The Devonshire Manuscript/Witnesses

__NOTOC__ Witnesses to The Devonshire Manuscript (British Library Add. MS 17492) : A B C M N P S T U W Arundel-Harington MS Arundel-Harington MS c. late 16th century. The Arundel-Harington Manuscript is a verse miscellany originally comprised of 228 leaves, now 145, prepared by, or for, John Harington of Stepney and his son Sir John Harington of Kelston. 55 of the Arundel-Harington poems are attributed to Wyatt. My hart I gaue the not to do it payne My hart I gaue the not to do it payne My hart I gaue the not to do it paynebut to preserve, it was to the takenI servid the not to be forsakenbut that I shulde be rewardid agayneI was content thie servant to remaynebut not to be payed vnder this fasshionno sens in the is none other reasonDisplayse the not if that I do refrayneVnsaciate of my woe and thie desyreAssured by crafte to excuse thie faultbut syns it please the to faine a defaultffarewell I saye parting from this fyreffor he that belevith bearing in handPlowithe in water and sowith in sand Pacience thoughe I have not Pacience thoughe I have not Pacience thoughe I have notthe thing that I requyreI must of force god wotforbeare my moste desyreffor no wayes can I fyndeto sayle agaynst the wyndePatience do what they willto worke me woe or spiteI shall content me stillto thinck both daye and nightTo thinck and holde my peaceSyns theare is no redressepatience without blameffor I offendid noughtI know they know the samethoughe they have chaunged their thoughtWas ever thought so movedto hate that it hath lovedPatience of all mye harmeffor fortune is my foePatience must be the charmeto heale me of my woetience without offenceYs a paynfull patience All women have vertues noble & excellent All women have vertues noble & excellent All women have vertues noble & excellentWhoe can prove that: they do offendeDaylye: they serve god withe good intentSeldome: they displease theyr husbandes to their lives endeAlwayes: to please them they doe intendeNever: in them a man shall finde shrewdnesCommonly: suche qualityes have women more of lesse Was neuer ffile yet half so well yfyled Was neuer ffile yet half so well yfyled Was neuer ffile yet half so well yfyledTo fyle a fyle for any smythes intentAs I was made a fylinge instrumentTo frame other, whyle that I was beguyledbut reason loe, hathe at my follye SmyledAnd pard'ned me, syns that I me repentOf my laste yeares, and of my tyme myspentFor youthe led me, and falsehood me mysguydedYet, this trust I have of great apparaununceSyns that disceyte is aye returnableof vearye force it is agreableThat thearwithall be done the recompenceThen guyle beguyled playnd shuld be neverAnd the rewarde is lytle trust for ever Suche vayne thought as wonted to mislead me Suche vayne thought as wonted to mislead me Suche vayne thought as wonted to mislead mein desert hope by assured monemaketh me from Companye to lyve alonein following her whome reason bid me fleeshe fleeith as fast by gentill crueltieand after her my hart wolde faine be gonebut armed sighes my way do stopp anonetwixt hope and dread lacking my libertieYet as I gesse vnder disdaynfull browone beame of pittie is in her Clowdie Lookewhiche compforteth the mynd that earst for feare shookeand thearwithall bolded I seeke the way howto vtter the smartt that I suffer withinbut suche it is I not how to begyn ffansye doth know how ffansye doth know how ffansye doth know howto further my true hartYf fansye might avowewith faith to take parteBut fansye is so fraileand flytting still so fastethat faith may not prevaileto helpp me first not lasteffor fansye at his lustDoth rule all but by gesseWhearto shuld I than trustin trouthe or stedastnesYet wolde I pleasethe fansye of her hartthat may me onlye easeand cure my Carefull smartThearefore my Ladie deareSett ons your fantasyeto make some hope appeareof stedfastnes remedyeffor if he be mye frendeand vndertake mye woeMye greefe is at an endYf he contynew soElles fansye doth not rightAs I deserve and shallto have you day and nightto love me best of all t of all The lyvelye sparckes that yssue from those eyes The lyvelye sparckes that yssue from those eyes The lyvelye sparckes that yssue from those eyesAgaynst the whiche ne vayleth no defenceHaue prest my hart and done it none offenceWith quaking pleasure more then ons or twysewas never man could any thing devysethe Sonne beames to turne with so great vehemenceto dase mans sight as by their bright presenceDased am I moche lyke vnto the guyseof one ystreeken with dintt of lighteningeblyndid with the stroke erring heare and theareso call I for helpp I not when ne whearethe paine of my fall patientlie bearingeffor after the blase as is no wonderof deadly nay heare I the fearfull thonder Thoughe I cannot your crueltie constrayne Thoughe I cannot your crueltie constrayne Thoughe I cannot your crueltie constrayneffor mye good will to favour me agaynethoughe my trew and faithfull loveHave no powre your hart to moveYet rew vppon my paynethough I your thrall must evermore remayneand for your sake my lybertie restraynethe greattest grace that I do craveys that you wold vouchesaveto rew vppon my payneThough I have not deservid to obtayneso highe rewarde but thus to serve in vaynethowghe I shall have no redresseYet of right ye can no lessebut rew vppon mye payneBut I se well that your highe disdayneWill no wyse graunt that I shall more attayne Hart oppressyd with desp'rat thought Hart oppressyd with desp'rat thought Hart oppressyd with desp'rat thoughtyf forced ever to lamentWhiche now in me so sore hath wroughtthat needes to it I must consent Whearfore all ioy I must refuseand crewell will thearof accuseYf crewell will had not bene guydeDispayre in me had had no placeffor my trew meaning she well espiedand for all that wold geve no gracethearfore all ioye I must refuseand crewll will therof accuse Shee well moght see and yet wolde notand may daylye if that shee willHow paynfull is my haples lottIoyn'de with dispayre me for to spillWhearby all ioye I must refuseSence Crewell will doth me so use So feoble is the threde/ that dothe the burden stay So feoble is the threde/ that dothe the burden stay So feoble is the threde/ that dothe the burden stayOf mye poore lyfe in heavie plight/ that fallethe in decayThat but it hathe ells wheare/ some ayde or some succoursthe ronninge spindle of my fate/ anon shall end his courceffor sens th'unhappie houre/ that did me to departeffrom my sweete weale and only hope hath staid my lif apartewhiche dothe perswade suche wordes/ vnto my sored myndeMayntayne thie selfe o woful wight/ some better luck to fyndeffor thoughe thow be depryv'd/ from thie desyred sightWhoe can the tell if thie retourne/ be for thie more delightOr whoe can tell thie losse/ yf thow mayste ones recoverSome pleasante howre thie woe may wrapp/ and thee defend and coverThis is the trust as yet/ that hath my life sustaynedbut now alas I se it fainte/ and I by trust am traynedThe tyme dothe fleete and I perceyve/ the howres how they bendSo fast that I have scant the space/ to mark my commynge endWestwarde the Sonne form out the easte/ dothe scantlye shew his LightButt in the west he hydes hym streight/ within the darke of nightand comes as fast wheare he/ began his pathe a wryeffrom easte to west/ from west to easte/ so dothe his iourney lyeThe lyfe so short so fraile/ that mortall men lyve heareSo great a waight so heavie chardge/ the bodies that we beareThat when I thincke vppon/ the distaunce and the spacethat doth so farr devyde me fro/ my deere desyred faceI know not how t'attayne/ the winges that I requyreto Lifte my waight that I might flye/ to follow my desyreThus of that hope as yet/ that doth my lyf sustayneAlas I feare and partlye feele/ full lytle dothe remayneEache place dothe bringe my greefe/ wheare I do not beholdeThose lovelye eyes whiche of my thoughtes/ weare wont the keyes to holdeThose thoughtes weare plesaunte sweete/ whylest I enioyed that graceMy pleasure past my present payne/ when I might well enbraceBut for because my want/ shoulde more my woe encreacein watche and sleepe bothe day and night/ mye will dothe never ceaceThat thinge to wishe whearof/ syns I did leese the sightI never saw that thing that might/ my faithfull hart delightth'uneasye life I leade/ dothe teache me for to meetethe fludds the Seas the Landes the Hilles/ that dothe them entermeeteTweene me and those shyning lightes/ that wonted for to clearemye darked panges of Clowdie thoughtes/ as bright as Phebus spheareIt teacheth me also/ what was my pleasaunte stateThe more to feele by suche recorde/ howe that my wealthe dothe bateIf suche recorde alas/ provoke th'enflamed myndeWhiche sprange the daye that I did leave/ the best of me behyndeIf love forgeat hym self/ by lengthe of absence lettwhoe did me guyde o wofull wretche/ vnto this baighted nettWheare dothe encreace my care/ moche better weare for meAlas the cleare Cristall/ that bright transplendaunnt glasseDothe not bewraye the coulour hydd whiche vnderneithe it hasAs dothe th'accombred sprite/ now thoughtfull throwes discoverOf fearce delight, of fervent love/ that in our hartes we coverOute by these eyes it shewethe/ that evermore delightIn playnt of teares to seeke redresse/ and eke bothe daye and nightThese new kynde of pleasures/ whearin most men reioyceTo me theye do redoble still/ of stormye sighes the voyceffor I am one of those/ whome playnte dothe well contentIt sittes me well myne absente wealthe/ me seemes for to lamentand with my teares to geve assaye/ to chardge myne eyes twayneLyke as my harte above the brincke/ is fraughted full of payneAnd for because thearto/ of those faire eyes to treateDo me provoke I shall retourne/ mye playnte thus to repeateffor theare is nothing ells/ that toucheth me so withinWheare they rule all and I alone/ nought but the Case or sckynneWhearfore I do returne/ to them as Well or Springeffrom whome discendes my mortall woe/ above all other thingeSo shall myne eyes in payne/ accompanye my harteThat weare the guydes that did it lead/ of love to feele the smarteThe Crisped golde that doth/ surmount Appolloes prydethe lyvelye streames of pleasaunt starres/ that vnder it dothe glydewhearein the beames of love/ dothe so encreace theyre heateWhich yet so farr touche me so neare/ in colde to make me sweateThe wyse and pleasaunt talke/ so rare or ells a loneThat gave to me the Curteist guifte/ that earste had never nonebe farr from me alas/ and everye other thingeI might forbeare with better will/ then it that did me bringewith plesaunte worde and cheere/ redresse of lingred paynewhiche wonted ofte in kindled will/ to vertue me to trayneThus am I dryven to heare/ and herken after newesMye compforte scante my lardge desyre/ in doutfull trust renewesAnd yet with more delight/ to mone mye woful caceI must complayne those handes those armes/ that fermly do enbraceMe, from my self, and rule the stearne of mye poore Lyfethe sweete disdaynes the pleasaunt wrathes, and eke the lovelye strifeThat wonted well to tune/ in temper iuste and meetethe rage that ofte did make me err/ by furour vndiscreeteAll this is hydd me fro/ with sharppe and Craggie hillsatt others will my longe abode/ my deepe dispaire fulfillsBut if my hope somtyme/ rise vppe by some redresseit stomblethe straight for feoble faynte/ my feare hath suche excesseSuche is the sorte of hope/ the lesse for more desyrewhearbye I feare and yet I truste/ to see that I requyreThe restinge place of love/ wheare vertue lyves and growseWheare I desyre my wearyd life/ somtyme maye take reposeMye songe thow shalt attayne/ to fynde that pleasaunt placewheare shee dothe lyve by whome I Live/ maye chaunce to have this gracewhen shee hathe readd and seene/ the dreede whear in I serveBetweene her brestes she shall the put/ theare shall she thee reserveThen tell her that I come/ shee shall me shortlye seeand yf for waighte the bodye faile/ the Sowle shall to her flye To men that know you not To men that know you not To men that know you notyou may appeare to befull cleare and without spottbut truly vnto meSuche is your wonted kyndby profe so surely knowenas I will not be blyndmyne eyes shall be myne owenI will not wynk and seeI will not please the soeI will not favour theI will not be thye foeI will not though I canI will not shew my powreI will be no suche manI will not the devourBut I am he that willSee still as I have seeneyour goodnes from your yllmyne eyes shall still be cleereffrom motes of blynding lovethat leadeth men somtymeto trust or they do proveand fall, when they wolde clymeI will not feele the fyttof ioye that fooles do feelewhen their chief ioye they hyttwhiche tourneth as the wheelethat lyftes them hye or lowwhiche is now vpp now downeas floodes do ebb and flowgood luck from towne to towneSuche feavers hote and coldesuche panges of ioye and paynesuche fyttes as do them holdeand do by rages raigneshall never sease my hartmy freedome shall excusethat thraldom of suche smartesynce I so well may chuseAnd I indyfferent mancan see and holde my peaceby profe how well you canbegyn to love and ceaceand so by sight I shallsuffyse my self as wellas thowgh I feltt the fallwhiche they did feele that fell Patience for mye devyse Patience for mye devyse Patience for mye devyseImpatience for your parteOf contraries the guyseYs ever the overthwartePatience for I am truethe contrarie for youPatience a good cause whieyou have no cause at all She satte and Sowede that hath done me the wronge She satte and Sowede that hath done me the wronge She satte and Sowede that hath done me the wrongewheareof I playne and have done manye adayeand whylest she herd my playnt in pituous songeWisshed my hart the Sampler as it laythe blynde master whom I have servid [sd]so[/sd]longGrudging to heare that he did heare herr sayeMade her owne weapon doe her fynger bleedeto feele if prickinge weare so good in deede Whoe hath heard of suche crueltie before Whoe hath heard of suche crueltie before Whoe hath heard of suche crueltie beforethat when my playnt remembred her my woethat cawsed it she cruell more and morewisshed eache stiche as she did sitt and sowHad pricked my hart for to encreace my soreand as I thinck she thought it had bene soffor as she thought this is his hart in deede Yf then I burne to playne me so Yf then I burne to playne me so Yf then I burne to playne me sowhat maye it avayle meAnd if the harme that I sufferbe ronne to farr out of measureto seeke for helpp any furtherwhat may it availe meWhat thoughe eache hart that heares me playnePitieth and playneth for mye payneYf I no lesse in greef remaynewhat may it availe meYea though the want of my releefDisplease the causer of my greefSyns I remayne still in mischeefwhat may it avayle meSuche cruell chaunce doth so me threatContynuallye inward to freatThen of releace for to entreatwhat may it availe meffortune is deafe vnto my callMye torment moves her not at alland thoughe she turne as dothe a ballwhat may it availe meffor in dispaire theare is no reedeTo want of eare speeche is no speedeto lynger still a lyve as deadewhat may it availe me My hope alas hath me abused My hope alas hath me abused My hope alas hath me abusedAnd vayne reioycinge hath me feddLuste and ioye have me refusedand carefull playnt is in their steedto moche advauncing slaked my speedmyrth hath cawsed my heavynesAnd I remayne all comfortlesWheare to did I assure my thoughtwithout displeasure stedfastlyein fortunes fordge mye ioye was wroughtAnd is revolted readelyeI am mystaken wonderlyeffor I thought nought but faithfullnesYet I remayne all comfortlesIn gladsome cheere I did delighttill that delight did cause my smartand all was wrong wheare I thought rightffor right it was that my true hartshulde not from trothe be sett a parteSyns trothe did cause mye hardynesYet I remayne all comfortlesSomtyme delight did tewne my songand lead my hart full pleasantlyand to my self I said amongmye happ is comminge hastelyebut it hath happid contrarieAssuraunce cawseth my distresseAnd I remayne all comfortlesThen if my note now doth varieand leave his wonted pleasantnesThe heavie burden that I carryeHathe altred all my ioyfulnesno pleasure hathe still stedfastnesbut haste hath hurt my happinesAnd I remayne all comfortles ffarewell love and all thie Lawes for ever ffarewell love and all thie Lawes for ever ffarewell love and all thie Lawes for everthie baited hookes shall tangle me no moreSenec and Plato call me from thie loreto perfect wealthe my witt for to endevourin blynd errour when I did perseverthie sharppe repulse that pricketh aye so soreHath taught me to sett in tryfles no storeand scape forthe syns lybertie is Levertherefore fare well goe trouble yonger hartesand in me clayme no mroe aucthoritiewith Idle youthe go vse thie propertieand theare on spend thie many brittle dartesffor hetherto thoughe I haue loste all my tymeme lustithe no longer rotten boughes to clyme Eache man me tellithe I chaunge most my devise Eache man me tellithe I chaunge most my devise Eache man me tellithe I chaunge most my deviseand on my faithe me thinck it good reasonTo chaunge purpose lyke after the seasonffor in everye case to keepe still one guyseys meete for them that wold be taken wyseand I am not of suche maner condiconbut treatid after a dyvers facionand thearvpppon my dyversnes doth rysebut you that blame this dyversnes mostChaunge you no more but still after one ratetreate ye me well and kepe ye in the same stateand whyle with me dothe dwell this wearied gosteMy worde now I shall not be variableBut alwaies one you owne bothe fyrme and stable Now all of chaunge, Now all of chaunge Now all of chaunge,must be my songand from my bownd, now must I breakeSince shee so straunge,vnto my wrongedoth stoppe her ears, to heare me speakeyet none doth know,so well as sheemy greif whiche can have no restraintethat faine wold follow,now must flyefor faute of eare, vnto my plaintOh ffortunes might,that eache compellsand me the moste, it doth suffisenow for my right,to ask nought ellsbut to withdraw this enterpriseAnd so for gayne,of this good howrewhiche of my woe, shall be reliefeI shall refrayne,by paynfull powrethe thing that moste, hath bene my griefeAnd shee vniust,that feareth notin this her fame, to be defyl'deyet once I trustshall be my lottto quyte the crafte, that me beguil'de Myne owne I. P. sins you delight to knowe Myne owne I. P. sins you delight to knowe Myne owne I. P. sins you delight to knowethe cawse whye that homweard I do me drawand flye the preace of Coortes whearso they goRather than to lyve thrall vnder the aweof Lordlye lookes wrapped within my Cloketo will and Lust, learning to sett a loweIt is not because I scorne or mockethe powre of them to whome powre hath lentchardge over vs of right to stryke the strokebut trew it is that I haue ever mentLesse to esteeme them then the common sorteof owtward thinges that iudge in their ententWithout regarde what dothe inward resorteI graunt somtyme that of glorye the fyredoth touche my hart me list not to reporteblame by honour and honour to desyrebut how may I nowe this honour attaineto cloke the truthe for prayse without desertof them that list all vyce for to retaineI can not honour them that settes their parteWith Venus and Backus all their lif longenor holde my peace of them though that I smartI can not crowche nor kneele to do so great a wrongeto worship them as god on earthe alonethat are as woolves theise sillie lambs amongI can not with wordes complayne and monevse wyles for witt and make disceate a pleasureand call crafte Counsaile for profitt still to payntI can not wrest the law to fill the Coferwith innocent bloud to feede my self fattand do my self hurt wheare my self I offerI am not he that can allowe the stateof highe Cesar and dampne Cato to diethat with his death did scape out of the gatefrom Cesars hands if Livie do not lyeand will not lyve wheare lybertie was lostSo did his hart the Common weale applieI am not he suche eloquence to bosteto make the Crowe singing as the Swannenor call the lyon of Coward beastes the mostethat can not take a mowce as the Catt canand he that dyeth for Hunger of the goldecall hym Alexander and say that Panpasseth appollo in mvsyke many foldeprayse Sir Topas for a noble taleand scorne the storye that the knight toldeprayse hym for Counsaile that is dronck of alegrynne when he laughes, that beareth the swayeffrowne when he frowneth, and grone when he is paleon others lustes to hang both day and night and daynone of theise poyntes will ever frame in memy witt is nawght I can not learne to wayeand moche the lesse of thinges that greatter bethat aske helpp of of Coullours to devyseto ioyne the meane with eache extreamytiewith the nearest vertue, to cloke all way the vyceand as to purpose lyke wyse it shall fallto presse the vertue that it may not ryseas droncknenes good fellowship to callthe frendly foe with his doble facesay he is gentell and curtyse there with alland that favell hath a goodlye gracein eloquence and creweltie to namezeale of iustice and chaunge in tyme and placeand he that suffreth offence without blamecall hym pitifull and hym trew and playnethat raileth recklesse to every mans shameSay he is rude that can not lye and faynethe Lecher a lover and tyrrannyeto be the right of a Princes raigneI can not I, nor it will not bethis is the cause that I wold never yethang on their sleeves that waye as thow maist seea Chipp of chaunce more than a pound of wittthis maketh me, at home to hunt and hawkeand in fowle weather at my booke to syttin frost and snowe then with my bowe to stalkeno man doth marke wheare that I ryde or goein Lustie leases at lybertie I walkeand of these newes I feele nother weale nor woeSave that a clogg doth hang yet still at my heeleno force for that, for it is ordered sothat I may leap both hedge and dytche full wellI am not in fraunce to iudge the wynewhat saverye sawce these delicates to feelenor yet in spayne wheare one must hym enclynerather than to be outwardlye to seemeI meddle not with wittes that be so fynenor flaunders cheere lettes not my wittes to dymmedeemeof black nor whytt, nor takes my wittes awayeWith beastlynesse, the beastes so so esteemenor I am not wheare Chryste is geven in prayfor monye, poyson, and treason at Romea common plague vsed night and daybut heare I am in Kent and Christendomeamong the Mvses wheare I read in RymeWheare if thow list my I. P. for to comethow shalt be iudge how I do spend my tyme./ My mothers maydes when they do Sowe and Spinne My mothers maydes when they do Sowe and Spinne My mothers maydes when they do Sowe and SpinneThey sing a songe made of the fieldishe mowsethat for because her lyvelode but but thynnewoulde nedes go se her Townishe sisters howseshe thought, her self endured to greevous paynethe stormye blastes her Cave so sore did sowseThat when the furrowes swimmed with the rayneshe must lye colde and weett in sorrye plightAnd wursse then that bare meat theare dyd remayneTo comfort her, when she her house had dightSomtyme a barley Corne / somtyme a beaneffor whiche she laboured hard bothe day and nightIn harvest tyme when she might goe and gleaneAnd when her store was stroyed with the floodThen well away for she vndone was cleaneThen was she fayne to take in steede of foodeSlepe yf shee cowlde her honger to beguyleMy sister (quod she) hath a lyving goodAnd hence from me she dwelleth not a myle A Boke of Balettes A Boke of Balettes Wyatt, Sir Thomas. A Boke of Balettes. [Anon.] W. Copland, 1549. My penne take payne a lytle space My penne take payne a lytle space My penne take payne a lytle spaceTo folowe the thing that doth me chaseAnd hold my harte so soreAnd when thou hast this brought to passeMy pen, I pray the write no more.Remembre thou hast oft pleasedAnd my sorowes also easedBut now vnknowen I knew beforeThat where I trust I am deceyuedAnd yet my pen thou canst do no more.A time thou haddest as other haueTo wryte which way my hope to craueThat time is past withdraw thereforeSens we do lose let other saueAs good leaue of, and write no more.And vse to worke an other wayNot as ye would but as ye mayFor els my life is paste restoreAnd my desyre is my decayeTo loue in vayne who so euer shalOf worldly payne it passeth allAs in lyke case I find wherforeTo hold so fast and yet to fallAlak my pen now wryte no moreSyns thou hast taken payne this spaceTo folow that which doth the chaseAnd hath in holde my hert so sorendA now thou hast this brought to passeMy pen I pray the write no more The fantasy of my harte The fantasy of my harte The fantasy of my harteThat may me only ease,And helpe my careful smarteTherfore my lady dereLet se your fantasyeTo make some hope appeareOf helpe and remedyFor if ye be my frendeAnd vndertake my woMy grefe is at an endeyf ye continew soEls fantasy doth not ryghtAs I deserue and shallTo haue her day and nightTo loue me best of all BL Additional MS BL Additional MS 4797 16th and 17th centuries. 138 ff. A composite manuscript with two Elizabethan poems in the first gathering of vellum leaves. My hart I gave thee not to doe it paine My hart I gave thee not to doe it paine My hart I gave thee not to doe it painebut to preserve Loe it to the was takenMy I served the not that I sholde be foresakenebut that I soue I sould receve reward againeI was content thy servante to remayneand not to be repayed not this fashionnow since sinc in thee it none other reasondisplease thee not if that I doe refrayneunsatiatat of my wo and thyAssured by craft for to excuse thy fautbut since it pleseth to find fautfarewell I saye departing from f refor he that doththatploweth in the so At lest withdraw yor creweltie At lest withdraw yor creweltie At lest withdraw yor creweltieor force the tyme, to work yor willit is to much extremytieto kepe me pent, in prison stillfre from all fault voyd of all cawsewithowt all right, against all lawse,how can you vse, more crewel spightthen offer wrong, and promes rightyet cannot acuse, nor will aquit.Aleuin monthes full, and longer spaceI haue indur'd, yor deuilishe driftesWhilst you haue sought bothe man and placeand set yor snares, with all yor shiftesthe faultles foote, to wrape with wilein any guilt, by any gileand how you see it will not behow can you thus for shame agreto kepe him bound, you ought set fre.Yor chance was once, as myne is nowto kepe this hold, against your willand then you sware, I know well howthoghe now you swarue, you know how illbut thus the world, hys course dothe passethe priste forgat, that clarke he wasand you that then, cried iustice stilland now, haue iustice at yor willwrest iustice wrong, against all skillBut whie do I thus coldly plainas thoughe it wer my cawse alonewhan cawse doth eache man so constrainas England through hath cawse to moneto see yor bloody searche of sucheas all the erthe can no way tucheand better wer that all yor kyndlyk hownds in hell, with shame wer shrnedthen you had myght vnto yor myndBut as the stone that strikes the wallsome time rebounds, on th'urlers hedso yor fowll fetche to yor fowll fallmay torn and noy the brest it bredand than such mesure as you gaueof right and iustice looke to haueIf good or euill, life short or longif false or trew, yf right or wrongand thus till then, I end my song. evyn as you lyst my wyll ys bent evyn as you lyst my wyll ys bent evyn as you lyst my wyll ys bentyn every thynge to be contentto serue yn loue tyll lyf be spent& to reward my loue yn contynent even as you lystto fayn or fabble ys not my myndnor to refuse suche as y fyndbut even as a lambe humbull & kyndor byrd yn cage to be assynd even as you lystwhen all the folke ys com & gonmy Ioye & hart agreeth yn one& hath chosen you only aloneto be my Ioye or ells my mon even as you lystyf pyte appeyr yn hes plasor yf dysdayn shew hes fasyet craue y nothyng yn this casbut as you lyst to folow the tras even as you lystsome yn wordes mwche loue doth fayne& some for wordes gyue wordes a gaynethys wordes for wordes yn wordes remayn& yet at last wordes dow obtayne even as ye lystto crave yn wordes y woll eschewe& loue yn dede y woll ensuewythe the my hole hart faythfull & trew& of my trewth y pray you rew even as you lystder hart y bed you now fawrwellwith as good hart as tong can tellthys tall take trew as the gospellmy lyf ye may both saue & spylle even as you lyst The wandring gadling in the somer tyde The wandring gadling in the somer tyde The wandring gadling in the somer tydethat fyndes the adder with his retchles fotestartes not dysmayde so sodenly a sydeas did gelosy tho ther were no bootewhen that he saw me sitting by her sidethat of my health ys very cropp and rooteyt pleased me to have so faire a graceto styng the wight that wold have had my place. Venemus thorns that be both sharpe and keene Venemus thorns that be both sharpe and keene Venemus thorns that be both sharpe and keenebeare somtymes flowers fayre and fresh of hewand poyson ofte ys put in medycineand cawseth helth in man for to renewthe fier eke that all consumeth cleenemay holp and hurt and yf that this betrewI trust somtyme my harme may be my helthsyns every woe is ioyned with somme welth. I am not dead although I had a fall I am not dead although I had a fall I am not dead although I had a fallthe sonn returns that was hid vnder clowdeand whan fortune hath spytt owt all her gallI trust good luck shalbe to me allowdefor I haue seen a shipp into the haven fallwhen storme hath broke both mast & also shrowdeand eke the willow that stowpith with the windedoth ryse againe and greater wood doth bynde I finde no peace and all my war is donne I finde no peace and all my war is donne I finde no peace and all my war is donneI feare and hope I burn an frese like yseI flye above the wind yet can not ryseand nowght I haue yet all the world I seasonthat loose the / nor locketh holdes me in prisonand holde me not yet can I escape no wisenor letes me live nor dye at my deviceand yet of death it gevethe none occasionwithout eye I see and without tong I playnI desire to perishe and yet aske I helthI love another and yet I have my selfI feed in sorow and lawgh in all my painelikewise pleaseth me bothe death and lyfeand my delight is causer of my gryef Myne owne I. P. sins you delite to knowe Myne owne I. P. sins you delite to knowe Myne owne I. I. P. sins you delite to knowethe cawse whie that whomeward I do me draweand flee the prese of courtes wherso they goeRather than to liue thralle vnder the aweof lordely lokes wrapped within my cloketo will and lust, learning to set a loweIt is not because I scorne or mockethe power of them to whom fortune hath lentcharg ouer us of right to strike the strokebut trew it is that I haue allwaies mentlesse to esteme them than the common sorteof owtward things that iudge in theire intentwith owt regarde what dothe inward resorteI graunt sumtime that of glory the fierdoth touch my hart melist not to reporteblame by honor and honor to desierbut how may I now this honor assaigneto cloke the truth for praise without desartof them that list all uice for to retaineI cannot honor them that settes their partewith venus and Backus all their life long,nor hold my pease of theim though that I smarte;I cannot crouch, nor kneale to do so great a wrongto worship theim lyke god on earth alone;that ar as wolues theise sillie lambes amongI cannot with wourdes complain and mone,vse wiles for wit and make disceite a pleasureand call craft, counsaile, for profitte still to paint,I cannnot wrest the law to fill the cofferwith innocent bloode to feade my selfe fatand do most hurt where my selfe I offer:I am not he that can allowe the stateof high Cesar and dampne Cato to diethat with his death did scape out of the gatefrom Cesars handes (if Liuie doth not lie.)and willwould not liue where libertie was lostso did his hart the comon weale applieI am not he sutche eloquens to bostto make the crowe singing as the swanne,nor calle the lion of coward of beastes the most,that cannot take a mouce as the cat can;and he that dieth for hunger of the goldecall him Alexander, and say that Panpasseth Appollo in musicke manyfold;praise Sir Topias for a noble taile,and scorne the the story that the knight toldpraise him for counsaile that is dronke asale of ale;grynne when he laughes, that beareth the sway,froune, when he frouneth, and grone when heis pale,on others lustes to hang both day and night,none of these points will euer frame in me:my wit is naught I cannot learne to wayand mutch the lesse of things that greater bee;that aske helpe of colours to deuiseto ioyne the meane with each extremitiewith the nearest uertue to cloke alway the vice,and as to purpose like wise it shall fallto presse the uertue that it may not rise,as dronkennes good fellowship to call,the frendly foe with his dowble face,say he is gentle snd curteis therwithall,and that fauell hath a goodly graceIn eloquens, and crueltie to nameZeale of iustice, and chang in tyme and place,and he that suffreth offence without blamecall him pitifull, and him trewe and plainethat rayleth recklis to euery mans shame;say he is rude that cannot lye and faine,the lethcer a louer, and tirranyeto be the right of a Princes raigneI cannot I no nor yet will not be:this is the cause that I wold neuer yethang on theire sleues, that way as thou mayst seea chip of chaunce more than a pound of witt:This maketh me at whome to hunt and hauke,and in foule wether at my boke to sitIn frost and snowe then with my bowe to stalke;no man doth marke where that i ride or goe;In lustie leases at lybertie I walkeand of these newes I feale nether well nor woo,saue that a clogge doth hang yet at my heale,noforce for that, for it is ordered soe,that I may leape bothe hedge and diche full well:I am not in fraunce to iudg the winewhat sauerie sauce theise delicates to fele;not yet in spaine where one must him encline;rather than to be outwardly to seame,I meddle not with wittes that be so fine;nor flaunders chere letts nat my sight to dimeof blacke nor white, nor takes my wittes awaywith beastlynes the beastes do so esteame:nor I am not wher Christ is geuen in prayfor monye, poyson and treason at Rome,a comon place vsed night and day:but heare I am in kent, and Christendome,among the muses wheare I read and rime,wher yf thou list my I.P. for to cumethow shalt be iudge how I do spend my time. BL Egerton MS BL Egerton MS 2,711 c. 1550. This manuscript is a collection of 123 poems, of which one is copied twice, entered before 1558. Nineteen were added in Elizabethan hands. Twenty-five poems and corrections in three others are in Sir Thomas Wyatt’s hand. One poem and some revisions of Wyatt’s poems are in Nicholas Grimald’s hand from c. 1549. Seventy-three of the entries from before 1558 are signed with “TV,” “VT,” or “Tho,” possibly in Wyatt’s hand. A sixteenth century hand has signed fifteen other poems with “Wyatt.” The MS, without Grimald’s additions, was copied for and partly by Wyatt before 1542 as a collection of Wyatt’s poems. Alas the greeffe, and dedly wofull smart Alas the greeffe, and dedly wofull smart Alas the greeffe, and dedly wofull smart:O cruell causer of vndeserued chaunge:by great desire vnconstantly to raunge:is this your waye, for proofe of stedfastenes(perdye you knowe : the thing was not so straungeby former prouff) to muche my faithfulneswhat nedeth, then, suche coloured dowblenes.I have wailed, thus, weping in nyghtly payn:in sobbis, & sighes : Alas : & all in vayn:in inward plaint : & hertes wofull torment.and yet, Alas, lo, crueltie, & disdaynhave, set at noght a faithfull true intent:and price hath priuilege thouth to prevent.But, though I sterve : & to my deth still morne:and pece mele in peces though I be torn:and though I dye, yelding my weried gooste:shall never thing again make me retornI qwite thenterprise of that, that I have losttoo whome so ever lust for too proffer moost. My lute awake perfourme the last My lute awake perfourme the last My lute awake perfourme the lastlabour that thou and I shall wastand end that I have now begonfor when this song is song & pastmy lute be still for I have doneAs to be herd where ere is noneas lede to grave in marbill stonemy song may perse her hert so as soneshould we then sigh or syng or moneno no my lute for I have doneThe Rokke do not so cruellyrepulse the waves continuellyas she my suyte & affectionso that I ame past remedywhereby my lute & I have doneProwd of the spoyle that thou hast gottof simple hertes thorough loves shotby whome vnkynd thou hast theim wonethinck not he haith his bow forgotall tho my lute & I have doneVengeaunce shall fall on thy disdainthat makest but game on ernest painthinck not alone vnder the sonnevnquyt to cause thy lovers plainall tho my lute and I have donePerchaunce they lay the lye wetherd & oldthe wynter nyght that are so coldplaynyng in vain vnto the monethy wisshes then dare not be toldcare then who lyst for I have doneAnd then may chaunce the to repentthe tyme that thou hast lost and spentto cause they lovers sigh & swounethen shalt thou knowe beaultie but lentand wisshe and want as I have doneNow cesse my lute this is the lastlabour that thou & I shall wastand ended is that we begonnow is this song boeth song & pastmy lute be still for I have done My hert I gave the not to do it payn My hert I gave the not to do it payn My hert I gave the not to do it paynbut to preserue it was to the takenI serued the not to be forsakenbut that I should be rewarded againI was content thy serunt to remaynbut not to be payed vnder this fasshionnowe syns in the is none othee reasondisplease the not if that I do refrainvnsaciat of my woo and thy desireassured be craft to excuse thy faultbut syns it please thy to fain a defaultfarewell I say parting from the fyerfor he that beleveth bering in handweth in the sand Yf I had suffered this to you vnware Yf I had suffered this to you vnware Yf I had suffered this to you vnwaremyn were the fawte & you nothing to blamebut syns you know my woo & all my carewhy do I dy alas for shame for shameI know right well my face my lowke my teeresmyn Iyes my wordes & eke my drery chierehave cryd my deth full oft vnto your eresherd of belefe it doeth appere: appereA better prouff I se that ye would havehow I ame dede therefore when ye here tellbeleveit not all tho ye se my gravecruell vnknynd I say farewell : farewell At moost myschief At moost myschief At moost myschiefI suffre greiffor of reliefsyns I have noneMy lute & Icontinuellyshall vs applyto sigh & moneNought may prevaillto wepe or waillpitie doeth faillin you AlasMorning or monecomplaint or noneit is all oneas in this caseffor crueltiemoost that can behath soverayntewithin your hertWhich maketh bareall my welfarenought do ye carehow sore I smart Patience though I have not Patience though I have not Patience though I have notthe thing that I requireI must of force god wotforbere my moost desirefor no ways cannot I fyndeto saile against the wyndePatience do what they willto worke me woo or spiteI shall content me stillto thyncke boeth daye & nyteto thyncke and hold my peacesyns there is no redressePatience withouten blamefor I offended noughtI knowe they knowe thesamethough they have chaunged their thoughtwas ever thought so movedto hateh that it haith lovedPatience of all my harmefor fortune is my foopatience must be the charmeto hele me of my woopatience withoute offenceis a painfull patience Marvaill no more all tho Marvaill no more all tho Marvaill no more all thothe songes I syng do monefor othre liff then woI never proved noneAnd in my hert alsois graven with lres diepea thousand sighes & moa flod of teeres to wepeHow may a man in smartfynde matter to reIoysehow may a morning hertset fourth a plesaunt voisePlay who that can that partnedes must in me apperehow fortune overthwartdoeth cause my morning cherePerdy there is no manif he never sawe sightthat perfaictly tell canthe nature of the lightAlas how should I thenthat never tasted but sowrebut do as I begancontinuelly to lowreBut yet perchaunce som chancemay chaunce to chaunge my tuneand when suche chaunce doeth chauncethen shall I thanck fortuneAnd if I have souche chaunceperchaunce ere it be longfor suche pleasaunt chaunceto syng som plaisaunt song What no perdy ye may be sure What no perdy ye may be sure What no perdy ye may be surethinck not to make me to your lurewith wordes and chere so contrariengswete and sowre contrewaingto much it were still to enduretrouth is tryed where craft is in vrebut though ye have haved my hertes curetrow ye I dote withoute endingWhat no perdyThough that with pain I do procurefor to forgett that ons was purewithin my hert shall still that thingvnstable vnsure and wavringbe in my mynde withoute recureWhat no perdye There was never ffile half so well filed There was never ffile half so well filed There was never ffile half so well filedto file a file for everyany smythes intentas I was made a filing instrumentto frame othres while I was begiledBut reason hath at my follie smyledand pardond me syns that I me repentof my lost yeres & tyme myspentfor yeuth did me lede & falshode guydedYet this trust I have of full great aparauncesyns that decept is ay retourneableof very force it is aggreablethat therewithall be done the recompencethen gile begiled plained should be neverand the reward litle trust for ever A Robyn Ioly Robyn tell me how thy leman doeth and thou shall knowe of myn A Robyn Ioly Robyn tell me how thy leman doeth and thou shall knowe of myn A Robyn/ Ioly Robyn/ tell me how thy leman doeth/ and thou shall knowe of mynMy lady is vnkynd perdealack whi is she soshe loveth an othre better then meand yet she will say noResponceI fynde no suche doublenesI fynde women truemy lady loveth me dowtlesand will chaunge for no newele plaintifThou art happy while that doeth lastbut I say as I fyndthat womens love is but a blastand torneth lik the wyndeResponceSuche folkes shall take no harme by lovethat can abide their tornBut I alas can no way provein love but lake & mornle plaintifBut if thou wilt avoyde thy harmelerne this lessen of mein othre fieres thy self to warmeand let theim warme with the Suche vayn thought as wonted to myslede me Suche vayn thought as wonted to myslede me Suche vayn thought as wonted to myslede mein desert hope by well assured monemaketh me from compayne to live alonein folowing her whome reason bid me fleShe fleith as fast by gentill crueltieand after her myn hert would fain be gonebut armed sighes my way do stoppe anontwixt hope & drede lacking my lib libertieYet as I gesse vnder that scornefulldisdaynfull broweone beame of pitie is in her clowdy lokewhich comforteth the mynde that erst for fere shokeAnd therewithall bolded I seke the way howto vtter the smert that I suffre withinbut suche it is I not how to begyn If fansy would favour If fansy would favour If fansy would favouras my deseruing shallmy love my paramourshould love me best of allBut if I cannot attainthe grace that I desirthen may I well complainmy seruice & my hierffansy doeth knowe howto fourther my trew hertif fansy myght avowewith faith to take partBut fansy is so frailland flitting still so fastthat faith may not prevaillto helpe me furst nor lastffor fansy at his lustdoeth rule all but by gessewhereto should I then trustin trouth or stedfastnesYet gladdely would I pleasethe fansy of her hertthat may me onely easeand cure my carefull smartTherefore my lady dereset ons your fantasyto make som hope appereoff stedfastnes remedyffor if he be my frendand vndertake my woomy greif is at an endeif he continue soElles fansy deth not rightas I deserue and shallto have you daye & nyghtto love me best of all The wandering gadlyng in the sommer tyde / The wandering gadlyng in the sommer tyde The wandering gadlyng in the sommer tyde /that fyndes the Adder / with his recheles fote /startes not dismayde, so soudenly a side /as Ialous dispite did : tho there ware no bote /when that he sawe me : sitting by her sidethat of my helth / is very croppe & rote.it pleased me then to have so fair a grace /to styng that hert that would have my place. The lyvely sperkes that issue from those Iyes The lyvely sperkes that issue from those Iyes The lyvely sperkes that issue from those Iyesagainst the which ne vaileth no defencehave prest myn hert : and done it none offencewith qwaking pleasure more then ons or twiseWas never man could any thing devisethe sonne bemes to torn wtih so great vehemenceto dase mans sight as by their bright presencedased ame I muche like vnto the gyseOf one I stricken with dynt of lighteningblynded with the stroke / erryng here & thereso call I for helpe : I not when ne whereThe pain of my fals patiently beringfor after the blase / as is no wounderof dedly nay here I : the ferefull thounder Tho I cannot your crueltie constrain Tho I cannot your crueltie constrain Tho I cannot your crueltie constrainfor my good will to favour me againtho my true & faithfull lovehave no power your hert to moveyet rew vpon my painTho I your thrall must evermore remainand for your sake my libertie restrainthe greatest grace that I do craveis that ye would vouchesaveto rew vpon my painTho I have not deserued to obtainso high Reward but thus to serue in vaintho I shall have no redresseyet of right ye can no lessebut rew vpon my painbut I se well that your high disdainwull no wise graunt that I shall more attainyet ye must graunt at the lestthis my poure and small requestto rew vponreioyse not at my pain Some tyme I fled the fyre that me brent / Some tyme I fled the fyre that me brent Some tyme I fled the fyre that me brent /by hillessee by land dales: by water and by wynd.and now I folow the coles that be quent /from Dovour to Calais against my mynde.Lo how desire is boeth sprong & spent /and he may se that whilome was so blynd.and all his laborur now he laugh to scorne /mashed in the breers that erst was all to torne What deth is worse then this What deth is worse then this What deth is worse then thiswhen my delightmy wordlywele my Ioye & my blysis from my sightboeth daye & nyghtmy liff alas I mysffor though I seme alyvemy hert is hensthus botles for to stryveoute of presensof my defenstowerd my deth I dryveHertles alas what manmay long endureAlas how lyve I thensyns no recuremay me assuremy liff I may well banThus doeth my torment groin dedly dredalas who myght lyve soalyve as deedalyve to ledea dedly lyff in woo So feble is the threde that dothe the burden stay So feble is the threde that dothe the burden stay So feble is the threde that dothe the burden stayof my pore lyff In syhevy plyght that fallythe with his syin dekaythat but it have frome elles where somesome aide or some socoursthe runyng spyndell off my fate anon shall end his cours.ffore sins thunhappy howre that did me to departfrom my swete wele one only hope hathe heldstaide my lyff apart.Thatwych doth perswade with suche likesuch wordes vnto my wofullsory mynd.mayntene thy sellff o wofull spryte sone better luke to fyndffor tho thou be depryffd from thy desyerd syghtwho can the tell iff thi retorne be for thy most delyghtor who can tell / thy losse if thou maist ons maist recover:some plesant howre thy wo may wrape and the defend & cover.this is the trust that yet hath my lyff sustaynidand now alas I se it faint and I by trust ame trainid.the tyme doth passeflete and I perceyve thowrs how thei bendso fast alas that that I have skant the space to marke my comyng end.westward the sonne from owt thest skant doth shew his lyghtwhen in the west he hyds hym sellffstraite with in the darke of nyghtand cons agayneas fast where he / began his path a wryefrom est to west to est from west to thest so dothe his vgeIornei lythe lyff so short so fraile that mortall men lyve hereso gret a whaite so hevy charge the body that we berethat when I thinke apon the distance and the spacethat doth so ferr devid not from my dere desird faceI know not how tattayne the wynges that I requireto lyfft my whaite that it myght fle to folow my desyrethtusus off that hope that doth my lyff some thing sustaynealas I fere and partly fele full litill doth remayneEche place doth bryng me grieff where I do not beholdthose lyvely Iyes thatwich off my thowghtes were wont the kays to holdthose thowghtes were plesaunt swete / whilst I enioyd that gracemy plesure past / my present payne / thatwher I myght well embraceBut for becawse my want shold more my wo encresseIn wache in slepe both day and nyght my will doth neuer cessethat thing to wishe wheroff / sins I did lese the syghtI neuer saw the thing that myght my faytfull hert delyghtthvnsesy lyff I lede doth teche me for to metethe flowdes the sees the land and hilles that doth them entremetetwene me and those shining lyghtes that wontyd to cleremy darke panges off clowdy thowghtes as bryght as phebus speIt techithe me also to know what was my plesant statethe more to fele by suche record how that my welth doth bate.if such record alas provoke thenenflamid my myndthatwiche sprang that day that I did leve the best of me behyndif love forgett hym sellff by length of absence letwho doth me guyd o wofull wreche vnto this baytid netwhere doth encresse my care? muche better were for meas dome as stone to think on nowght andall thing forgott still absent for to be.alas the Clere Crystall the bryght transparant glasdoth not declarebewray the colour hyd wich vnder nethit hasas doth thaccomberd sprite thowghtfull throws discoveroff fiers delyght off fervent love that in our hertes we coverowt by thes Iyes it shewth that euer more delyghtIn plaint & teres to seke redresse seke& that bothe day & nyghtThes new kyndes off plesurs wherein allmost men reioyseto me thei do redowble still off stormye syghes the voyceffor I ame one off them whom plaint dothe well contentit sittes me well / myn absent welth / me seems me to lamentand with my teris for to' assay to charge myn Iyes tweynesins thatlyke as myn hert on euer above the brink is frawtid full of paAnd forby cawse therto / off those fayre Iyes to tretedo me provoke / I shall retorne / my plaint thus to repete ffor there is nothing elles that towches me so with inwhere thei rule all and I alone nowght but the cace or skyn.wherfore I do retorne / to them as well or spryngfrom whom decendes my mortall wo above all other thing.So shall myn Iyes in payne accopagnie min hertthat were the guydes that did it lede of love to fele the smart.The cryspid gold that doth sormount Apollos prydthe lyvely strenes of plesaunt sterres that vnder it doth glydwhere in the bemes off love doth still encresse theire hetewiche yet so farre towche me so nere in cold to make me swetThe wise and plesaunt talk so rare or elles alonethat did me gyve the courtese gyfft that erstsuche had neuer nonearbe ferre from me alas / and euery other thingI myght forbere with better will then that that did me bryngwith plesant word & chere redresse off all mylingerd payneand wontyd offt within kendlid will into vertu me to trayne.thus ame I dryven to here / and herken affter newsmy confort skant my large desire in dowtfull trust renewsAnd yet with more delyght to playnemone my wofull caceI must complaine those handes those armes that fermely do embraceMe from my sellff / and rule / the sterne of my pore lyffthe swete disdaynes / the plesant wrathes & eke the lovely stryffthat wontid offtwell to tune / in tempre Iust and metethe rage that offt did make me erre / by furour vndiscreteall this is hid me fro / with sharp and cragyd hillesmy faintyng hopeat other ill will / my brytill lyfflong abode / willingmy diepe dispaire fulbut if my hope somtyme ryse vp by some redresseit stumblithe straite / for feble faint / my fere hathe such suche is the feresort off hope / the lesse for more desyrewherby I fere and yet I trust to se that I requyreThe restyng place of love / where vertu lyves and grosewhere I desire my wery lyff also may all sometyme take reposeMy song you shalt ataine / to fynd that plesant placewhere she doth lyve / by whome I lyve / permaychaunce she the hthis gracewhen she hath red and sene the dred wherein I sterveby twene her brestes she shall the put there shall she thee reserveThen saytell her that I come for here I may not taryshe shall me shortly seyff that for whayte the body fayle mythis sowle shall to h Goo burnyng sighes Vnto the frosen hert Goo burnyng sighes Vnto the frosen hert Goo burnyng sighes Vnto the frosen hertgoo breke the Ise withwhiche pites paynfull dertmyght never perse and if mortall prayerin hevyn may be herd at lest I desirthat deth or mercy be ende of my smertTake with the payn wherof I have my partand eke the flame from which I cannot stertand leve me then in rest I you requireGoo burning sighesI must goo worke I se by craft & artfor trueth & faith in her is laide apartAlas I cannot therefor assaill herwith pitefull plaint & scalding fyerthat oute of my brest doeth straynably stertGoo burning sighes To cause accord or to aggre To cause accord or to aggre To cause accord or to aggretwo contraries in oon degreand in oon poynct as semeth meto all mans wit / it cannot beit is impossibleOf hete and cold when I complainand say that hete doeth cause my painwhen cold doeth shake my every vainand boeth at ons I say againit is impossibleThat man that hath his hert awayif lyff lyveth there as men do saythat he hertles should last on daya lyve & not to torn to clayit is impossibleTwixt lyff and deth say what who saeyththere lyveth no lyff that draweth breththey Ioyne so nere & eke I feithto seke for liff by wissh of dethit is impossibleYet love that all thing doeth subduewhose power ther may no liff eschewhath wrought in me that I may rewthese miracles to be so truethat are impossible Beholde, love, thy power how shee dispiseth Beholde, love, thy power how shee dispiseth Beholde, love looue, thy power how shee dispiseth:My great payne how litle shee regardeth.the holy oth, wherof she takes takes no cure:broken shee hath : and yet, shee bideth sure,Right at her ease : litle shee thee dredeth.Wepened thou art: and shee vnarmed sitteth:Too thee disdaynfull, all / her liffe shee ledeth:Too mee spitefull, withoute cause, or mesure.Beholde, love: looue:I ame in holde: if pitie thee mevethgoo, bend thy bowe: that stony herte breketh:And, with some stroke, revenge the displeasureof thee & him: that sorrowe doeth endure:And, as his lorde, / thee lowely ,/ here entreath entreateth.Beholde, love. looue. Thou hast no faith of him that hath none Thou hast no faith of him that hath none Thou hast no faith of him that hath nonebut thou must love him nedes by reasonfor as saieth a proverbe notableeche thing seketh his semblableand thou hast thyn of thy conditionsyet is it not the thing I passe onnor hote nor cold ofis myn affectionfor syns thyn hert is so mutablethou hast no faithI thought the true / withoute exceptionbut I perceve I lacked discretionto fasshion faith to wordes mutablethy thought is to light & variableto chaunge so oft withoute occasionThou hast no faith They fle from me / that sometyme did me seke They fle from me / that sometyme did me seke They fle from me / that sometyme did me sekewith naked fote stalking in my chambreI have sene theim gentill tame and mekethat nowe are wyld and do not remembrethat sometyme they put theimself in daungerto take bred at my hand & nowe they raungebesely seking with a continuell chaungeThancked be fortune it hath ben othrewisetwenty tymes better but ons in speciallin thyn arraye after a pleasaunt gysewhen her lose gowne from her shoulders did falland she me caught in her armes long & smalltherewithall swetely did me kysseand softely saide dere hert howe like you thisIt was no dreme I lay brode wakingbut all is torned thorough my gentilnesinto a straunge fasshion of forsakingand I have leve to goo of her goodenesand she also to vse new fangilnesbut syns that I so kyndely ame seruedI would fain knowe what she hath deserued Caesar, when that the traytour of Egipt Caesar, when that the traytour of Egipt Caesar, when that the traytour of Egiptwith thonourable hed, did him present:covering his gladnes: did representplaynt, with his teeres /owteward: as it is writtand, Hannyball, eek, when fortune him shittcleene from his reign: & from all his intent:laught to his folke, / whome sorrowe did torment:his cruelle dispite / for too disgorge, & qwite.so, chaunceth it oft: that every passionthe mynde hideth, by coolour contrary:with fayned visage, now sad, now mery.whereby, if I laught, any tyme, or season:it is: for bicause I have not hernother waye,too cloke my care: but, vnder sporrt, & playe. If chaunce assynd If chaunce assynd If chaunce assyndwere to my myndeby very kyndof destyneyet would I cravenought els to havebut liff & libertieThen were I sureI myght endurethe displeasureof crueltiewhere now I plainalas in vainlacking my liff for libertieffor withoute thonethothre is goneand there can noneit remedyif thone be pastthothre doeth wastand all for lack of libertieAnd so I dryveas yet alyveall tho I stryvewith myseriedrawing my brethlowking for deth& losse of liffe for libertieBut thou that stillmaist at thy willtorn all this illaduersitiefor ye repareof my welfaregraunt me but liff & libertieAnd if not sothen let all gooto wretched wooand let me dyefor thone or thothrethere is none othremy deth or liff with libertie Paciens for my devise Paciens for my devise Paciens for my deviseImpaciens for your partof contraries the gyseis ever the overthwartpaciens for I ame truethe contrary for yewPaciens a good cause whyyou have no cause at alltherefore your standeth awryperchaunce sometyme to fallpaciens then take him vpand drynck of patiens CuppPacience no force for thatbut brusshe your gowne againpacience spurne not theratlet no man knowe your paynepacience evyn at my pleasurewhen your is owte of mesureThothr was for methis patience is for youchaunge when ye list let sefor I have taken a newpacience with a good willis easy to fulfill I have sought long with stedfastnes I have sought long with stedfastnes I have sought long with stedfastnesto have had som ease of my great smertbut nought availleth faithfulnesto grave within your stony hertBut happe and hit or els hit notas vncertain as is the wynderight so it fareth by the shottof love alas that is so blyndTherefore I plaid the foole invainwith pitie when I first beganyour cruell hert for to constrainsyns love regardeth no doulfull manBut of your goodenes all your myndeis that I should complain invainthis is the favour that I fyndeye list to here how I can plainBut tho I plain to please your herttrust me I trust to temper it sonot for to care which do revertall shalbe oon in welth or wooffor fansy rueleth tho right say nayeven as the goodeman kyst his kowenone othre reason can ye lay Nature, that gave the bee so feet a grase, Nature, that gave the bee so feet a grase Nature, that favce gave the bee so feet a grase,/to getfynd hony of so wonderous fashion:/hath taught the spider owte of thesame plasce, to fetche poyson, by straynge alteration.tho this be straynger /, it is a straynger case,/with oon kyssse by secret operation /,boeth these at ons /, in those your lippes to fynde /in chaunge whereof, I leve my hert behinde. To wisshe and want and not obtain To wisshe and want and not obtain To wisshe and want and not obtainto seke & sew ease of my painsyns all that ever I do is vainWhat may it availl meAll tho I styrve boeth day & howreagainst the streme with all my powreif fortune list for to lowreWhat may it availl meIf willingly I suffre wooif from the fyre me list not gooif then I burn to plaine me soWhat may it availl meAnd if the harme that I suffrebe run to farre owte of mesurto seke for helpe any furtherWhat may it availl meWhat tho eche hert that hereth me plainpitieth and plaineth for my paynif I no les in greif remainWhat may it availl meYe tho the want of my reliefDisplease the causer of my greifsyns that I remain still in myschiefWhat may it availl meSuche cruell chaunce doeth so me thretecontinuelly inward to fretthen of relesse for to treteWhat may it availl meffortune is deiff vnto my callmy torment moveth her not at alland though she torn as doeth a ballWhat may it availl meffor in despere there is no redeto want of ere : speche is no spedeto linger still alyve as dedWhat may it availl me Ons as me thought fortune me kyst Ons as me thought fortune me kyst Ons as me thought fortune me kystand bad me aske what I thought bestand I should have it as me listtherewith to set my hert in restI asked nought but my dere hertto have for evermore myn ownethen at my ende were all my smertthen should I nede no more moneYet for all that a stormy blasthad overtorned this goodely dayand fortune semed at the lastthat to her promes she saide nayBut like as oon oute of dispereto soudden hope revived Inow fortune sheweth herself so fayerthat I content me wonderlyMy moost desire my hand may rechemy will is alwaye at my handme nede not long for to besecheher that hath power me to comaundWhat erthely thing more can I cravewhat would I wisshe more at my willno thing on erth more would I havesave that I have to have it stillffor fortune hath kept her promesin graunting me my moost desireof my sufferaunce I have my redresand I content me with my hiere Resound my voyse ye wodees that here me plain Resound my voyse ye wodees that here me plain Resound my voyse ye wodees that here me plainboeth hilles and vales causing reflexionand Ryvers eke record ye of my painwhich have ye oft forced by compassionas Iudges to here my exclamationamong whome pitie I fynde doeth remaynWhen I it seke Alas there is disdainOft ye Revers : to here my wofull soundehave stopt your course : and plainly to expressemany a tere by moystour of the groundethe erth hath wept to here my heveneswhich causeles to suffre without redressethe howgy okes have rored in the wyndeeche thing me thought complayning in their kyndeWhy then helas doeth not she on me rewor is her hert so herd that no pitiemay in it synke my Ioye for to renewO stony hert ho hath this Ioyned theso cruell that art : cloked with beaultieno grace to me from the there may procedebut as rewarded deth for to be my mede Syns ye delite to knowe Syns ye delite to knowe Syns ye delite to knowethat my torment & wooshould still encresewithoute releseI shall enforce me sothat liff & all shall goofor to content your cruelnesAnd so this grevous traynethat I to long sustaynshall sometyme ceseand have redresseand you also remainfull pleased with my painfor to content your cruelnesOnles that be to lightand that ye would ye myghtse the distresseand hevinesof oon slain owte righttherewith to please your sightand to content your cruelnesThen in your cruell modewould god fourthwith ye woodewith force expressemy hert oppresseto do your hert suche goodeto se me bathe in blodefor to content your cruelnesThen cowld ye aske no morethen should ye ease my soreand the excesseof myn excesseand you should evermoredefamed be thereforefor to repent your cruelnes / Venemus thornes that ar so sharp & kene Venemus thornes that ar so sharp & kene Venemus thornes that ar so sharp & kenesometyme ber flowers fayre & freshe of huepoyson offtyme is put in medeceneand cawsithe helthe in man for to renueffyre that purgithe allthing that is vnclenemay hele / & hurt. and if thes bene trueI trust somtyme my harme may be my helthesyns evry woo is Ioynid with some welth. rmed rmed rmed mynde affermeduld be conferned that I myght likearme her hert alikenot se the like my self in prese I should not ceseold my peased me a pase had taken placed in her grace had foundundever sovndestestdoeth rest Lyke as the swan Lyke as the swan Lyke as the swandoeth strayn her vright so syng I wI dy I dy and yoI shall enforce my that all that hershall knowe thI dy I dy and yyour vnkyndnes hand chaunged to paynfull I dy I dy aConsumeth my your fawte melting in I dy I dy My faith bured shI do bequto cry I Desire alas my master & my foo / Desire alas my master & my foo Desire alas my master & my foo /so sore alterd thi sellff how mayst thou se?whome thousome tyme I did sekesowght / chaseththat dryvys me to & frowhomesome tyme thow didst ule / ow lyththat ledythe the & me.tyranie itwhat reson is to rewle thy subiectes so?by forcyd law & mutabilitefor where by the I dowtyd to have blameevyn now by hate agayne I dowt the same. She sat and sowde / that hath done me the wrong/ She sat and sowde / that hath done me the wrong She sat and sowde / that hath done me the wrong/wherof I plain : and have done many a daye.and whilst she herd my plaint in pitious song/wisshed my hert the samplar as it lay.the blynd maister / whome I have serued so long/grudging to here that he did here her saye/withmade her owne wepon did makedo her fynger blede/to fele if pricking were so good in dede. Who hath herd of suche crueltye before Who hath herd of suche crueltye before Who hath herd of suche tyrannycrueltye beforethat when my plaint remembred her my woothat caused it / she cruell more & morewisshed eche stitche as she did sit & soohad prickedprykt myn hert / for to encrese my soreand as I thinck / she thought it had ben sofor as she thought this is his hert in dedeshe pricked herd / & made her self to blede all to my harme all to my harme all to my harmesending suche flame from frosen brestagainst all right for my vnrestAnd I knowe well how frowerdlyye have mystaken my true Intentand hetherto how wrongfullyI have founde cause for to repentbut deth shall ryd me redelyyf that your hert do not relentand I knowe well all this ye knoweThat I and myneand all I haveye may assigneto spill or saveWhy are ye then so cruell ffoovnto your owne that loveth you so Comfort thy self my wofull hert Comfort thy self my wofull hert Comfort thy self my wofull hertor shortly on thy self the wrekefor length redoubleth dedly smertwhy sighes thou hert & woult not brekeTo wast in sight were pitious dethalas I fynd the faynt & wekeenforce thy self to lose thy brethwhy sighes thou hert & woult not brekeThou knowest right well that no redreseis thus to pyne and for to spekepardy it is remedileswhy sighes thou then & woult not brekeIt is to late for to refusethe yoke when it is on thy neckto shak it of vaileth not to musewhy sighes thou then & woult not brekeTo sobb and sigh it were but vainsyns there is none that doeth it rekealas thou doyst prolong thy painwhy sighes thou then & woult not brekeThen in her sight to move her hertseke on thy self : thy self to wrekethat she may knowe thou sufferdest smertsigh there thy last : and therewith breke / he is not ded that sometyme hath a fall. he is not ded that sometyme hath a fall IH amehe is not ded all though I hadthat sometyme hath a fall.the Sonne retornesth/that was vnder the clowde.and when fortune hath spitt oute all her gall//I trust good luck to me shalbe allowede.for I have sene a shipp into haven fallafter the storme hath broke boeth mast & shrowdeand eke the willowe that stoppeth with the wyndedoeth ryse again: and greater wode doeth bynd. My hope Alas hath me abused My hope Alas hath me abused My hope Alas hath me abusedand vain reIoysing hath me fedlust and Ioye have me refusedand carefull plaint is in their stedeto muche avauncing slaked my spedemyrth hath caused my hevinesand I remain all comfortlesWhereto did I assure my thoughtwithoute displeasure stedfastlyin fortunes forge my Ioye was wroughtand is revolted redelyI ame mystaken wonderlyfor I though nought but faithfulnesyet I remain all comfortlesIn gladsom chere I did delitetill that delite did cause my smertand all was wrong wher I thought rightfor right it was that my true hertshould not from trouth be set apartsyns trouth did cause me hardinesyet I remain all comfortlesSometyme delight did tune my songand led my hert full pleasantlyand to my self I saide amongmy happ is commyng hastelybut it hath happed contraryassuraunce causeth my distresand I remain all comfortlesThen if my note : now do varyand leve his wonted plesauntnesthe hevy burden that I caryhath alterd all my Ioyefulnesno pleasure hath still stedfastnesbut hast hath hurt my happenesand I remain all comfortles ffarewell love and all thy lawes for ever ffarewell love and all thy lawes for ever ffarewell love and all thy lawes for everthy bayted hookes shall tangill me no moreSenec and plato call me from thy loreto perfaict welth my wit for to endeverIn blynde errour when I did perseuerthy sherpe repulce that pricketh ay so sorehath taught me to sett in tryfels no storeand scape fourth syns libertie is leverTherefore farewell goo trouble yonger hertesand in me clayme no more authoritiewith idill yeuth goo vse thy propertieAnd theron spend thy many brittill dertesfor hetherto though I have spendlost all my tymeme lusteth no lenger rotten boughes to clyme ffor to love her for her lokes lovely ffor to love her for her lokes lovely ffor to love her for her lokes lovelymy hert was set in thought right fermelytrusting by trought to have had redressebut she hath made an othee promeseand hath geven me leve full honestlyyet do I not reioyse it greatelyfor on my faith I loved to surelybut reason will that I do sessefor to love her>Syns that in love the paynes ben dedlyme thincke it best that reddelyI do retorn to my first adressefor at this tyme to great is the preseand perilles appere to abundauntelyfor to love her Eche man me telleth I chaunge moost my devise Eche man me telleth I chaunge moost my devise Eche man me telleth I chaunge moost my deviseand on my faith me thinck it goode reasonto chaunge propose like after the seasonffor in every cas to kepe still oon gyseys mytt for theim that would be taken wyseand I ame not of suche maner conditionbut treted after a dyvers fasshionand therupon any dyvernes doeth risebut you that blame this dyvernes moostchaunge you no more but still after oon ratetrete ye me well & kepe ye in thesame stateAnd while with me doeth dwell this weried goostmy worde nor I shall not be variablebut alwaies oon your owne boeth ferme & stable I fynde no peace and all my warr is done I fynde no peace and all my warr is done I fynde no peace and all my warr is doneI fere & hope I burn & freise like yseI fley above the wynde yet can I not arriseand noght I have & all the worold I sesonThat loseth nor locketh holdeth me in prisonand holdeth me not yet can I scape no wisenor letteth me lyve nor dye at my deviseand yet of deth it gyveth me occasionWithoute Iyen I se & withoute tong I plainI desire to perisshe and yet I aske heltheI love an othre and thus I hate my selfI fede me in sorrowe & laught in all my painlikewise displeaseth me boeth lyff & dethand my delite is causer of this stryff Praise him for counceill that is droncke of ale Praise him for counceill that is droncke of ale Praise him for counceill that is droncke of alegrynne when he laugheth that bereth all the swayefrown when he frowneth & grone when is paleIn othres lust to hang boeth nyght & dayenone of these poyntes would ever frame in memy wit is nought I cannot lerne the wayeAnd much the lesse of thinges that greater bethen asken helpe of colours of deviseto Ioyne the mene with eche extremitieWith the neryst vertue to cloke alwaye the viseand as to pourpose like wise it shall fallto expresse the vertue that it may not riseAs dronkenes goode felloweshipp to callthe frendly ffoo with his dowble facesay he is gentill & courtois therewithallAnd say that favell hath a goodly gracein eloquence and crueltie to namezele of Iustice and chaunge in tyme & placeAnd he that sufferth offence withoute blamecall him pitefull & him true & playnthat raileth rekles to every mans shameSay he is rude that cannot lye & faynthe letcher a lover and tirannyeto be the right of a prynces reigneI cannot I no no it will not bethis is the cause that I could never yethang on their slevis that way as thou maist seA chypp of chaunce more then a pownde of wittthis maketh me at home to hounte & to hawkeand in fowle weder at my booke to sittIn frost & snowe then with my bow to stawkeno man doeth marke where so I ride or gooin lusty lees at liberte I walkeAnd of these newes I fole nor wele nor woosauf that a clogg doeth hang yet at my heleno force for that for it is ordered soThat I may lepe boeth hedge & dike full wellI ame not now in ffraunce to Iudge the wynewith saffry sauce they delicates to feleNor yet in spaigne where oon must him inclynerather then to be owtewerdly to semeI meddill not with wittes that be so fyneNor fflaunders chiere letteth not my sight to demeof black and white nor taketh my wit awayewith bestlynes they beestes do so estemeNor I ame not where Christe is geven in prayfor mony poisen and traison at Romea commune practise vsed nyght and daieBut here I ame in kent & christendomeemong the muses where I rede & rymeWhere if thou list my poynz for to comThou shalt be Iudge how I do spend my tyme My mothers maydes when they did sowe & spyn My mothers maydes when they did sowe & spyn My mothers maydes when they did sowe & spynthey sang sometyme a song of the feld mowsethat forbicause her lyvelood was but thynWould nedes goo seke her townyssh systers howsethe thought her self endured to much painthe stormy blastes her cave so sore did sowseThat when the forowse swymmed with the rainshe must lye cold & whete in sorry plightand wours then that / bare meet there did remainTo comfort her when she her howse had dightsometyme a barly corn : sometyme a benefor which she laboured hard boeth daye & nyghtIn harvest tyme whilest she myght goo & glyneand wher stoore was stroyed with the floddthen well awaye for she vndone was cleneThen was she fayne to take in stede of fodeslepe if she myght her hounger to begilemy syster she / hath a lyving goodAnd BL Harley MS BL Harley MS 7333 c. 1510s-1520s. 129 ff. The Henry VIII MS is a collection of 109 vocal and instrumental pieces. Probably compiled after 1513 by Sir Henry Guilford, Controller of the King’s Household, its English songs have settings for three or four voices by Henry VIII, Kempe, Doctor Cooper, William Cornysh, T. Farthyng, Wyllyam Daggere, Rysbye, J. Lloyd, Pygott, and unnamed composers. A robyn gentyl robyn tel me how thy lemman doth and thow shal know off myne A robyn gentyl robyn tel me how thy lemman doth and thow shal know off myne A robyn gentyl robyn/ tel me how thy lemman doth/ and thow shal know off myneA robyn gentil robyn gentylthy lemman dothand thow shal know of myneA robyn gentil robyntel me how thy lemman dothand thow shalt know of mynemy lady us vnkynde I wisalac why is she soshe louyth another better than meand yet she will say nor robynI can not thynk such dobylnesfor I fynd wo men trewIn faith my lady louith me wellshe will change for no newA robyn Some tyme I fledde the fyer that me brent Some tyme I fledde the fyer that me brent Some tyme I fledde the fyer that me brentby see by lande by water, and by wyndeAnd now I follow the coles that be quentffrom Dover to Callice agaynst my mynde / Oh happie dames that may imbrace Oh happie dames that may imbrace Oh happie dames that may imbracethe fructe of your delighthelpe to bewayle the wofull caseand eke the heavie plightof me that wonted to reioysethe fortune of my pleasaunt chayse cGood ladies helpe to fyll my morninge voice Nature that gave the bee so fatt a grace Nature that gave the bee so fatt a grace Nature that gave the bee so fatt a graceto fynde honye of so wonderous fascionhathe taught the spider owt of the same placeto feche poyson by straynge alterationThoughe this be straynge yt is a straynger casewth on kys by secret operationbothe theys at ons in those ourlyppes to fyndein chaynge whearof I leave my harte byhynde Venemous thornes that are so sharpe and kene Venemous thornes that are so sharpe and kene Venemous thornes that are so sharpe and kenesome tyme bere flowers fayer & freshe of hewepoyson oftayne is put in medicinewhich cawsethe healthe in man for to renewefyer that purgethe all thynge that is vncleanemay heale and hurte. And yf this be trweI trust my harme to be my healthesens euerrie woe ys yoyned to some wealthe / Bodleian Library Bodleian Library, Rawl. poet. 108 c.1570. 84ff. Possibly transcribed by the Eleanor (Eliner) Gunter who signs her name on f.84v, as many poems throughout are subscribed E. G. This manuscript is an anthology of dance steps, recipes, and miscellaneous verse in English and Latin. he that belevethe bearinge in hand he that belevethe bearinge in hand he that belevethe bearinge in handSowethe in the water & plowethe in the sande. Some tyme I fledde the fyer that me brent Some tyme I fledde the fyer that me brent Some tyme I fledde the fyer that me brentby see by lande by water, and by wyndeAnd now I follow the coles that be quentffrom Dover to Callice agaynst my mynde / Oh happie dames that may imbrace Oh happie dames that may imbrace Oh happie dames that may imbracethe fructe of your delighthelpe to bewayle the wofull caseand eke the heavie plightof me that wonted to reioysethe fortune of my pleasaunt chayse cGood ladies helpe to fyll my morninge voice Corpus Christi College Corpus Christi College, 168 c. 1558-78. 120 ff. This manuscript is an anthology of Richard Cox, Bishop of Ely, in Latin and English. Myne owne Ihon poyntz sins ye delite to know Myne owne Ihon poyntz sins ye delite to know Myne owne Ihon poyntz sins ye delite to knowthe causes why that homeward I me draweand flee the presse off courtes where so I gooRather then to lyue thrall vnder the aweof lordly lookes / wrapped within my cloketo wyll and lust lernyng to set a laweIt is not bycawse I scorne or mockethe power of them to whome fortune hath lentcharge ouer vs, of ryght to stroke to strike to strik ye strokebut trew it is that y haue allwaies mentLesse to esteme them then the Commune sorteof owtwarde thinges that iuge in their intentwithowt regard that dothe inwarde resortI graunt somtyme that of glorye the fyerdothe touche my harte and me lust not repentblame by honour and honour to desierbut howe may I this honour now attaynethat cannot dye the colour of blak a lyerMy poyntz I cannot frame my tonge to fayneto cloke the trewthe for prayse without desertOf them that lust all vices to retayneI Cannot honour them them that sett their partwythe venus and bacchus all their lyfe longenor hollde my peace off them althoughe I smartI cannot crouche nor knele nor do suche wrongto wurchippe them like God on erthe alonethat are like wolfes thes sely Lambes amongI cannot with my worde complayne and moneand suffer nought / nor smart wythout complayntNor torne the worde that from my mouthe is goneI cannot speake with loke ryght as a sayntvse wyles for wytt and vse deceyt a pleasureAnd call craft counsall, for profit still to payntI cannot wrest the lawe to fyll the coferwith innocent blode to fede my selfe fatteand do most hurte where moste helpe I offerI am not he that can allowe the stateoff him Caesar and Catho deme to dye / and deme cato to dythat by his deathe dide escape out off the gatefrom caesars hand if livye did not lyeAnd wold not lyue wher Libertye was lostSo did his hart the comon welthe applyeI ame not he suche eloquence to bostto marke the singing crowe as the swannenor call the lyon off coward bestes the mostthat cannot take a mouse as the catt canand he that diethe for hungar off goldCall him Alexander and saye that panpasseth Apollo in musike many a foldprayes sir thopas for a noble taleand scorne the storye that the knight tolldprayse him for counsall that is dronke off AleGrynne when he laugheth that beres all the swayefrowne when he frowneth and grone when he is paleOn others lust to hang bothe night and dayenon off thes poyntz wyll euer frame wyth meMy witt is nought I cannot lerne the wayeAnd moche the lesse off thinges that greatest bethat asken helpe, off colours off deuiseto ioyne the meane with eche extremitiewith the nerest vertu to cloke alwey the viceAnd as to purpose like wyse may fallto presse the vertu so close that it may not ryseAs dronkynnes good felowschippe to callthe frendly foo with his double faceSay this is gentle and curteis therwithalland say that favell hathe a goodly graceIn eloquence / And crueltye to nameZeale off iustice, and change in tyme and placeAnd he that suffreth offence without blamecall him pityfull And him trewe & playnethat rayleth recheles to euery manes shameSay he is rude that cannot lye and faynethe lecher a louer / And tyrannyeto be the ryght off a princes rayneI cannot I no no it wyll not bethis is the cause I could neuer yethang on their sleues that waye as thow mayst seeA chippe of chaunce more then a pownde of wyttthis maketh me at home to hunt and haukeand in the fowle wether at my book to syttIn frost and snow then at my book to sitt with my bowe to stalkeno man dothe marke wher to I ryde or gooin lusty lees at libertie I walkeand off thes newes I fele nor well ne woosaue of a clogg that yet doth hang at my heeleno fors for that for it is ordredthat I may leppe bothe hedge and diche full weelleI am not now in france to iuge the wyneWyth sauory sawces thes dilicates to feeleNor yet in spayne wher one must him enclynerather then to be owtwardly to seemeI medle not with wyttes that be so ffynenor flannders chere letteth not my wyt to demeoff black and whyght; nor takes my wyttes awayewith bestlines those beastes do estemeNor am I wher Christ is geuen in prayeffor mony poyson and treason at Romea common prattice vsed night and dayebut here I am in kent and cristendomeamong the musus muses where I do rede and RimeWher if thow lust my Poynts for to comethow shalt be Judge how I Dispende my tyme The Courte of Venus The Courte of Venus. Newly and diligently corrected with many proper Ballades newly amended The Courte of Venus. Newly and diligently corrected with many proper Ballades newly amended. 1563. STC 24650.2: French edition. My penne take payne a lytle space My penne take payne a lytle space My penne take payne a lytle spaceto folow the thing that doth me chaseand hath in hold, my hart so soreAnd when thou hast this brought to passe:My pen I praye the wryte no more.Remember how thou hast oft pleasedAnd al my sorowes also easedBut now vnknowen, I knew beforeThat wher I trust I am deceyuedAnd yet my pen thou canst do no more.A tyme thou hadst as other haueTo wryt whych way my hope to craueThat tyme is past, wythdraw therforeSens we doo lose and other saueAs good leave of, and wryt no more,And vse to worke another wayNot as ye would but as ye mayFor els my lyfe is past restoreand my desire is my decayand yet my pen now wryt no more.To loue in vaine whosoeuer shalOf worldly payne it passeth alAs in like case, I find wherforeTo hold so fast, and yet to falAlas my pen now wryte no more.Seyng thou hast taken payne this spaceTo folow that whych doth me chaseand hath in hold my hart so soreAnd now to haue brought this to passeMy pen I pray the to wryt no more. My lute awake performe the last My lute awake performe the last My lute awake performe the lastLabour that thou and I shal wast,and end that I haue new begonefor when this song, is gon and pastMy lute be stil for I haue doneAs to be heard wher care is noneA lead to graue in a marble stoneMy song may perse, heart as soneShould we then syng, wepe or moneNo more my lute for I haue done.The rocke doth not so cruellyRepulse the waues continuallyAs she my sute and affection.So that I am past al remedyWherby my lute and I haue doneProud of the splen that thou hast shotOf symple hart, through loues gotVnkind although thou hast them wonThinke not he hath his owne forgotAlthough my lute and I haue done.Vengeaunce may fal on such dysdayneThat maketh but game of earnest paineTrow not alone vnder the sonneVngently to cause to louers plaineAlthough my lute and I haue doneAnd then may chaunce the to repentThe time that thou hast lost and spentTo cause thy louer to sighe and sowneThen shalt thou know beauty but lentAnd wyshe and want as I haue doneMy lute be stil this is the lastLabour that thou and I shal wastAnd end that I haue begonneOr when this song is song and pastMy lute be stil for I haue done. If fantasy would favour If fantasy would favour If fantasy would favourAs I deserue and shalMy loue my lady paramourshould loue me best of alAnd if I not attayneThe grace that I desireThen may I wel complayneMy seruyce and my hierFantasy knoweth howTo forbeare my true hartIf fantasye might auowWyth fayth to take partBut fantasy is frayleAnd fletynge styl so fastthat faith may not preuailTo helpe me fyrst nor lastSince fantasy at his lusteDoth rule al by gessewherto shoulde I put trustIn truth and stedfastnes.Yet gladly would I pleaseThat fantasy of my hartThat may me onely easeand helpe my careful smart.Therfore my lady deareLet se your fantasyto make some hope appeareOf helpe and remedyFor if ye be my frendAnd vndertake my woMy gryefe is at an endIf ye contynew so.Els fantasy doth not ryght.As I deserue and shalTo haue her day and nightTo loue me best of al. Magdalene College Pepys MS Magdalene College Pepys MS 2553 c. 1570-1586. This manuscript is also known as the Maitland Folio. All wemeine Ar guid noblle And excellent All wemeine Ar guid noblle And excellent All wemeine Ar guid noblle And excellentQuha can say that x thay do offendDaylie x thay serwe thair god with guid intentSendill x thai displeifs thair husband is to thair lyffis endAllwayis x to pleise thame thai do intendNewir x man can feind in tham bruikilnesSic quallateifs thay vse mair & les Marquess of Bath Marquess of Bath MS 258 Sixteenth century. 147 ff. The poems by Chaucer, Lydgate, and others were transcribed in the first quarter of the sixteenth century with additions from the Elizabethan period. All womenn haue vertues noble and excellent All womenn haue vertues noble and excellent All womenn haue vertues noble and excellentWho can perceve that, they do offendDailly, theye serve god with goode ententSeldom, they dysplease thear husbandesAlways, to please them they do entendeNever, man may finde in them shrednesComonly, suche condicons they haue more or lesse,What man can percewe that woman be yvilleuery man that hath wit, gretly will them preisefor of vice, they abhoure with all there willprudence mercy & pa they vse alwaysfoly wrathe and cruelty, they hate (as men sayeMekenis and vertue, they practise euerSynne, tavoide vertues they do procureSom men speke muche yvill by womentruly, therfore they be to blameNothing, aman may chek in themhabondently, they are of grac & gode fameLackinge, few vertues to agoode namin them finde ye, all constantnesthey lac perdy, and all onhapynesye may finde in them National Library of Scotland Advocates National Library of Scotland Advocates 1.1.6 c. 1568. Transcribed by George Bannatyne. The manuscript contains poems by Chaucer and Henryson. I am as I am and so will I be, I am as I am and so will I be I am as I am and so will I be,Bot how that I am nane knawis trewlie;Be it evill be it weill, be I bund be I fre,I am as I am and so will I be.I leid my lyfe indifferently,I mene na thing bot honesty,And thocht men juge diuersly,I am as I am and so will I be.I do nocht rew nor yit complane,Baith mirth and sadnes I do refrane,And vse the folkis that can nocht fane;I am as I am be it plesour or pane.Diuerss do juge as thay trow,Sum of plesour and sum of wo,Yit for all that no thing thay knaw;I am as I am quhair evir I go.But sen that jugeris do tak that wey,Lat every man his jugement say,I will it tak in sport and pley,For I am as I am quha evir sa nay.Quha jugeis weill, weill God him send,Quha jugeis evill, God thame amend,To juge the best thairfoir intend;I am as I am and so will I end.Yit sum thair be that takis delytTo juge folkis thocht for inwy and spyt,Bot quhiddir thay juge me wrang or ryt,I am as I am and so will I wryt.Praying yow all that this dois reid,To trest it as ye do your creid,And nocht to think that I chenge my weid,I am as I am how evir I speid.Bot how that is I leif to yow,Juge as ye list owdir fals or trew,Ye knaw no moir than afoir ye knew;I am as I am quhat evir eschew.And frome this mynd I will nocht fle,Bot to yow all that misiugeis me,I do protest as ye may se,That I am as I am and so will I be. Plimpton Plimpton 276 c. 1554 and 1592. 81 ff. A miscellany in prose and verse, this manuscript was once owned by Anne Bower. It includes entries by Agnes and Willaim Brightman, William Sommer, Philip Symonson, and Richard Johnson. To my mishappe alas I fynde To my mishappe alas I fynde To my mishappe alas I fyndethat happy happe ys dawngerowAnd ffortune workythe but her kyndeto make the Ioyfull Dolorow Songes and Sonettes Songes and Sonettes, written by the ryght honorable Lorde Henry Haward late Earle of Surrey, and other Howard, Henry, Early of Surrey. STC 13860. See also: STC 13861, STC 13862. MY hart I gaue thee, not to do it pain MY hart I gaue thee, not to do it pain MY hart I gaue thee, not to do it pain:But, to preserue, lo it to thee was taken.I serued thee not that I should be forsaken:But, that I should receiue reward again,I was content thy seruant to remain:And, not to be repayd after this fashion.Now, since in thee is there none nother reason:Displease thee not, if that I do refrain.Vnsaciat of my wo, and thy desyre.Assured by craft for to excuse thy fault.But, since it pleaseth thee to fain defaut:Farewell, I say, departing from the fire.For, he, that doth beleue bearyng in hand:Ploweth in the water: and soweth in the sand. My lute awake performe that last My lute awake performe the last My lute awake performe the lastLabour that thou and I shall waste:And end that I haue now begonne:And when this song is song and past:My lute be styll for I haue done.As to be heard where eare is none:As lead to graue in marble stone:My song may pearse her hart as sone.Should we then sigh? or singe, or mone?No, no, my lute for I haue done.The rockes do not so cruellyRepulse the waues continually,As she my sute and affection:So that I am past remedy,Wherby my lute and I haue done.Proude of the spoile that thou hast gotteOf simple hartes through loues shot:By whom vnkinde thou hast them wonne,Thinke not he hath his bow forgot,Although my lute and I haue done.Vengeaunce shall fall on thy disdaineThat makest but game on earnest payne.Thinke not alone vnder the sunneVnquit to cause thy louers plaine:Although my lute and I haue done.May chance thee lie witherd and olde,In winter nightes that are so colde,Playning in vaine vnto the mone:Thy wishes then dare not be tolde.Care then who list, for I haue done.And then may chance thee to repentThe time that thou hast lost and spentTo cause thy louers sigh and swowne.Then shalt thou know beauty but lent,And wish and want as I haue done.Now cease my lute this is the last,Labour that thou and I shall wast,And ended is that we begonne.Now is this song both song and past,My lute be still for I haue done. MAruell nomore altho MAruell nomore altho MAruell nomore althoThe songes, I sing do mone:For other lyfe then wo,I neuer proued none.And in my hart, also,Is grauen with letters depeA thousand sighes and mo:A flood of teares to wepe.How may a man in smartFinde matter to reioyce?How may a moornyng hartSet foorth a pleasant voice.Play who so can, that part:Nedes must in me appere:How fortune ouerthwartDoth cause my moorning chere.Perdy there is no man,If he saw neuer sight:That perfitly tell canThe nature of the light.Alas: how should I than,That neuer taste but sowre:But do, as I began,Continually to lowre.But yet, perchance some chanceMay chance to change my tune:And, when (Souch) chance doth chance:Then, shall I thank fortune?And if I haue (Souch) chance:Perchance ere it be long:For (Souch) a pleasant chance,Tosing some pleasant song. THe restfull place, renewer of my smart THe restfull place, renewer of my smart THe restfull place, renewer of my smart:The labours salue, encreasyng my sorow:The bodyes ease, and troubler of my hart:Quieter of minde, myne vnquiet fo:Forgetter of payne, remembrer of my wo:The place of slepe, wherin I do but wake:Besprent with teares, my bed, I thee forsake.The frosty snowes may not redresse my heat:Nor heat of sunne abate my feruent cold.I know nothing to ease my paynes so great.Ech cure causeth encrease by twenty fold,Renewyng cares vpon my sorowes old.Such ouerthwart effectes in me they make.Besprent with teares my bedde for to forsake.But all for nought: I finde no better easeIn bed, or out. This most causeth my paine:Where I do seke how best that I may please,My lost labour (alas) is all in vaine.My hart once set, I can not it refrayne.No place from me my grief away can take.Wherfore with teares, my bed, I thee forsake. WAs neuer file yet half so well yfiled WAs neuer file yet half so well yfiled WAs neuer file yet half so well yfiled,To file a file for any smithes intent,As I was made a filyng instrument,To frame other, while that I was begiled.But reason, loe, hath at my foly smiled,And pardoned me, sins that I me repentOf my lost yeres, and of my time mispent.For youth led me, and falshod me misguided.Yet, this trust I haue of great apparence:Sins that disceit is ay returnable,Of verye force it is agreable,That therwithall be done the recompence.Then gile begiled playnd should be neuer,And the reward is little trust for euer. SVch vain thought, as wonted to mislead me SVch vain thought, as wonted to mislead me SVch vain thought, as wonted to mislead meIn desert hope by well assured mone,Makes me from company to liue alone,In folowyng her whom reason bids me fle.And after her my hart would faine be gone:But armed sighes my way do stop anone,Twixt hope and dread lockyng my libertie.So fleeth she by gentle crueltie.Yet as I gesse vnder disdainfull browOne beame of ruth is in her cloudy loke:Which comfortes the mind, that erst for fear shoke.That bolded straight the way then seke I howTo vtter forth the smart I bide within:But such it is, I not how to begyn. VNwarely so was neuer no man caught, VNwarely so was neuer no man caught VNwarely so was neuer no man caught,With stedfast loke vpon a goodly face:As I of late: for sodainely me thought,My hart was torne out of his proper place.Thorow mine eye the stroke from hers did slide,Directly downe into my hart it ranne:In helpe wherof the blood therto did glide,And left my face both pale and wanne.Then was I like a man for wo amased:Or like the fowle that fleeth into the fire.For while that I vpon her beauty gased:The more I burnde in my desire.Anone the bloud start in my face agayne,Inflamde with heat, that it had at my hart.And brought therwith through out in euery vaine,A quakyng heat with pleasant smart.Then was I like the straw, when that the flameIs driuen therin, by force, and rage of winde.I can not tell, alas, what I shall blame:Nor what to seke, nor what to finde.But well I wot: the griefe doth hold me soreIn heat and cold, betwixt both hope and dreade:That, but her helpe to health do me restore:This restlesse life I may not lead. THe wandring gadling, in the sommer tyde, THe wandring gadling, in the sommer tyde THe wandring gadling, in the sommer tyde,That findes the Adder with his rechlesse footeStartes not dismaid so sodeinly aside,As iealous despite did, though there were no boote,When that he saw me sitting by her syde,That of my health is very crop, and roote.It pleased me then to haue so fayre a grace,To styng the hart, that would haue had my place. THe liuely sparkes, that issue from those eyes, THe liuely sparkes, that issue from those eyes THe liuely sparkes, that issue from those eyes,Against the which there vaileth no defence,Haue perst my hart, and done it none offence,With quakyng pleasure, more then once or twise.Was neuer man could any thing deuise,Sunne beames to turne with so great vehemenceTo dase mans sight, as by their bright presenceDased am I, much like vnto the giseOf on striken with dint of lightenyng,Blind with the stroke, and erryng here and there.So call I for helpe, I not when, nor where,The payne of my fall paciently bearyng.For streight after the blase (as is no wonder)Of deadly noyse heare I the fearfull thunder. SOmtime I fled the fire, that me so brent, SOmtime I fled the fire, that me so brent SOmtime I fled the fire, that me so brent,By sea, by land, by water, and by wynde:And now, the coales I folow, that be quent,From Douer to Calais, with willing minde,Lo, how desire is both furth sprong, and spent:And he may see, that whilom was so blinde:And all his labour, laughes he now to scorne,Meashed in the breers, that erst was onely torne. TO my mishap alas I fynde TO my mishap alas I fynde TO my mishap alas I fyndeThat happy hap is daungerous:And fortune worketh but her kyndTo make the ioyfull dolorous.But all to late it comes to minde,To waile the want that makes me blinde,Amid my mirth and pleasantnesse,Such chaunce is chaunced sodainly,That in dispaire without redresse,I finde my chiefest remedy.No new kinde of vnhappinesse,Should thus haue left me comfortlesse.Who wold haue thought that my request,Should bring me forth such bitter frute:But now is hapt that I feard lest,And all this harme comes by my sute,For when I thought me happiest,Euen then hapt all my chiefe vnrest.In better case was neuer noneAnd yet vnwares thus am I trapt,My chiefe desire doth cause me mone,And to my harme my welth is hapt,There is no man but I alone,That hath such cause to sigh and mone.Thus am I taught for to bewareAnd trust no more such pleasant chance,My happy happe bred me this care,And brought my mirth to great mischance.There is no man whom happe will spare,But when she list his welth is bare. SO feble is the threde, that doth the burden stay, SO feble is the threde, that doth the burden stay SO feble is the threde, that doth the burden stay,Of my poore life: in heauy plight, that falleth in decay:That, but it haue elswhere some ayde or some succours:The running spindle of my fate anone shall end his course.For since thunhappy hower, that dyd me to depart,From my swete weale: one onely hope hath stayed my life, apart:Which doth perswade such wordes vnto my sored minde:Maintain thy self, O wofull wight, some better luck to finde.For though thou be depriued from thy desired sight:Who can thee tell, if thy returne be for thy more delight?Or, who can tell, thy losse if thou mayst once recouer?Some pleasant hower thy wo may wrappe: & thee defend, & couer.Thus in this trust as yet it hath my life sustained:But now (alas) I see it faint: and I, by trust, am trayned.The tyme doth flete, and I se how the howers, do bendSo fast: that I haue scant the space to mark my commyng end.Westward the sonne from out the East scant shewes his light:When in the West he hides him strayt, within the dark of nyght.And comes as fast, where he began, his path awry.From East to West, from West to East so doth his iourney ly.The life so short, so fraile, that mortall men liue here:So great a weight, so heauy charge the bodies, that we bere:That, when I think vpon the distaunce, and the space:That doth so farre deuide me from my dere desired face:I know not, how tattain the winges, that I require,To lift me vp: that I might flie, to folow my desyre.Thus of that hope, that doth my life somethyng sustayne,Alas: I feare, and partly fele: full litle doth remain.Eche place doth bring me griefe: where I do not beholdThose liuely eyes: which of my thoughts wer wont the keys to holdThose thoughtes were pleasant swete: whilst I enioyed that grace:My pleasure past, my present pain, when I might well embrace.And, for because my want should more my wo encrease:In watch, and slepe, both day, and night, my will doth neuer ceaseThat thing to wish: wherof since I did leese the sight:Was neuer thing that mought in ought my woful hart delight,Thunesy lyfe, I lead, doth teach me for to meteThe floodes, the seas, the land, the hylles: that doth then entermeteTwene me, and those shene lightes: that wonted for to clereMy darked panges of cloudy thoughts, as bright as Phebus spere,It teacheth me, also, what was my pleasant state:The more to fele, by such record, how that my wealth doth bate.If such record (alas) prouoke thenflamed mynde:Which sprong that day, that I did leaue the best of me behynde:If loue forget himself, by length of absence, let:Who doth me guyde (O wofull wretch) vnto this bayted net?Where doth encrease my care: much better wer for me,As dumme, as stone, all thyng forgot, still absent for to be. Alas: the clere cristall, the bright transplendant glasse Doth not bewray the colours hidde, which vnderneth it hase: As doth thaccumbred sprite the thoughtfull throwes discouer, Of feares delite, of feruent loue: that in our hartes we couer. Out by these eyes, it sheweth that euermore delight. In plaint, and teares to seke redresse: and eke both day and night. These kindes of pleasures most wherein men so reioyce, To me they do redubble still of stormy sighes the voyce. For, I am one of them, whom playnt doth well content: It sits me well: myne absent wealth me semes for to lament: And with my teares, tassay to charge myne eies twayn: Lyke as my hart aboue the brink is fraughted full of payn. And forbecause, therto, of those fair eyes to treate Do me prouoke: I wyll returne, my plaint thus to repeate. For, there is nothing els, that toucheth me so within: Where they rule all: and I alone nought but the case, or skin. Wherefore, I shall returne to them, as well, or spring: From whom descendes my mortall wo, aboue all other thing. So shall myne eyes in pain accompany my hart: That were the guides, that did it lead of loue to fele the smart. The crisped golde, that doth surmount Apollos pride: The liuely streames of pleasant starres that vnder it doth glyde: Wherein the beames of loue doe styll encrease theyr heate: Which yet so farre touch me so nere, in colde to make me sweate. The wyse and pleasant talk, so rare, orels alone: That gaue to me the curteis gift, that erst had neuer none: Be farre from me, alas: and euery other thyng I might forbeare with better wyll: then this that dyd me bryng, With pleasant worde and chere, redresse of lingred pain: And wonted oft in kindled will to vertue me to trayn. Thus, am I forst to heare, and harken after newes. My comfort scant my large desire in doutfull trust renewes. And yet with more delite to mone my wofull case: I must complain those handes, those armes: that firmely do embrace Me from my self: and rule the sterne of my poore lyfe: The swete disdaines, the pleasant wrathes, and eke the louely strife: That wonted well to tune in temper iust, and mete, The rage: that oft dyd make me erre, by furour vndiscrete. All this is hydde me fro, with sharp, and ragged hylles: At others will, my long abode my depe dispaire fullfils. And if my hope sometime ryse vp, by some redresse: It stumbleth straite, for feble faint: my feare hath such excesse. Such is the sort of hope: the lesse for more desyre: And yet I trust ere that I dye to see that I require: The restyng place of loue: where vertue dwelles and growes There I desire, my wery life, somtime, may take repose. My song: thou shalt attain to finde that pleasant place: Where she doth lyue, by whom I liue: may chance, to haue this graceWhen she hath red, and sene the grief, wherin I serue: Betwene her brestes she shall thee put: there, shall she thee reserue Then, tell her, that I cumme: she shall me shortly see: And if for waighte the body fayle, the soule shall to her flee. O Happy dames, that may embrace O Happy dames, that may embrace O Happy dames, that may embraceThe frute of your delight,Help to bewaile the wofull case,And eke the heauy plightOf me, that wonted to reioyceThe fortune of my pleasant choyce:Good Ladies, help to fill my moorning voyce.In ship, freight with rememberanceOf thoughts, and pleasures past,He sailes that hath in gouernanceMy life, while it wil last:With scalding sighes, for lack of gale,Furdering his hope, that is his sailToward me, the swete port of his auail.Alas, how oft in dreames I seThose eyes, that were my food,Which somtime so delited me,That yet they do me good.Wherwith I wake with his returne,Whose absent flame did make me burne.But when I find the lacke, Lord how I mourne?When other louers in armes acrosse,Reioyce their chiefe delight:Drowned in teares to mourne my losse,I stand the bitter night,In my window, where I may see,Before the windes how the cloudes flee.Lo, what a mariner loue hath made me.And in grene waues when the salt floodDoth rise, by rage of winde:A thousand fansies in that moodAssayle my restlesse mind.Alas, now drencheth my swete fo,That with the spoyle of my hart did go,And left me but (alas) why did he so?And when the seas waxe calme againe,To chase fro me annoye.My doutfull hope doth cause me plaine:So dreade cuts of my ioye.Thus is my wealth mingled with wo,And of ech thought a dout doth growe,Now he comes, will he come? alas, no no. GO burning sighes vnto the frosen hart, GO burning sighes vnto the frosen hart GO burning sighes vnto the frosen hart,Go breake the yse which pities painfull dart,Myght neuer perce and yf that mortall prayer,In heauen be herd, at lest yet I desire.That death or mercy end my wofull smart.Take with thee payn, wherof I haue my part,And eke the flame from which I cannot start,And leaue me then in rest, I you require:Go burning sighes fulfil that I desire.I must go worke I see by craft and art,For truth and faith in her is laid apart:Alas, I can not therfore assaile her,With pitefull complaint and scalding fier,That from my brest disceiuably doth start. MY youthfull yeres are past, MY youthfull yeres are past MY youthfull yeres are past,My ioyfull dayes are gone:My life it may not last,My graue and I am one.My mirth and ioyes are fled,And I a man in wo:Desirous to be dedde,My mischiefe to forgo.I burne and am a colde,I frise amids the fire:I see she dothe withholdeThat is my most desire.I see my helpe at hand,I see my lyfe also:I see where she dothe standeThat is my deadly foe.I see how she dothe see,And yet she will be blinde:I se in helpyng meShe sekes and will not finde.I see how she doth wry,When I begyn to mone:I see when I come nie,HhwHow faine she wold be gone.I see what will ye moreShe will me gladly kyll:And you shall see therforeThat she shall haue her will.I can not liue with stonesIt is to hard a fode:I will be dead at onceTo do my Lady good. AL in thy loke my life doth whole depende. AL in thy loke my life doth whole depende AL in thy loke my life doth whole depende.Thou hydest thy self, and I must dye therfore.But sins thou mayst so easily helpe thy frend:Why doest thou stick to salue that thou madest sore?Why do I dye? sins thou mayst me defend?And if I dye, thy life may last no more.For ech by other doth liue and haue reliefe,I in thy loke, and thou most in my griefe. BEhold, Loue, thy power how she despiseth BEhold, Loue, thy power how she despiseth BEhold, Loue, thy power how she despiseth:My greuous payn how litle she regardeth,The solemne othe, wherof she takes no cure,Broken she hath: and yet, she bydeth sure,Right at her ease, and litle thee she dredeth.Weaponed thou art, and she vnarmed sitteth:To the disdainful, all her life she leadeth:To me spitefull, without iust cause, or measure.Behold Loue, how proudly she triumpheth,I am in hold, but if thee pitie meueth:Go, bend thy bow, that stony hartes breaketh:And with some stroke reuenge the great displeasureOf thee, and himthat sorow doth endure,And as his Lord thee lowly here entreateth. THey flee from me, that somtime did me seke THey flee from me, that somtime did me seke THey flee from me, that somtime did me sekeWith naked fote stalkyng within my chamber.Once haue I seen them gentle, tame, and meke,That now are wild, and do not once rememberThat sometyme they haue put them selues in danger,To take bread at my hand, and now they range,Busily sekyng in continuall change.Thanked be fortune, it hath bene otherwiseTwenty tymes better: but once especiall,In thinne aray, after a pleasant gyse,When her loose gowne did from her shoulders fall,And she me caught in her armes long and small,And therwithall, so swetely did me kysse,And softly sayd: deare hart, how like you this?It was no dreame: for I lay broade awakyng.But all is turnde now through my gentlenesse.Into a bitter fashion of forsakyng:And I haue leaue to go of her goodnesse,And she also to vse newfanglenesse.But, sins that I vnkyndly so am serued:How like you this, what hath she now deserued? CEsar, when that the traytour of Egypt CEsar, when that the traytour of Egypt CEsar, when that the traytour of EgyptWith thonorable hed did him present,Coueryng his hartes gladnesse, did representPlaint with his teares outward, as it is writ.Eke Hannibal, when fortune him outshytClene from his reigne, and from all his entent,Laught to his folke, whom sorow did torment,His cruel despite for to disgorge and quit.So chanceth me, that euery passionThe minde hideth by colour contrary,With fayned visage, now sad, now mery.Wherby, if that I laugh at any season:It is because I haue none other wayTo cloke my care, but vnder sport and play. PErdy I sayd it not PErdy I sayd it not PErdy I sayd it not:Nor neuer thought to do.As well as I ye wot:I haue no power therto,And if I did, the lot,That first did me enchayne:May neuer slake the knot,But strayght it to my payne.And if I did ech thing,That may do harme or wo:Continually may wringMy hart where so I go.Report may alwayes ringOf shame on me for aye:If in my hart did springThe wordes that you do sayAnd if I did ech starre,That is in heauen aboue,May frowne on me to marreThe hope I haue in loue.And if I did such warre,As they brought vnto Troye,Bring all my life as farreFrom all his lust and ioye.And if I did so say:The beautie that me bounde,Encrease from day to dayMore cruell to my wounde:With all the mone that may,To plaint may turne my song:My life may sone decay,Without redresse by wrong.If I be cleare from thought,Why do you then complayne?Then is this thing but sought.To turne my hart to payne,Then this that you haue wrought,You must it now redresse,Of right therfore you oughtSuch rigour to represse.And as I haue deserued:So graunt me now my hire:You know I neuer swerued,You neuer founde me lyer.For Rachel haue I serued,For Lea cared I neuer:And her I haue reseruedWithin my hart for euer. NAture that'gaue the Bee so feat a grace, NAture that'gaue the Bee so feat a grace NAture that'gaue the Bee so feat a grace,To finde hony of so wondrous fashion:Hath taught the spider out of the same placeTo fetch poyson by strange alteracion.Though this be strange, it is a stranger case,With one kisse by secrete operacion,Both these at once in those your lippes to finde,In change wherof, I leaue my hart behinde. ONce as me thought, fortune me kist ONce as me thought, fortune me kist ONce as me thought, fortune me kist:And bade me aske, what I thought best:And I should haue it as me list,Therewith to set my hart in rest.I asked but my ladies hartTo haue for euermore myne owne:Then at an end were all my smart:Then should I nede no more to mone.Yet for all that a stormy blastHad ouerturnde this goodly day:And fortune semed at the last,That to her promise she said nay.But like as one out of dispayreTo sodain hope reuiued I.Now fortune sheweth her selfe so fayre,That I content me wondersly.My most desire my hand may reach:My will is alway at my hand.Me nede not long for to besecheHer, that hath power me to commaunde.What earthly thing more can I craue?What would I wishe more at my will?Nothing on earth more would I haue,Saue that I haue, to haue it styll.For fortune hath kept her promesse,In grauntyng me my most desire.Of my soueraigne I haue redresse, REsownde my voyce ye woodes, that heare me plaine REsownde my voyce ye woodes, that heare me plaine REsownde my voyce ye woodes, that heare me plaine:Both hilles and vales causyng reflexion,And riuers eke, record ye of my paine:Which haue oft forced ye by compassion,As iudges lo to heare my exclamacion.Amonge whom, such (I finde) yet doth remaine.Where I it seke, alas, there is disdaine.Oft ye riuers, to hear my wofull sounde,Haue stopt your cours, and plainely to expresse,Many a teare by moisture of the groundeThe earth hath wept to hear my heauinesse:Which causelesse I endure without redresse.The hugy okes haue rored in the winde,Ech thing me thought complayning in their kinde.Why then alas doth not she on me rew,Or is her hart so hard that no pitieMay in it sinke, my ioye for to renew?O stony hart who hath thus framed theeSo cruell? that art cloked with beauty,That from thee may no grace to me procede,But as reward death for to be my mede. VEnemous thornes that are so sharp and kene, VEnemous thornes that are so sharp and kene VEnemous thornes that are so sharp and kene,Beare flowers we se full fresh and faire of hue:Poison is also put in medicine.And vnto man his helth doth oft renue.The fier that all thinges eke consumeth cleaneMay hurt and heale: then if that this be true.I trust sometime my harme may be my health,Sins euery woe is ioyned with some wealth. DEsire (alas) my master, and my fo DEsire (alas) my master, and my fo DEsire (alas) my master, and my fo:So sore altred thy self how mayst thou see?Sometime thou sekest, that drieues me to and froSometime, thou leadst, that leadeth thee, and me.What reason is to rule thy subiectes so?By forced law, and mutabilitie.For where by thee I douted to haue blame:Euen now by hate again I dout thesamethe same. SHe sat, and sowed: that hath done me the wrong SHe sat, and sowed: that hath done me the wrong SHe sat, and sowed: that hath done me the wrong:Wherof I plain, and haue done many a day:And, whilst she herd my plaint, in piteous song:She wisht my harttheheart samplar, that it lay.The blinde maister, whom I haue serued so long:Grudgyng to heare, that he did heare her say:Made her owne weapon do her finger blede:To fele, if pricking wer so good in dede. WHat man hath hard such cruelty before? WHat man hath hard such cruelty before? WHat man hath hard such cruelty before?That, when my plaint remembred her my wo,That caused it: she cruell more, and more,Wished eche stitche, as she did sit, and sow,Had prickt my hart, for to encrease my sore.And, as I think, she thought, it had bene so.For as she thought, this is his hart in dede:She pricked hard: and made her self to blede. ONce as me thought, fortune me kist ONce as me thought, fortune me kist ONce as me thought, fortune me kist:And bade me aske, what I thought best:And I should haue it as me list,Therewith to set my hart in rest.I asked but my ladies hartTo haue for euermore myne owne:Then at an end were all my smart:Then should I nede no more to mone.Yet for all that a stormy blastHad ouerturnde this goodly day:And fortune semed at the last,That to her promise she said nay.But like as one out of dispayreTo sodain hope reuiued I.Now fortune sheweth her selfe so fayre,That I content me wondersly.My most desire my hand may reach:My will is alway at my hand.Me nede not long for to besecheHer, that hath power me to commaunde.What earthly thing more can I craue?What would I wishe more at my will?Nothing on earth more would I haue,Saue that I haue, to haue it styll.For fortune hath kept her promesse,In grauntyng me my most desire.Of my soueraigne I haue redresse,And I content me with my hire. HE is not dead, that somtime had a fall. HE is not dead, that somtime had a fall HE is not dead, that somtime had a fall.The Sonne returnes, that hid was vnder clowd.And when Fortune hath spit out all her gall,I trust, good luck to me shall be alowd.For, I haue seen a ship in hauen fall,After that storme hath broke both maste, and shroude.The willowe eke, that stoupeth with the winde,Doth rise againe, and greater wood doth binde. FArewell, Loue, and all thy lawes for euer. FArewell, Loue, and all thy lawes for euer FArewell, Loue, and all thy lawes for euer.Thy bayted hokes shall tangle me no more.Senec, and Plato call me from thy lore:To parfit wealth my wit for to endeuer.In blinde errour when I dyd parseuer:Thy sharp repulse, that pricketh aye so sore:Taught me in trifles that I set no store:But scape forth thence: since libertie is leuer.Therfore, farewell: go trouble yonger hartes:And in me claime no more auctoritie.With ydle youth go vse thy propartie:And theron spend thy many brittle dartes.For, hytherto though I haue lost my tyme:Me lyst no lenger rotten bowes to clime. EChe man me telth, I change most my deuise EChe man me telth, I change most my deuise EChe man me telth, I change most my deuise:And, on my faith, me thinke it good reasonTo change purpose, like after the season.For in ech case to kepe still one guiseIs mete for them, that would be taken wise.And I am not of such maner condicion:But treated after a diuers fashion:And therupon my diuersnesse doth rise.But you, this diuersnesse that blamen most,Change you no more, but still after one rateTreat you me well: and kepe you in that state.And while with me doth dwell this weried gost,My word nor I shall not be variable,But alwaies one, your owne both firme and stable. MY loue to skorne, my seruice to retayne, MY loue to skorne, my seruice to retayne MY loue to skorne, my seruice to retayne,Therin (me thought) you vsed crueltie.Since with good will I lost my libertie,Might neuer wo yet cause me to refrain,But onely this, which is extremitie,To geue me nought (alas) nor to agree,That as I was, your man I might remain.But synce that thus ye list to order me,That would haue bene your seruant true, and fast:Displease you not: my doting time is past.And with my losse to leaue I must agree.For as there is a certayn time to rage:So is there time such madnes to aswage. DRiuen by desire I did this dede DRiuen by desire I did this dede DRiuen by desire I did this dedeTo danger my self without'cause why:To trust thuntrue not like to spede,To speake and promise faythfully:But now the proufe doth verifie,That who so trusteth ere he know.Doth hurt him self and please his foe. I Find no peace, and all my warre is done I Find no peace, and all my warre is done I Find no peace, and all my warre is done:I feare, and hope: I burne, and frese like yse:I flye aloft, yet can I not arise:And nought I haue, and all the worlde I season.That lockes nor loseth, holdeth me in pryson,And holdes me not, yet can I scape no wise:Nor lettes me lyue, nor dye, at my deuise,And yet of death it geueth me occasion.Without eye I se, without tong I playne:I wish to perysh, yet I aske for helth:I loue another, and thus I hate my selfe.I fede me in sorow, and laugh in all my payne.Lo, thus displeaseth me both death and life.And my delight is causer of this strife. MYne owne Iohn Poyns: sins ye delite to know MYne owne Iohn Poyns: sins ye delite to know MYne owne Iohn Poyns: sins ye delite to knowThe causes why that homeward I me draw,And fle the prease of courtes, where so they go:Rather then to liue thrall vnder the awe,Of lordly lokes, wrapped within my cloke,To will and lust learnyng to set a law:It is not, because I scorne or mockeThe power of them: whom fortune here hath lentCharge ouer vs, of ryght to strike the stroke.But true it is, that I haue alwayes mentLesse to'esteme them, then the common sortOf outward thinges: that iudge in their entent,Without regard, what inward doth resort.I graunt, sometime of glory that the fireDoth touch my hart. Me list not to reportBlame by honour, and honour to desire.But how may I this honour now attaine?That can not dye the colour blacke a lyer.My Poyns, I can not frame my tune to fayne:To cloke the truth, for prayse without desert,Of them that list all nice for to retaine.I can not honour them, that set their part"With Venus, and Bacchus, all their life long:Nor holde my peace of them, although I smart.I can not crouch nor knele to such a wrong:To worship them like God on earth alone:That are as wolues these sely lambes among.I can not with my wordes complaine and mone,And suffer nought: nor smart without complaynt:Nor turne the worde that from my mouth is gone.I can not speake and loke like as a saynt:Vse wiles for wit, and make disceyt a pleasure:Call craft counsaile, for lucre still to paint.I can not wrest the law to fill the coffer:With innocent bloud to fede my selfe fatte:And do most hurt: where that most helpe I offer.I am not he, that can alowe the stateOf hye Ceasar, and damne Cato to dye:That with his death did scape out of the gate,From Ceasars handes, if Liuye doth not lye:And would not liue, where libertie was lost,So did his hart the common wealth apply.I am not he, such eloquence to bost:To make the crow in singyng, as the swanne:Nor call the lyon of coward beastes the most.That can not take a mouse, as the cat can.And he that dieth for honger of the golde,Call him Alexander, and say that PanPasseth Appollo in musike manifold:Praise syr Topas for a noble tale,And scorne the story that the knight tolde:Prayse him for counsell, 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 lust to hang both night and day.None of these poyntes would euer frame in me.My wit is nought, I can not learne the way.And much the lesse of thinges that greater be,That asken helpe of colours to deuiseTo ioyne the meane with ech extremitie:With nearest vertue ay to cloke the vice.And as to purpose likewise it shall fall:To presse the vertue that it may not rise.And as to purpose likewise it shall fall,To presse the vertue that it may not rise.As dronkennesse good felowship to call:The frendly foe, with his faire double face,Say he is gentle and curties therewithall.Affirme that fauell hath a goodly grace,In eloquence: And cruelty to nameZeale of Iustice: And change in time and place.And he that suffreth offence withoutt blame:Call him pitifull, and him true and plaine,That rayleth rechlesse vnto ech mans shame.Say he is rude, that can not lye and faine:The letcher a louer, and tyrannyTo be the right of a Prynces rayghne.I can not, I no, no, it will not be.This is the cause that I could neuer yetHang on their sleues, that weygh (as tough mayst se)A chippe of chance more then a pounde of wit.This maketh me at home to hunt and hauke:And in fowle wether at my boke to sit:In frost and snow, then with my bow to stalke.No man doth marke where so I ride or go.In lusty leas at libertie I walke:And of these newes I fele nor weale nor wo:Saue that a clogge doth hang yet at my heele.No force for that, for it is ordred so:That I may leape both hedge and dike full wele,I am not now in Fraunce, to iudge the wine:With savry sauce those delicates to fele.Nor yet in Spaine where one must him incline,Rather then to be, outwardly to seme.I meddle not with wyttes that be so fine,Nor Flaunders chere lettes not my syght to demeOf blacke and white, nor takes my wittes awayWith beastlinesse: such do those beastes esteme.Nor I am not, where truth is geuen in pray,For money, poyson, and treason: of someA common practise, vsed nyght and day.But I am here in kent and christendome:Among the Muses, where I reade and ryme,Where if thou list myne owne Iohn Poyns to come:Thou shalt be iudge, how I do spende my time. MY mothers maides when they do sowe and spinne MY mothers maides when they do sowe and spinne MY mothers maides when they do sowe and spinne:They sing a song made of the feldishe mouse:That forbicause her liuelod was but thinne,Would nedes go se her townish sisters house,She thought, her selfe endured to greuous payne,The stormy blastes her caue so sore did sowse:That when the furrowes swimmed with the rayne:She'must lie colde, and wet in sory plight.And worse then that, bare meat there did remaineTo comfort her, when she her house had dight:Sometime a barly corne: sometime a beane:For which she laboured hard both day and night,In haruest tyme, while she might go and gleane.And when her store was stroyed with the floode:Then weleaway for she vndone was cleane.Then was she faine to take in stede of fode,Slepe if she might, her honger to begyle.My sister (quod she) hath a liuyng good:And hence from me she dwelleth not a myle. Trinity College MS Trinity College MS 160 16th century. A composite volume. The first two parts contain a lament of the virgin and Peter Idley’s Instructions. Both of these are from the fifteenth century. The third part, comprised of ff. 57-186, is the Blage MS, which is a verse miscellany compiled by John Mantell from c. 1534-41, and George Blage from c. 1545-48. O crewell causere of vndeseruyd chaunce O crewell causere of vndeseruyd chaunce O crewell causere of vndeseruyd chaunceBy great desyer inconstantlye to raygneys this your way ffor proffe of stedffastnesperde ye knowe the thynge was not so straungby fformer proff to myche my ffaythffulnwhat nedythe then suche colleryd dobbylnesI haue waylid thus wepping in nyghtly paynein sobbis and syghis alas and all in vaynein inward playnt and hartes woffull torment& yet alas lo creweltye and disdaynehaue set at nought a ffaythfull trewe intentand pryce hathe pryvylege truthe to presentBut thoughe I serue & to my dethe styll morneand pen me in pecys though I be torne& though I dye yeldyng my weryed gostshall neuer thyng agayne mak me to torneI quyt the interpryse of that that I haue lostto whom so euer lyst ffor to proffere most At laste withdraw youre crueltye At laste withdraw youre crueltye At laste withdraw youre crueltyeor let me dy a tonshit ys to mych extremetyDevysid for the nonsto hold me styll alyvein paynes styll for to stryvewhat may I more susteignealas that dy wold fayneand cannot dy for payneffor to the flame wherwith I burnemy thought & my desyrewhen into asshes hit shuld turnnemy harte by faruent fyeryou send a stormy raynethat doth yt quench agayneand makes my Eyes expressethe teyres that doth opresmy lyffe in wretchednesThen when they shuld haue drownedand ouer whelmed my hartethe hete doth them confoundrenewyng all my smartethen doth the flame encressemy turment cannot seassemy paynes than revyve dotheand I remayne alyvewith deth styll for to stryveBut that you wyll haue my dethand that you wold no notherthen shortly for to stope my brethwithdrawe the one or otherfor this youre cruelnestedoth let yt self perdeo man a lyve nor Idowble deth canne dy To wette your yee withoutyn teare To wette your yee withoutyn teare To wette your yee withoutyn teareand in goodhelthe to fayne dysseasethat you therby myn yee myght blearetherwith your ffrendes to pleaseand thoughe ye thynk ye ned not ffeareyet so ye cannot me apeasebut as you lyst ffayne fflatyr or gloseyou shall not wyn yf I do lossePrat and paynt and spare notye knowe I can me wrekeand yf so be ye car notbe suer I do not reckeand thoughe ye swere yt were notI can bothe swere and speakeby god and by the crosse If I haue the mocke ye shall haue it the worse Suffryng in sorrowe in hope to attayne Suffryng in sorrowe in hope to attayne Suffryng in sorrowe in hope to attayneDesyring in ffeare I dar not complaynetrowe in belyefe in whome ys all my trustdo thou aplye to ease me of my paynefor elys to serue and ssuffyr styll I mustHoppe ys my hold yet in dyspayre I speakeI dryve ffrom tyme & do not reckehow long to love thus after louys lustin stody styll of that I dar not brakewherffore to serue and suffyr styll I mustIncreas of care I ffynd bothe day and nyghtI hat that sometyme was my most delyghtthe cause therof ye know I haue dyscostand yet to reffrayne yt passythe my myghtWherfor to serue and suffer styll I mustLove who so lyst at lenthe he shall well sayeto love and leve in feare yt ys no playerecord that knowith yf this be notyd Iustthat wher as love dothe lede there ys no naybut serue and suffer styll allwaye I mustThen ffor to lyve with losse of lybertyeat last perchaunce shalbe his remedyeand ffor his truthe qud with ffals mistrustwho wold not rew t se when wrongffullyethus to serue and suffer styll I mustVntruthe by trust oft tymes hathe me betrayedmisvsyng my hoppe styll to be delayedfortune allway I haue the fownd vniost& so with lyk reward now hast thou me payedthat ys to serue & suffyr styll I must At moste myschyef At moste myschyef At moste myschyefI suffer gryefffor of relyefsith I haue nooneMy lute and Icontynuallyshall vs applyto wele syth or and monNaught doth prevayleto sighe or waylesens pety Doth faylein you alMornyng or monecomplaynte or nonehit ys aloneas in this caseffor crueltyemoste that may behath sufferauntewithin youre harteand makith bareall my welfarenaught doo you carehow sore I smartNoo tygurs hartys soo pervartewithout desarteto wreke his IreAnd ye me kyllfor my good wyllLov how I spyllfor my desyreThere ys noo lovethat can you moveand I cann proveno nother wayWherfore I mustrefrayne my lusteand banyshe trustfrome me alwayThus in myschyef & c / pations off all my blame pations off all my blame pations off all my blamefor I offendyd nowghtI wishe she knoyth the samethowgh she haue changyd her thowghtwas euer thowght so movydto hate wher hyt hath lovydpatiens thowgh I haue nottthe thyng that I requierI must off fors good woottforbere my most desyerfo no way cann I fyndto sayle ageynst the wyndpations Do what ye wyllto worke me woo or spyghtI shall content me styllto thynke that ons I myghtto thynke & hold my pessesens ther ys no redressepations off all my harmseth fortune ys my foopations shalbe the charmto hele me off my woopations withowt offensys a paynfull pations My lut awake performe the last My lut awake performe the last My lut awake performe the lastlabor that thou and I shall wastand end that I haue now begonneffor when this song ys snge and pastmy lut be styll ffor I haue donneAs to be hard where ere ys noneas led to grave in marble stonemy song may perse her hart as sonneshuld whe thene synge or walle or moneno no my lut ffor I haue donneThe roke Dothe not so crewellyerepulse the wayuis contlye wauyas she my sute and affecsionso that I am past remedyewherby my lute and I haue donneProwd of the spoyle that thou hast gateof simplell harts theow lovis shotevnkynd althoughe thou hast them wyeounthink not he hathe his bowe fforgotealthoug my lute and I haue doneVngence may fall on thy disdaynethat makes but game of yernyst paygnetrowe not alone vnder the sonevnquyt to cause thy louers playneal tho my lute and I haue donneMay chaunce the lye whetheryd and oldthe wentyr nyghtes that ar so coldplayning in vayne vnto the monethy wishys then dar not be toldbut care who lyst ffor I haue donend then may chaunce the to repentthe tyme that thou has lost and spentto cause thy louer syghe and sownethen shalt thou know bevtye but lentand wyshe and want as I haue doneMy lute be styll this ys the lastlabor that thou and I shall wast& end that I haue now begonneffor when this song ys songyne and pastmy lut be styll ffor I haue done that tym that myrthe dyd styre my shyppe that tym that myrthe dyd styre my shyppe that tym that myrthe dyd styre my shyppewhyche now ys fraut wythe euynesand fortune bot not than the Lyppebut was defence of my destresthan in my book wrot my mestresI am yours I you may be wel suerand shall be whyle that Lyffe dothe dureBut she hyr selffe whyche then wrot this nou my extryme enemyaboue all man she dothe me hatreioysinge of my myserybut tho that for hyr sake I dyI shall be hyrs she may be sueras Longe as my Lyffe dothe induerIt us not tyme that can were outwythe me that whons is fyrmly setwhyle nature kypes hyr cours aboutmy hat from hyr noman can Lettho neuer so soer they me thretyet I am hyrs &cand onys I trust to se the dayrenuer of my yoy and whelthethat she thes . wourdes to me shall seyin faythe welcoom to me my selffewelcoum my hart welcoum my helthefor I am theyn &cho me alas what woordes wer thesin couant I myt fynd them sooI reke not what smart or dyssestourment or troubel payne or woo sufferd so that I myt knothat she uer myn I myt be suerand should b &c Ther was never fyle halfe so well fylyd Ther was never fyle halfe so well fylyd Ther was never fyle halfe so well fylyd fyle a fyle for any smyth Intentas was mad a fylyng Instrument fra another whyle I was begylyd hath at my folly smylyd pardon me sens that I me repentoff my lost yeres & tyme myspent youth dyd me lede & falshed me gydydyet thys trust I haue off gret appsens that decete ys ay returnabylloff euery fors yt ys agreabyllthat therwithall be don the recumpensthe gyle for begylyd blamyd shuld be neve& the reward but lyttyll trust for euer the that furst my hart dyd strayn the that furst my hart dyd strayn the that furst my hart dyd straynwhen that thy servant I becamdoth bynd me styll for to remaynalways yowr own as now I am& yff ye fynd that I do faynwith Iust judgment my self I damto haue dysdy wyth desdayneyf thowght In me do groobut styll to loue the you stedfastly yff the proffe do no forth shoothat I am yowrs assuerydlylett euery welth all my yoy turne me all to woo to beontynuallymy chefyst fyff other thoht or new request do sese my hart but only thys& yff wythIn my weryd brestbe hyd on thowght that mene amysI do desyer that my nrestmay styll Incres & I to mysthat I loue bestyff my loue be hyd on spoot off fals decete & dublylnesor yff I mynd to slyp the knootby want off fayth or stedfastneslet all my servys be forgoot& when I wold haue sefe redresesteme me nottbut yff that I consume In paynwyth do burnyng syghes & farvent loueand dyly seke non other gaynbut wyth my dedes thes wordes to prouee thynkes off yght I shuld obtaynthat ye shuld mynd for to remoueyour gret dysdaynand nend off thys my songIn to yowr handes I do submyttthe dedly grefe the payn so strongwych In my hart be fyrmly shyttand when ye lyst redres my wrogsens well ye knoo thys paynfyll fytthath last to l To my myshap alas I fynde To my myshap alas I fynde To my myshap alas I fyndethat happy hap ys dangerus& fortune workyth but her kyndto make the Ioyfull dolorusbut all to lat hyt cumes In myndto wayle the want that made me blyndeso often warydamydes my myrth & plesantnessuch chance ys chansyd sodenlythat In dyspere to haue redresI fynd my chefyst remedyno new kynd off vnhappynesshuld thus haue left me comfortlesso often waWho wold haue thowght that my requestshuld bryng me forth such bytter frutebut now ys hapt that I ferd lest& all thys harm cumes by my svtefor when I thowgh me happyestevyn then hapt all my chefe vnrestso oftyn warydIn better case was never none& yet vnwares thus am I trapptmy chefe desyer doth cause me mon& to my harm my welth ys haptther ys no man but I alonethat hath such cause to sygh & moneso oftyn wthus am I tawght for to beware& trust no more such all plesant chancemy happy hap hath bred thys care& browght my myrth to grete yschancether ys no man that hap vyll sparebut when she lyst hys welth ys barethus am I waryd Myght I as well within my songe belaye Myght I as well within my songe belaye Myght I as well within my songe dbelayethe thing I wolde as in my hart I mayerepentens shulde Drawe frome those eyesSalt tearis with cryes, remorce and grudge of hartcausles as cause that I haue ssuffred smartO yf myght I ellis enclose my paynfull breastthat that myght be in syght my great vnrestther shulde ye see tormentes remayngneas hell of payne to move your crewell hartcausles by cause that I haue suffred smartOr myght Ther ys in hell no suche a feruent fyereas secret hete of inward hotte desyerethat wyll not let the flame appayrethat I haue here within my wastyd hartcausles by cause that I haue suffred smartYet you cause yt and ye may cause my weltheons cause yt then retorne vnto my heltheand of all mene releve that manthat no thing can but crye releve this hartcausles by cause that I haue souf smartRedres ye owght that harme that ye haue donneyt ys no game that ye nowe haue bygonnebut worthye blame ye shall remayneto do hym payne that knowythe not thought of causles by cause that I haue suffred smart If chaunce assygnyd If chaunce assygnyd If chaunce assygnydwer to my myndby very kyndof destineyet wold I crave Perdy I sayd hytt nott Perdy I sayd hytt nott Perdy I sayd hytt nottnor newer thowght to dooas well as I ye wottI haue no powr thertooand yff I dyd the lottthat furst dyd chaynedo never slake the knoottbut strayter to my paynand yff I dyd ech thyngthat may do harm or woocontynually may wryngmy hart wherso hytt gooreport may alway ryngoff shame on me for nayyf In my hart dyd spryngtheys wordes that ye do sayand yff I dyd ech starrthat ys In hevyn abouemay frown on me to marthe hope I haue In loueand yff I dyd such warvas the browght In to troybryng all my lyfe afarfrom all hys lust & Ioyand yf I dyd so saythe bewty that me bowndIncresse from day to daymore cruell to my worldwyth all the mone that mayto playnt may turn my songmy lyfe may sone decaywythowt redresse my worngyf be clere from thowght why do ye then complaynwhy do ye then complaynthen ys thys thyng but soughtto put me to more paynthen that that ye haue wrowghtye must hyt now redresseoff ryght therfore ye oughtsuch rygor to represseand as I haue deseruydso grant me now my hyerye kno I never swarvydye never found me lyerfor rakhell haue I seruydfor lya caryd I neverand her I haue reseruydwythIn my hart for euer pations for my devyse pations for my devyse pations for my devyseImpatiens for yowr partoff contraryse the gyseys euer ouerthwartpatiens for I am trewthe contrary for yowpatiens a good cause whyye haue no cause at alltherfore yowrs standes awreymay chance sumtyme to fallpations then take hy vp& drynke off patiens cuppatiens no fors for thatbut brushe your gown agaynpatiens spurn not therattLet no mann knoo yowr paynpatiens evyn at my plesuerwhen yowrs ys owt off mesuerthe tother was for methys patiens ys for yowchange when ye lyst lett sefor I haue tayne a newpatiens wyth a good wyllys esy to fullfyll Nature that gaue the bee so fayre agrace Nature that gaue the bee so fayre agrace Nature that gaue the bee so fayre agraceTo featch honye aftre so strange a fasionhath taught the speydre out of the same placeTo fetch poyson by strange alterationthough thys be strange yt ys a stranger thyngecaseby one kysse of secrat operationBoth thesse at ones in those thy Lyppes to fyndeIn change wherof I leve my hart behynd Lk as the swann towardes her dethe Lk as the swann towardes her dethe Lk as the swann towardes her dethed strayne here voyce with dolfull noryght so syng I with wast of bretheI dy I dy and you regard yt notI shall infforce my ffayntyng brethethat all that hir this dedlye noteshall cause>know that you do cause my detheI dy I dye and you regard yt notyour vnkyndnes hathe sworne my detheand chaungyd hathe my pleasant notto paynful syghis that stoppe my bretheI dy I dy and you regard yt notConsumyth my lyff ffaylethe my bretheyour ffaut ys fforger of this notI do bthe my wery brethemelting in tearis a crewell detheI dy I dy and you regard yt notMy fayth with me after my detheberyd shall to this notI do bequeth wery brethe I dye and you regardid it not A my harte A what eileth the A my harte A what eileth the A my harte A what eileth theto set soo Lyght be libertyemakyng myee bounde where I was frea my harte A what ayleth theWhere thow warte ryde frome all Distvoide of all payne and pensyfnesto chauoose agayne a new mestresa my harte a what Ayleth theWhen thow warte well thow couldes not holdto turne agayne thow warte to boldethus to renew my Sorowes oldeA my harte a what Ayleth theThow knowest full well that but of LateI was turned owt of Loues gate& now to gyde me to this matea my harte a what Ayleth theI hopped full well all had ben doonebut now my hoppe Is tane and woneto my turment To yeld soo Sone Hate whome ye lyste for I care not Hate whome ye lyste for I care not Hate whome ye lyste for for I care notloue whome ye lyste and spare notdoo what ye lyst and fere notSeymake what ye lyst and dred notfor as for me I am notbut euyn as on that rekyth notwhither ye hate or hate notfor in youre loue I dote notwherfore I pray you forget notBut loue whome ye lyst and spare not Love hathe agayne Love hathe agayne Love hathe agayneput me to payne& yet all ys but lostI serue in vayneand am certayneof all myslyked mostBothe het and coldDothe me beholdand combr so my myndthat when I shuldspeak and be boldyt drawith me styll behyndMy wyttes be pastmy lyf dothe wastmy comffort ys exyledand I in hastam lyk to tasthow love hathe me begyllidOnles that Ryght may immay in her syghtoptaye pety & grawhy shuld a wyghthaue bewty bryghtyf marsye haue no placeYet I alasan in suche casethat bak I cannot goobut styll forthe traceA pacient pace& suffer seckret woo /ffor wythe the wyndmy fyered mynddothe styll incres in flameand she vnkyndthat dyd me bynddothe torne yet all to gameyet can no paygnemake me reffraynenor here nor ther to rangeI shall retaynehop to attaynea hart that ys so strangeBut I requyerthe paynffull ffyerthat oft dothe mak me swerefor all my hyerwith lyk desyereto geve here hart a hetteThen shall she provehow I her love& what I haue her offerydwhiche shuld here moveffor to removethe payne that I hau sufferdA better ffee /then she geve me/she shall of me attayneffor wher as sheshowyd creweltyeshe shall me hart optayne Wythe seruyng styll Wythe seruyng styll Wythe seruyng styll thisthis haue I wonneffor my good wyllto be vndonneAnd ffor redresof all my paynedisdaynffulnesI have agayneand ffor rewardof all my smartlo thus vnhardI must departeWherfore all ye that thatthat after shallby fortune beas I am thrallExempell takewhat I haue wonnethus for hes saketo be vndone Dryven by desire I dyd this dede Dryven by desire I dyd this dede Dryven by desire I dyd this dedeto daunger my self without cause whyto trust the vntrue not lyke to spedto speke and promas faithfullybut now the prouf doth verefythat whoo soo trustith ar he knooDoth hurt hym self and pleas his foo I doo not reIoyse nor yet complayne I doo not reIoyse nor yet complayne I doo not reIoyse nor yet complayneboth myrth and sadnes I doo refrayneand vse the mene sens folkys wyll fayneyet I am as I am be hit pleasure or payneMen doo Iuge as the doo trowsum of pleasure & sum of wooyet for all that nothing the knowbut I am as I am whersoeuer I goo.But sens that Iudggers take that wayLet euery man his Iudgement sayI wyll hit take in sport and playyet I am as I am woosoeuer say nayWho Iudggis well god well them sendwhoo Iudgith yll god them amendeto Iuge the best therfore intendefor I am as I am and soo wyll I endeyet sum the at take delyghtto Iudge folkes thowght by outwarde sightbut whether the Iudge wrong or RyghtI am as I am and soo doo I wrightI pray ye all that this doo redeto trust hit as ye doo your credand thynck not that I wyll change my wedefor I am as I am how sooeuer I spedeBut how that ys I Leue to youIudge as ye Lyst false or trewye know no more then afore ye knewbut I am as I am what soeuer insewAnd frome this mynd I wyll not flyebut to all them that myseIudge meI do protest as ye doo sethat I am as I am and soo wyll I Dy University of Pennsylvania Latin MS University of Pennsylvania Latin MS 35 15th-16th centuries. This manuscript contains Latin sermons by John Felton from the mid-15th century. The poem on the front flyleaf was entered in the early 16th century. I ham as I ham & so will I be. I ham as I ham & so will I be I ham as I ham & so will I be.but howe I. ham none knowithe trulyI lede my lyff in differntly.I meane nothink but honeste.Thoghe folkes Iugge diversly. ytt I ham as I ham & so will I be,Sum therebe that dothe mystrowe.sum of pleasure & sum of woo.yet for all that no thinke they knowe.ffor I ham as I ham wher euer I goo,Sun therbe that dothe delyght.to Iugge folkes for envy & spythe.But whether they Iuge wronge or ryght.I ham as I ham & soo will I wryght The workes of Geffray Chaucer newly printed The workes of Geffray Chaucer newly printed, with dyuers workes whiche were neuer in print before STC 5068. See also: STC 5069, STC 5074. And nowe my pen alas/ with whiche I write And nowe my pen alas/ with whiche I write And nowe my pen alas/ with whiche I writeQuaketh for drede/of that I muste endyte O very lorde/ O loue/ o god alas O very lorde/ O loue/ o god alas O very lorde/ O loue/ o god alasThat knowest best myn hert/ & al my thoughtWhat shal my sorouful lyfe done in this caasIf I forgo that I so dere haue boughtSens ye Creseyde & me haue fully broughtIn to your grace/ and both our hertes sealedNowe may ye suffre alas it be repealed O wery goste/that errest to and fro O wery goste/that errest to and fro O wery goste/that errest to and froWhy nylt thou flyen out of the wofullestBody that euer might on grounde goO soule/lurkyng in this woful nesteFlye forthout myn herte/ and let it presteAnd folowe alway Creseyde thy lady dereThy right place is nowe no lenger here what I may done I shal/whyle I may dure what I may done I shal/whyle I may dure what I may done I shal/whyle I may dureOn lyue/ in turment and in cruel payneThis infortune/or this disauentureAlone as I was borne I wol complayneNe neuer wol I sene it shyne or rayneBut ende I wol as Edippe in derknesseMy sorouful lyfe/ and dyen in distresse O ye louers/that hygh vpon the whele O ye louers/that hygh vpon the whele O ye louers/that hygh vpon the wheleBen sette of fortune/in good auentureGod lene that ye fynden aye loue of steleAnd longe mote your lyfe in ioye endureBut whan ye comen by my sepultureRemembreth that your felowe resteth thereFor I loued eke/though I vnworthy were For thylke grounde/ that beareth the wedes wicke For thylke grounde/ that beareth the wedes wicke For thylke grounde/ that beareth the wedes wickeBeareth eke these holsome herbes/as ful ofteNext the foule nettle/rough and thickeThe rose wexeth/soote/smoth/ and softeAnd next the valey is the hyll a lofteAnd next the derke night the glade moroweAnd also ioye is next the syne of sorowe Womans herte vnto no cruelte Womans herte vnto no cruelte Womans herte vnto no cruelteEnclyned is / But they be charytablePytous/ deuoute/ ful of humyliteShamefaste/ debonayre/ and amyableDredeful / and of wordes measurableWhat women these haue not parauentureFoloweth not the way of her nature Is this a faire auaunt/is this honour Is this a faire auaunt/is this honour Is this a faire auaunt/is this honourA man him selfe accuse thus and diffameIs is good to confesse him selfe a traytourAnd bring a woman to sclaundrous nameAnd tel howe he her body hath do shameNo worshipe may he thus to him conquerBut great disclaunder vnto him and her To her nay/ yet was it no represe To her nay/ yet was it no represe To her nay/ yet was it no represeFor al for vertue was that she wroughtBut he that brewed hath al this myschefeThat spake so fayre/ & falsely inward thoughtHis be the sclaunder/ as it by reason oughtAnd vnto her thanke perpetuelThat in suche a nede helpe can so wel If al the erthe were parchement scribable If al the erthe were parchement scribable If al the erthe were parchement scribableSpedy for the hande/and al maner wodeWere hewed and proporcioned to pennes ableAl water ynke/in damme or in flodeEuery man beyng a parfyte scribe & goodThe cursydnesse yet and disceyte of womenCoude not be shewed by the meane of penne O marble herte/and yet more harde parde O marble herte/and yet more harde parde O marble herte/and yet more harde pardeWhiche mercy may not perce for no labourMore strange to bowe thna is a myghty treWhat auayleth you to shewe so great rigourPleaseth it you more to se me dye this hourBefore your eyen/for your disporte and playThan for to shewe some comforte and socourTo respyte dethe/whiche chaseth me alway Alas/what shulde it be to you preiudyce Alas/what shulde it be to you preiudyce Alas/what shulde it be to you preiudyceIf that a man do loue you faythfullyTo your worshyp/eschewynge euery vyceSo am I yours/and wyl be verylyI chalenge nought of right/and reason whyFor I am hole submyt vnto your seruyceRight as ye lyst it be/right so wyl ITo bynde my selfe/where I was in fraunchise Howe frendly was Medea to Iason Howe frendly was Medea to Iason Howe frendly was Medea to IasonIn conqueryng of the flece of goldeHowe falsely quyt he her trewe affectionBy whom vyctorie he gate as he woldeHowe may this man for shame be so boldeTo falsen her/that fro his dethe and shameHim kept/ and gate him so great prise & name For though I had you to morowe agayne For though I had you to morowe agayne For though I had you to morowe agayneI myght as wel holde April from rayneAs holde you to maken stedfastAlmighty god/of trouthe the souerayneWher is the trouth of man/who hath it slayneShe that hem loueth/shal hem fynde as fastAs in a tempest is a rotten masteIs that a tame beest/that is aye fayneTo renne away/whan he is lefte agaste If it be so that ye so cruel be If it be so that ye so cruel be If it be so that ye so cruel beThat of his dethe you lysteth nought to retchThat is so trewe and worthy/ as we seeNo more than of a iaper or a wretchIf ye be suche/your beaute may nat stretchTo make amendes of so cruel a dedeAuysement is good before the nede Wo worth the fayre Geme vertulesse/ Wo worth the fayre Geme vertulesse Wo worth the fayre Geme vertulesse/Wo worthe that herbe also that dothe no boteWo worthe the beaute that is routhlesseWo worth that wight that trede eche vnder foteAnd ye that ben of beaute croppe and roteIf therwithal in you ne be no routheThan to harme ye lyuen by by trouthe For loue is yet the moste stormy lyfe For loue is yet the moste stormy lyfe For loue is yet the moste stormy lyfeRight of him selfe/that euer was begonneFor euer some mistrust/or nyce stryfeThere is in loue/some cloude ouer the sonneTherto we wretched women nothyng conneWhan vs is wo/but wepe and syt and thynkeOur wreche is this/our owne wo to drinke Also wicked tonges ben so prest Also wicked tonges ben so prest Also wicked tonges ben so prestTo speke vs harme/eke men ben so vntreweThat right anon as cessed is her lestSo cesseth loue/ and forthe to loue a neweBut harme ydo is done/who so it reweFor though these men for loue hem first to rendeFul sharpe begynnyng breketh ofte at ende And who that saythe that for to loue is vyce And who that saythe that for to loue is vyce And who that saythe that for to loue is vyceOr thraldom/though he fele in it distresseHe eyther is enuyous/or right nyceOr is vnmyghty for his shreudnesseTo louen for suche maner folke I gesseDiffamen loue/as nothyng of him knoweThey speken/but they bente neuer his bowe But nowe helpe god/to quenche al this sorow But nowe helpe god/to quenche al this sorow But nowe helpe god/to quenche al this sorow