That flatteries flearyng in my face had almoste made me blinde:
But now I see all is not golde, that glittereth in the eye,
Nor yet such frends as thei professe as now by profe I finde.
Though secret spight by craft hath made a coate of Panters skin,
And thinks to finde me in the shade by sleight to wrapp me in,
Yet God be praised my eye is cleare, and can beholde the Sonne!
When falshood dares not once appeare to ende that he begonne!
Thus tyme shall trie the thyng amisse which God sone shortly sende,
And turne the harte that fained is to be a faithfull frende.
The spider with greate skill doeth trauell daie by daie,
His limmes no tyme lye still, to set his house in staie:
And when he hath it wrought thinkyng therein to raigne,
A blast of winde unthought doeth driue it downe againe.
The profe whereof is true to make his worke indure,
He paines hymself a newe, in hope to dwell more sure:
Or in some secret place, a corner of the wall,
He trauaileth a space to builde and rest with all.
His pleasure swete to staie when he to rest is bent,
An ugly shamble Flie approcheth to his tent,
And there entends by forse his labours greate to win,
Or els to yelde his corse, by fatall death therein.
Thus is the Spider's nest from tyme to tyme throwne downe,
And he to labour prest, with endles pains unknowne:
So suche as louers be like trauell doe attaine,
Those endles works ye see aer alwaies full of paine.
W. Hunis.
The subtill slily sleights, that worldly men doe worke,
The fredly showes vnder whose shade most craft doth ofte lurke,
Enforceth me, alas, with yernfull voice to saie,
Wo worthe the wily heads that seeks the simple mans decaie,
The birde that dreds no guile is sonest caught in snare,
Eche gentle harte deuoide of craft is sonest brought to care:
Good nature sonest trapt, which gives me cause to saie,
Wo worthe the wily heads that seeks the simple mans decaie.
I see the serpent vile, that lurks under the grene,
How subtelly he shrouds hymself, that he maie not be sene:
And yet his fosters bane his leryng looks bewraie,
Wo worthe the wily heads that seeks the simple mans decaie.
Wo worthe the fainyng looks one fauour that doe waite,
Wo worthe the fained frendly harte that harbours depe deceit:
Wo worthe the vipers broode: oh, thrise wo worthe I saie,
All worldly wily heads that seeks the simple mans decaie.
Finis. M. Edwards.
With painted speache I list not proue my cunnyng for to trie,
Nor yet will vse to fill my penne with gilefull flatterie:
With pen in hand, and harte in breast, shall faithfull promise make,
To loue you best and serue you moste for your great vertues sake.
And since dame Nature hath yon deckt with gifts aboue the rest,
Let not disdaine a harbour finde within your noble brest:
For loue hath ledd his lawe alike, to men of eche degree,
So that the begger with the prince shall loue as well as he.
I am no prince I must confesse, nor yet of princes line,
Nor yet a brutishe begger borne that feeds among the swine:
The fruite shall trie the tree at last, the blossomes good or no,
Then doe not judge of me the worse till you haue tried me so. ́
As I deserue so then reward, I make you iudge of all,
If I be false in worde or deede let lightnyng thunder fall:
And furies fell with franticke fitts bereue and stopp my breathe,
For an example to the rest if I shall breake my faithe.
The sainct I serve, and have besought full oft,
Upon my knees to stand my Goddes good:
With hope did holde my head somety me aloft,
And fed my faunyng frende with daintie foode.
But now I see, that words are nought but winde,
The sweter meate the sowrer sauce I finde.
Thus while I helde the Ele by the taile
I had some hope yet neuer wanted feare:
Of double dread that man can neuer faile,
That will presume to take the Wolfe by the eare.
I snatche forsothe much like to Esops dogg,
I sought for fishe and alwaies caught a frogg.
Thus did I long bite on the fomyng bitt,
Whiche found me plaie enough vnto my paine:
Thus while I loued I neuer wanted fitt,
But liued by losse and sought no other gaine.
But why should I mislike with Fortunes fetters,
Since that the like have hapt unto my betters.
Richard Hill.
Complainyng to his frende, he replieth wittely.
A. The fire shall freese, the frost shall frie, the frozen mountains hie,
B. What strage thinges shall dame nature force to turne her course awrie.
A. My Ladie hath me left and taken a newe man.
B. This is not straunge, it happes oft tymes the truthe to scan.
A. The more is my paine. B. her loue then refraine.
A. Who thought she would flitt? B. eche one that hath witt.
A. Is not this straunge? B. light loue will chaunge.
A. By skilfull meanes I her reclaime to stope unto my luer.
B. Suche hagard haukes will sore awaie of them who can be suer?
A. With siluer bells and hoode my ioye was her to decke.
B. She was full gorgd, she woulde the soner giue the checke.
A. The more is my paine. B. her loue then refraine.
A. Who thought she would flitt? B. eche one that hath witt.
A. Is not this straunge? B. light loue will chaunge.
A. Her chirping lippes would chirp to me swete wordes of her desire. B. Suche chirping birdes who euer sawe to preach still on one brire? A. She saied she loued me beste and would doe till she die;
B. She saied in wordes, she thought it not as tyme doth trie.
A. The more is my paine. B. her loue then refraine.
A. Who thought she would flitt? B. eche one that hath witt.
A. Is not this straunge? B. light loue will chaunge.
A. Can no man winne a woman so to make her loue endure?
B. To make the Fox his wiles to leaue what man will put in ure?
A. Why then there is no choice, but all women will chaunge.
B. As men doe use so women do loue to raunge.
A. The more is my paine. B. her loue then refraine.
A. Who thought she would flitt? B. eche one that hath witt.
A. Is not this straunge? B. light loue will chaunge.
A. Sithe slipper gaine falles to my lot, farwell that glidyng praie.
B. Sithe that the dice doeth runne awrie, betimes leaue of thy plaie.
A. I will no more lament the thyng I maie not haue.
B. Then by exchaunge the losse to come, all shalt thou saue.
A. Loue will I refraine. B. thereby thou shalt gaine.
A. With losse I will leaue. B. she will thee deceiue.
A. That is not straunge. B. then let her raunge.
No paines comparable to his attempt.
What watche, what wo, what want, what wracke,
Is due to those that toyle the seas?
Life ledd with losse of paines no lacke,
In stormes to winne muche restlesse ease:
A bedlesse borde, in seas unrest,
Maie happ to hym that chaunseth best.
How sundrie sounds with lead and line,
Unto the depe the shipman throwes:
No foote to spare, he cries oft tymes,
No nere, when how the master blowes:
If Neptune frown all be undoen,
Strait waie the shipp the wrack hath won.
These daungers greate doe oft befall,
On those that shere vpon the sande:
Judge of their liues the best who shall,
How vile it is, fewe understande:
Alacke! who then maie iudge their game:
Not thei whiche have not felt the same.
But thei that fall in stormes and winde,
And daies and yeres haue spent therein,
Suche well may iudge since prófe thei find,
In rage no rest till calme begin:
No more then those, that loue doe faine,
Giue iudgment of true louers paine.
Finis. W. H.
No pleasure without some paine.
How can the tree but wast and wither awaie,
That hath not some tyme comfort of the sonne:
How can that flower but fade and sone decaie,
That alwaies is with darke clouds ouer ronne?
Is this a life, naie death you maie it call,
That feeles eche paine and knoweth no ioye at all.
What foodles beast can liue long in good plight,
Or is it life where sences there be none :
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