavenly powers by more powre kept in one,

Repugnant kindes, in middes of whom the earth hath place alone. {and nourse, Firme, rounde, of living things the mother, place Without the which in egall weight this heaven doth hold his course. [ven, And it is calde by name, the first and moving heaThe firmament is placed next, containg other feven. Of heavenly powers that fame is planted full and thicke,

As fhining lights, which we call starres, that therein cleave and sticke.

Of which decrees we make in the fyrst moving heaven,

Three hundred and threefcore in partes, juftly divided even;

two,

And yet there is another between thofe heavens [for now. Whofe moving is fo flye fo flacke, I name it not The feventh heaven, or the shell next to the starry

skye,

[fo flie, All thofe degrees that gathered up with aged pace, And doth perfourme the fame, as elders count hath bene,

In nine and twenty yeres complete, and days almoft fixteen,

Do carye in his bought the starre of Saturne olde, A threatner of all living things with drought, and with his cold, [pafe, The fixt whom this conteins, doth stalke with yonger And in twelve yere doth fome what more then thothers vyage was, [nigne, And thys in it doth beare the starre of Jove beTwene Saturnes malice, and us men, friendly defending figne; [dayes, The fifth beares bloudy Mars, that in three hundred And twife eleven with one full yere hath finish't all those wayes.

(fixe, A yere doth afke the fourth, and howers therto And in the fame the dayes eye, the fune therein he frickes:

[me,

The thyrd that governde is by that, that governs And love for love, and for no love provokes, as oft we fee. [the tother,

lefs fours, [nual cours. Carieth itself, and all thofe eyght in even contiAnd of this world fo round within that rolling cafe, Two points there be that never move, but firmly kepe their place.

The tone we see alway, the tother stands object, Against the fame divyding juft, the ground by line direct. [th' other,

Which by ymagination, drawne from the one to Toucheth the centre of the earth, for way there is none other, [not bright,

And these becalde the poles, defcride by ftarres Artike the one northward we fee, Antartike thother hight

The lyne, that we dey fe from thone to thother fo, As axell is, upon which the heavens about do go, Which of water nor earth, of ayre nor fyre have kinde;

Therefore the substance of those fame were hard

for man to find;

But they been uncorupt, fimple and pure unmixt; And fo we fay been all those starres, that in the fame be fixt;

And eke those erring feven, in cyrcle as they ftray, So calde, because against that fyrft they have repugnant way,

And smaller by ways too, fcant fenfible to man, To busy woorke for my poor harpe, let fing then

But it doth beare the starre, that calde is Mercury,
That many a crafty fecret steppe doth tread, as
Calcars trye,
[gone

That skye is laft, and fixt next us those wayes hath
In feven and twenty common days, and eke the
third one;
[about.
And beareth with his fway the dyvers moone
Now bright, now brown, now bent, now full, and
now her light is out:

Thus have they of their owne two movinges all these feven,

One, wherein they be carried fill, eche in his feveral heaven: . [layde Another of themselves, where theyr bodies be In by waies, and in leffer roundes, as I afore have fayde, [the ftreight, Save of them all the funne doth ftray leaft from The flarry skye hath but one course, that we have calde the eight.

And all thefe movinges eyght are ment from west
to caft,
[east to weft;
Although they feeme to clyme aloft, I fay from
But that is but by force of theyr first moving skye,
In twife twelve howres from eaft to eaft that car-
rieth them by and by.

marke me well alfo, the moving of these
feven,
[heaven;

But

he that can,

The wydeft fave the fyrst of all these nyne above, One hundred yere doth aske of space for one degree to move :

Be For

not about the axletree of the fyrst moving they have theyr two poles directly tone to the tother.