Sonnets by Fowler, 76 - 121


Heues rid and paile which litts Bell[isaes face],

And dortye maks her eyes and deafe her eares,

Howe canst yow wyne soure lookes and spite in peace,

And for my wrak theme arme and mak suche weres?

Yet since of me so myndles shee apperes,

As shee dothe seme herself for to forgett,

Quhy wakned wakns yow vpp neire hopes and feares,

And blawes deade coales, cold cindars bringing lett?

Iff yow my torments for your trophees sett,

And of my martyrdome your triumphs mak,

Why maks yow me through coy contempt to frett,

And vnto reasoun for to turne my bak,

And former voues with solemne othes disclayme,

adoring farder her who dothe me schame?



Greive not, faire flouer of couleur, sight, and sent,

Though in this glass inclosed now thow stand,

For shee quhose favour the to me hes sent

More straylye holds my heart within her hand;

And gif that water want of well or strand,

Teares from my eyes thy feading sal renewe,

And by the wound which love giuis by his brand,

My lyflie bloode sal the restore thy hewe.

And since that I depryved am of her vewe,

And feare doithe force her from my love refrayne,

I will with kisses the, sweite flouer, persewe,

With hope schee sal tak pittie of my payne:

Bot gif schee fayle, then cruell shee sal see

A FLOUER to perrishe and a FOULER dee.



Quho to the heavens gaue starns and wynds to aire,

Grene herbs to earthe, and wawes vnto the see,

Dothe to our age his woundars more declaire,

Since things more strainge then these we see in thee,

Yea, that we suld cast baith our mynde and eye

Vpon his gracious and glorious frame,

In yow he hethe maid placed for to bee

Quhat most was raire, quhat most is faire, faire dame,-

Bright haire that sunne and eyes that starnes dothe schame,

Quhaire love his toarche dois light and netts dothe mak,

Sueit smyles, chaiste words, that peace and weres proclame,

Grave pace, auld witt in youngest yeres but lak,

With store of graces and of beautyes strainge,

Which gius to Nature lawe, and stey to change.



Quhils I beheld Bellisaes breist was baire

And Cupids belloues to myne eyne appeird;

Amangs the lillyes and the roses faire

My faynting spreits to feide theme did reteire.

No honey beyes there wings more suift did steire

To see the paynted flouers and sulk the same

Then they quhen floachs of snawe they sawe ly cleire,

And from there coldnes theme to fechte there flame:

So hungrie nowe, to searche foode for the same,

To lenghte my lyfe furthe of my eyes they fliee,

And leaves my harte within your breist, fair dame:

A breist thought quhyte more cold then snaw I see,

With hope of help, thought I with feare be lost,

That fyres of love may melt your honours frost.



Hou oft I see your face and blissed eyes,

How oft the same agane on me do gase,

So oft my thoughts, bathtd in there beautyes sees,

Breids thrist of theames for to proclayme your praise;

Bot quhat most cheife and rare I suld first blaise

Toung can not weill recounte, nor pen weill frame,

For store stopps choyse, chainge dothe my Muse amaise,

And your great gifts a gretar poete clayme.

Yet high desyre to win more lasting fame

By yow, the glorious subject of my Muse,

And great renoune in to eternise the same,

Dothe ympe my wings and to suche soaring vse,

With hope I may attene quhar I derect

My flight and flams, and by theme lyfe exspect.



Quho wald here see the sunn but heate to burne,

Quhat harmonie the circled spheres dothe move,

How starns mens states by there aspect dothe turne,

And how that spreits ar blist and curst by love,

Cast he his lookes not to these lights above,

Bot theme devert on her proud humble eyes,

And on these blissings quhilk for her behove

To poure on her supernal pouers pleayse.

Her soure sueit words ar vncoltrold decreyes,

Which breathd from lyflye snaw engendreth flamme;

Her port, her pace, her gesteur, as men sees,

Proportion keipeth with the hevynlye frame,

Which breiding chaist desyrs and vaine dois schift,

Doith spurr the sluggish harts, and steys the suift.


In Orknay

Vpon the vtmost corners of the warld

And on the borders of this massiue round,

Quhaire fates and fortoune hither hes me harld,

I doe deplore my greiffs vpon this ground;

And seeing roring seis from roks rebound

By ebbs and streames of contrair routing tyds,

And Phebus chariot in there wawes ly dround,

Quha equallye now night and day devyds,

I cal to mynde the storms my thoughts abyds,

Which euer wax and never dois decres,

For nights of dole dayes joys ay euer hyds,

And in there vayle doith al my weill suppres;

So this I see, quhaire euer I remove,

I chainge bot sees, but can not chainge my love.



By fals suspect, baithe jelous and vnkynde,

And vyld perverter of my trewe intent,

The humble offers of my humbld mynde

Ar otheruyse constructed then I ment;

For quhils to honour yow my spreits wer bent

And reverentlie your beautie to adore,

For quhase sueit sake I wald my lyfe have spent,

To lust not love my zeale is imput more.

Bot yow al-seing gods, quha knaws afore

Mens thoughts or euer men thame weil conceave,

Dois knaw my thoughts such baldnes dois abhore,

And not presums sic favours for to crave:

For al my hap and houpe quhairin I trust

Is for to serve and love, and not to lust.



Iff wering tyme dois mortal beautyes waist

And with his suiftest course there glore destroy,

Quhy, cruel faire, do yow no soner haiste

To bring me ease quhen ye have bred me noy?

Iff lyfe doith lightlye pass to short our joy

And maks our hops vncertayne, vayne and frayle,

Qhwy, soure Bellisa, will ye not employ

Your sueteist yeres vnto your awen avayle?

Bot, oh! I see, quhils as my foulds dois fayle

And tymles silver hairs on me to grow,

Your yeres draw on and will with tyme revaile

Repentance late quhen skairse I will yow know:

Then save me first from my approching deathe,

Quhils beutye is in yow, and in me breathe.


Sonett Pedantesque

Transcendant Sun! Sublime irradiant lux!

Quhase solshyne rayes my eyes to vewe dar vix,

Quha in tempestouous procells is my dux,

And keips my name fro Lethes laike and Stix.

O charming Circe! O Lesbia faire as nix!

Quha to my cupidineous thoughts is trux,

Quha liquefacts my spreits as fyre dois pix,

And maks my kyfe exspyre as theif on crux,

Lat thir hoarse clamours of my vaucal vox

Perverberat your eares or orcus vex,

Facilitat the passage of my nox,

And with his darte accelerat my nex:

Bot gif the fates will not permitt me pax,

Lat Atrops kill by falx as love by fax.


The same mair senseble

Bright schyning sun and faire reflexing light,

Quhase golden beames my eyes dar skairslye vewe,

Quha is my conduct in the cluddie night,

And doth my bark fra roks and cregs reskew;

Bellisa sueit, coy Lesbia of fair hewe,

Quha deife vnto my plaints disdaynes my paynes,

And melts my spreits as fyre doith pik and glewe,

And doth my lyfe conseume and wonds my raynes,

Lat thir complay[n]tis vpon your high disdaynes

Perse in your eares, or dethe in me have pouer

To pathe the passage of his mortal traynes,

And with his heuk draw on my fatal houer;

For gif your harte will pittee ay disclayme,

Deathe sal me kill by darte, as loue by flame.



No roring sees which roanting strykes on roks

And hills off spindrifts rayses on the shore,

Na rearding thundars that abbaits and knoks

The highest trees which theme withsta[n]d the more,

Na damned soules ar terrefyed so sore

Quha sees the gibbet of there fatal day,

Na windie tempests nor yet stormes that rore

And dothe there blasts on lands and sees displey,

Dothe lossed schipps with terrour more afray

Nor wandring pilgrims stryks with shaking feare,

Quha walking on ar doubtfull of the way,

And turning there, and now returning here,

As I do feare the starnes of her ees,

More fearfull far then thundars, roks and sees.



As charming Circe did Vlisses stey

Within the bounds of the Sicilian yles,

Transforming men euen to there awen decay

And chainging theme in foules and beastes by wyles,

So thow, chaist love, quha in my long exyles

From my Penelope haithe me deteind,

Conjuring wynds, which ay my hope beguyles,

Hes me with the but greif in greif reteind;

And though this grace I have of yow obteind,

As not to be in foule nor beaste transformd,

Quhairthrough the loss the losser may be meind,

Yet, charming charmer, thow hes be deformd:

Quhils my weake witts now wittles doe becum,

And eyes but sight, and toung baith tyed and dum.



Thought vnsene Echo hyde frome me her face,

Shee semes yet by her workes to beare my love,

For quhen I would her wittnes my disgrace

With piteous voyce shee dois my plants approve;

Sua shee a stone to reuthe her tones dois move,

And frames her accents to my faynting mone,

As wishing that the plagues which I ay prove

Might with my teares be dryed vp and gone.

Bot cruell shee quha maks me crye and grone,

Baithe deafe and nyce to ansuer mak disdaynes,

Yea, when I cal her eares shee stopps anone,

And baithe frome speache and pittie shee refraynes:

So shee laments conpond of stone and aire,

Quhils shee which fleshe is brings me cross and caire.



Lord, quha did marche vpon the stormye sees,

Quhase wawes uer high lyke hills and law lyk Hell,

Quha bounds the same by thy eterne decreyes

And clams them maist quhen they in rage did swell;

Lord, quha did save that saule that did rebell

And did repyne aganst thy holye will,

And succourd quhen in sees they did expell

That he thairefter might the same fulfill;

Calme, Lord, thir wawes more high then ony hill

And stey the tempests that ws all afray,

Quhilk haithe our nighbours dround, bot mak them still,

That we might happie passage have this day:

Here ws, great God, quha did the wynds rebuik,

And on thy servants of thy mercye looke.


Sonett Spirituell

If I thir lipps have closed through my faults

Fra dewe extolling of thy sacred name,

And faithfull to this faithles uorld exhaults

Ingraitfull objects, raisers of my schame;

Iff I thir lipps to foolish songs did frame

The mothers fosters ssawers of vayne toyes;

If I thir lipps, which lesings did proclame,

Have harroulds maid of vaine and fragil joyes,

To this suite I my pen and speache employes

With skill and art proportiond to my spreits,

Now oppen theme, Lord, quha mercie ay convoyes,

Vnto the sinning saule that the intreits.



My witts and thoughts togeather ar att stryfe,

And with myself this question I debaitt:

Sen love and death hes vext my weryed lyfe,

Quha off thir two more troubled hes my state?

For love by cairs my youtheid hes defaitt,

And maed me oft for death to call and crye,

Preserving it before that rage and hate

By which my hairt in burning fyre did frye.

Bot to my self agane I do replye,

That loue hes lost the starne off his Impyre,

This lothsome earth hir grace and glore heirbye,

And I my hope with my deserved hyre.

Must I then Iudge? o strainge vnhappie cace!

Yit more than love death hes me wrought disgrace.



Sche quhome I loued, quhase death is all my woe,

To me In sleip this night did hir adress,

With sugred speache, to move me to forgoe

And leave these sobbs which dois my ioyes suppress.

"Can these availl" (quod sche) with plesant Ire,

"Can these availl to rander me my lyfe?

No! No! my deire, it is not my desyre;

Blist is my state which is exeimd from stryfe;

I ioy my ioyes with the celestiall troupe:

Within my grave then troubill me na more,

Raise vpp thy spreits, and longer do not droupe;

Thy faithfull hairt dois weill my death decore:

Adieu, my loue! receave off me this kiss,

For faith nor love no gretar I culd wiss."



Thow Cruall death, thow noysome plage and pest,

Quhilk with thy dairt my derest hairt hes slaine,

Quhy spairs thow me quhase bodye is adrest

To tak thy straiks to frie me of my paine?

Hir love with myne so coupled did remaine,

Hir hairt with myne so hairtfully conIoynde,

As I do muse, quhat suld my death restraine?

Thought hairts wer one yet bodyis war disjoyn[de];

And thought that I the for a tyme hes spaird

To waist with woe thy ouercummed corpse,

Yit att the lenght my sling sal be prepaird

To end thy lyfe, and mak the feill my force.

Come quiklye then. A. no. q. quhy? A. I will prolon[ge]

In woe thy lyfe to sing a suanlyk songe.



O thow myne hairt full fraughted with regrett,

Quhat can the lett to sunder not for woe?

Thow mynde also, with crabed cairs befrett,

With pains oursett,canst thow hir death forgoe?

No! suirlye no! hir curtesie dois crave

That I suld have hir lasting in my thought,

Quhome death hes brought to sone vnto hir grave,

And dois receave the Mould that nature wrought.

Might mends be sought off the, o murdring death,

That hes in wreath the glore of earth defaist?

Then thow in haist, thought waisted be my breath,

Euen as thou heath demereit, suld be chaist

Quhair I have plast a flood out from myne [ene]

To drown the, death, that hes so cruell bene.


[My cheare and mirth, my plesour is exyld.]

My cheare and mirth, my plesour is exyld;

By duyning thoughts I feill my hairte conseume;

My daisled eyis by sorrows ar oursyld;

My peace and rest euanishes lyke fume;

Gif any Ioy to me I do assume,

The same dois comm by memorie of my greif.

Off better state how can I weill presume,

Sen cruell death hes wrought me this mischief?

O foolish I! how fonde was my beleif,

Quhen as I thought the graces of my dame

And heuinly port might served for releif,

And stop these straits quhair cruel death did ame!

Bot now I see the errour of my mynde,

Sen farest things to wrak ar maist inclynde.


[That farest things to wrak ar maist inclynde.]

That "farest things to wrak ar maist inclynde,"

Ways me! alas! that saying is to trew.

The farest work of nature in hir kynde

And womans glore is deid without reskew,

Quhose heavye loss with tears I sal persew,

Lamenting sare that vnexspected chance.

Bot weill I know, bycaus the heavens did rew

That earth so long was honourd by hir glance,

Inforced death to stryke hir with hir lance,

To spoyle the earth thair place for to decore.

O blissed luk! my spreit no mair in trance

Nor into dumps contenew sal thairfore:





Thus as I wrett,with full Intent to end

These doolfull songs which dois hir death deplore,

Me thought I saw downe from the heavens discend

That peirles perle quhome I in hairt adore,

In courtlye grace,in semlye schaw and glore,

In heuinlye [fr]ame,and beautye without blame,

With all these g[i]fts which she posest before,

Most lovingly[e] to call me be my name:

"O FOULER ! o immortall be thy fame !

Lat never dame thy honest suit disdaine;

Thy machth[l]es faith of trewth deservs the same;

Though thow my loue by death did not obtea[ne],

Thow death hes kild;thy verse dois mak me liue,

And with thy name my fame sal ay reviue."


[Quhat euill presage is this that I behold?]

Quhat euill presage is this that I behold?

My name,alas,quhilk thow,my nymphe,ingraued

Vpon that Plane quhair I my plaints furth told

Is baith off forme,off squair,and schape bereued.

Bot quhen agane quhen I thy name perceaued,

Distelling gumm lyke teares both wakk and ...

Ten thousand thoughts I in my heid concea[ued],

Ten thousand things I in my mynde re...

These strainge effects my senses all ...

My witts thairof an comentarye ...

Then this I sayd sen that our name...

No more thair forme and from the ...

Hir love is chainge this gum dois ...

the teares quhilk sche euen for my f...



Gifthat my thoughts in loving yow...

A fainting ons off thair affectioun trew,

Gif they haue not fra tyme to tyme bene paind

And daylye mair with furie dois persew

Your gracious grace, that does my hart subdew,

And with the bands of love hes me inchaind,

Then lett al plags vpon me, wrechte, insew,

And let me ay heirafter be disdaind;

Let thir myne eyne by blindnes so be staind

Quhilk did abeus your sparks and heuinly hew,

And let my toung, sa falcefyd and faind,

Serve to none vse bot ay my faults to rew;

And let my hairt become a seat of hell,

And alls my soul the scourger off hir sell.


My winding scheits my steidfast love sal end.

My winding scheits my steidfast love sal end.

My heid sal tend vnto his buriall toume,

To tak that rowme this bodye sal be bend;

Or I make end of love, al this sall cume.

Then sen my dome and death I wifs, respect

My faith, suspect no chainge for to insew;

Na vncouth hew sall hinder thy aspect.

Let prove detect and furyis all persew,

And yeild thair dew to my deserved hyre,

Git I desyre in vthers to mak chose,

Or in thame Ioyse quha would my lovlye fyre

Quensche through impyre of faucos[?] wanton toyes.

Fame schame may noyse, and foull be my report,

And all my deids to serve fro skorne and sport.


Though Iustlye thou in Iustice may afflict.

Though Iustlye thou in Iustice may afflict

My rebelle saule with euerlasting fyre,

Yet lett thy mercye In this hard conflict

Represse thy Wreath and ouerthroue thyne yre.

And from thy curss me and my childreene free.

Thy Iustice, Lord, to ages fouer We see;

Thy Mercyes yet to thousands thou extends;

Ley not, o god, to thame nor yet to me

My greyous sinns, nor theres that the offends;

Be to me to light, quhils I but light this pe[n],

The pelican, the Egle, and the hen.


Fairwell! fair saint, may not the seas nor vinds.

Fairwell! fair saint, may not the seas nor vinds

Swell lyk the hairts and eyeis yow leave behind,

Bot calme and gentle lyk the lookes yow beare,

Smylle in yovr face and whisper in yovr eare:

Lett no bold billow ofer to aryse

That it may neirer look vpon hir eyeis

Lest vind and vave, enamord of hir forme,

May thronge and crovd themselves into a storme.

Bot if it be yovr fate wast seas to love,

Of my becalmed breast learn how to move:

Move then bot in a gentle lovers pace,

No wrinkles nor no furrowes in yovr face.

And yow, feire vinds, sie that yow tell yovr taille

In such a breath as may bot fill hir saill:

That whilst yow both doe covrt your severall waye

Yow may hir saiflie to hir port convey,

And loosse hir in a noble waye of woving,

Whilst both contributes to yovr owne vndoing.


In by way roadds I ran a restles race.

In by way roadds I ran a restles race,

As best besemd my vaine vnlauful lust,

Quhair I haue found long pains with cares vnIust,

And feading ioyes my pleasours to displace.

Bot nou the glass of sin before my face

Presents my eyes the schaps of uordly trust,

That trusting to the same confes I must

That verteu vyce, and errour reuth, doth chase.

So uith my age my sad complaints sal growe,

My yeres sal shaw the horrour of my sin,

And dayes that rests the errour of my hart;

The uatrye tears that from mine ees sal flow

The liccour ar quhairwith I will begin

To wash my wounds, and for to uryte[?] my Smartt.


[Can eagells birdis flie lower then thair kynd.]

Can eagells birdis flie lower then thair kynd,

Or can ambition stowpe to servill gaine?

Can frie born briestis be forcit against thair mynd

To put the mask of loue wpon disdain?

Can loue be cost? can averice constraine

Grit cupid do homadge wnto gowld?

Or can his wing or can his flame remaine

To wishe such wishes as the worldlingis wold?

No! no! my faitis are in the heavins Inroled

Mens laws may force my lyfe bot not my loue,

Men may my eyes bot not my heart be hold,

My looks are his, my thoghts my owin selfe prove:

Yit or I chandge, by hevins, I vow to leave

Ane Ioyes bed and chose and Ioyfull grave.


[O fatall death, that wnexspected came.]

O fatall death, that wnexspected came.

And plud the sueitest rose of fragrant smell

Amongst the rest of floures, that wise and worthie dame

Thou hast removed hence whair scho did dwell.

In witt, in worth, in grace scho did excell

The comoun sort and sex of woman kynd;

Her inward greif was hid within her sell;

Her outward schow declard a cheirfull mynd;

To riche and poore scho was so weill inclynd;

A louing mother to her children deir,

A faithfull matche vnto hir husband kynd,

Who vailles her lofs with mone and dolfull cheir:

God gives, God taks, God hes her plact at rest,

His will our weill, his name for evir be blist.


[O fatell death, that wnexpected came.]

O fatell death, that wnexpected came

And puld the sweittest rose of fragrant smell

Amongst the rest of floures, that wyse that worthie dame

Thow haest removed hence wher sho did dwell.

In wit, in worth, in grace sho did exsell

The comon sort and sex of woman kynd;

Thy inward griefe was hid within hir sell,

To owtward show declaired a cheirfull mynde;

To Rich and poore sho was soo well inclynd;

A louing mother to hir childrin deir,

A faithffull mach wnto hir husband kynd,

Who wailles her lose with mone and dullfull cheir:

God giues, god takes, god hes hir placit at rest,

His will our weill, his name for ever be blist.



i decem]ber in rofs 1598.

But mereit men to love and but desert,

And them embrace with cairles constant will,

To mak his actions answer to his harte,

And all his words by workes for to fulfill,

To keip in iustice all his pepill still,

And baith with love and feare to governe thame,

To save poore anes, and to punish ill,

And with great valeur purches glore and fame

For to decore his house and noble name,

Quhils baser speited lords doth stayne there race,

And by degendring gendreth not bot shame,

And liuisin slothe to die in vyld disgrace-

Thir war, these ar your workes, and nones bot yours,

Quhase prayse na tyme sal waist, nor yeres, nor houers.



Gif valeur wun through thousand shott and speirs

Avail for to advance a noble name,

Or gir a hart devoyd of threatning feares

Proceur to him an vndecaying fame,

If geven wonds and als receavd but bla[m]e

In battells bould hes right [to] be extold,

Gif men by birth and blood may honour clame,

Or through the same deserved fame vnfould,

Then sone of Mars, thow weill may be Inrould

With golden pen in glorious books of praise,

Whose hardy hart, whose courage stout and bould,

No age sal end, nor yet no futur dayfs,

Bot stil sal swim and fleit in endles glore

From twede to tems from garron vnto Loire.



Janett : Foullar.

O loue who may thy yeeres repres,

Thy wanton winges, and thy lasciuious radge?

Who may thy willffull blindles will redres,

Thy subtill shaftes and furious flames asswadge?

Who shall them ffrie frome the, o princlie padge,

That playes the pleasant in thy youthffull yeers,

Then triomphs lyke a tirrant in thy adge,

And payes thy subiects treu with sobb and tears?

Ye virgin gods, that all our prayers hiers,

assist me now sence I am yet your own!

defend your doughter as to you affeirs,

sein that my heart to you was euer known!

Iffear not loue, bot yfe to loue I yeeld,

grant that I may with honour win the ffield.



This is the night, the v[er]y night indeid

Of his birthday for whose we drink such soles,

And cairles of our helth breks braynes and heades,

And bedlem lyke doth danse about [?] the coales:

I drink indeid, but yet my senses thoales

A sore conflict in ioy depryvd of ioy,

Whils yow, fair dame, dothe mak my eyes lyke moles,

Through absence blind, and not your sight inioy.

Yow in your self grave, modest, and most coy,

Would sig[h]te to see vs hogsheades hogsheads drink,

And apish lye with wemen men and boy,

With bootes in bonfyres for to stobe and skink;

Yet in this gladnes remembring this deutyie,

I drink your helth, madame, and pledge your beautey,

Whils ink and drink ar both together,

It [?] brings to yowe as to my brother;

And as in lyfe so to my grave,

I rest, grave dame, your drukken slave.


Upon my Lord Mordent Horologe.

My mistres and this horloge be a lyke

in wheils, in signs, in hammer, brod and bell,

In paces, motions, in slownes not to stryke,

devyding tymes, and yet no tyme can tell:

these wheils dothe turne, and yet the marks not move

which gius apparance of approaching houers,

so doth her words so oft her promeis proves

as ferme as trees in showe buit weake lyk flouers:

tuyse tuelf be signs depainted on this brod,

and tuyse tuelf tyme shee hath me tyme assynd

to mak al reknings euen which now ar od,

bot in these all I euer cum behind:

Thus losing tyme throgh an Inconstant....

I must observe the dyell of the....


To Sir Eduard Dymok.

Ful of desyre, yet driuen abake by feare,

I rin and stayes the carrier of my muse,

for quhils in yours great learning dois appeir,

In vulgar verse I must spreits defuse:

yet trusting, sir, your grace will me excuse,

that spreids her wings vp in a higher heauen,

grou, sir, in hope the pardoun you sal vse

vnto a hart maist thankfull sal be geuen.

And sure in yow euen verteu self is dreuen,

qukilk doith adorne the glorye of your name,

and noble blood in ancient house long thriuen,

from age to age in vndecaying fame.

I nothing feare bot yow sal loue him then,

quhase hart, quhase hands, quhase spreits ar yours, and pen.


Sonnette pedantesque.

transfretant fleshe by Sol by luna's Lux,

whose bookes I doe admyre, Commend deare vix,

who after perrelous procells is redux

to keepe thy frame from Letheen Laik and Stix,

O singled simple soule, als whyte as nix,

who neuer was to hard constructions trux,

who liquefacts our eyes as fyre dothe pix,

and moves more teares then theeues who murnns on crux,

Let these my Lynes, besetting not my vox,

perverberat eache eares er Orcus Rex

apert the passage of your fatal nox,

or by muche prayse accelerat your nex,

force of your poets encomiastics pax,

who lights there pitchte but from your flaxen fax.



I pistomrise he is sogonimate

dessoubs the planet of Mercurial sphere,

And peripheriat with colescential fat,

that bibaseis anthropien penns his paines to reare,

Opthalms to see, Oreachias for to heare,

Miracula Mensium and mouths commend

per tantos trabaios, as it doeth appeare,

which periergos cariotts plume hathe pend.

Ma pegaso L'ale' hathe him lend,

Neptunus horse boreas helps his passage,

flouds, hils, denns stand Largo to this end,

for his returne, de foy, qui n'est pas-sage,

wheare now he hathe imprinted this brave booke,

whils without poets helps had gone in smooke.


Meditation vpon Virgin Maryes Hatt.

Thow, Pallas, hathe thy helme chaingd in thy hatt,

and hathe thy Sheeld transformed in thy breastes,

wheare louelye Cupids sucke, as thow begatt

these youngling boyes which in thy eyes makes feastes;

But as helme Sheild ar chainged as thow plese,

and att thy pleasour yet resume thair shaepe,

O might it plese the, Virgin Marye, ease

me of my wounds which Minerus lance maks gaepe.

Tritonia strong, thow brangleth in thy hands

these pearcing dartes which maks my breaste to bleede,

and, cairles of my lyfe, at breache yet stands

for to redouble thy bloues with double speede.

o wishes vaine, whils to my hart

is deeplye fixt my Murther by thy dart!

Fairwell my Loue.



My harte as Aetna burnes, and suffers More

paines in my Middle then euer Mary proued;

but yet in this affliction and deepe sore,

where in I frise and frye, she is not moued;

Though thees salt tears which droppeth from my eyes,

and thees whoot sighs which blasteth from my breaste

both haile and flames should quench by fyres and seaes,

Contrarius combatts of my lyfe at least.

but oh! alase, thees beams which from her gemmes,

as she doth pleas to shyne thame or to shutt,

eternall maks my harmes, whiles shee contemns

with courteous Lippe my greeffs Lovs throt to cut.

Fairuuell! my loue, in these my torments cruell,

to droune and die in teares, yet breaths in feuuell.


Quhils as the Sun is in Aquarius.

Quhils as the Sun is in acquarius,

and ye have past your course in capricorne,

by theme that vsis sagittarius,

and by your tolrance giues yow taurus horne,

a cancer may yow tak that may yow storne

through pisces in the monthe of februar,

and leo lye of al the beastes forlorne.

as virgo may with gemini bewar,

quhase yoaw will stryde, if aries be nar,

to liue a scorpions merk vpon your brow:

Iudge you by libra gif these sings be far

quhilk the whole Zodiak dois portend to yow;

and thank your deame who in devyne degrie

heth maid yow fourt beast with the horned thrie.



Houers suiftlye Comes, yea, dayes with thame draues


and teares and fyres aryse with plaints and paine,

hopes but al hap with houpless cairful feares,

grace with disgrace which doeth al Ioyes restraine.

Fraud and deceate comes also with vaine scorne,

suspitious, vyld, hatchd in capricious thought,

Conceates inconstant, oathes faithles, falslyie suorne,

speache, spyte, prose, rymes, which folyie bred and brought.

Yea, these inkblotted lynes and measeurs groue

as heade or hand ar by Invention led:

but, o you fates, to help to harme not sloue,

from you nothing to better me is sped!

my hopes decay, from you no ioyes aryse,

whils yow my faithe and mereits iust despyse.



Wheare art thow, echo, who suld my planctus heare?

que faict madonna, when I theme despley?

whilst I spend lyfe, will shee not lend a teare?

from eare to hart it is no distant way.

how can shee honour me in mortis fluctu?

per quod will shee resound to men my losfs?

an with cordoglio, an cum erectu?

shees gentle, and kyndnes kieps her N(-----).

Vale! sad echo, thou maks this tempus grave,

bot shal these words come to her conclaue.



I do detest the florentine his vsuryce is so gritt;

I do abhore the sienies for his vnstable witt;

I hate the guylfull genevois for fals deceatful leyes,

and malice of the venismen which citeis stands in seis;

I hate the ferrarois also for some vyld secreit vyce;

I do abhore the lombards faith for there vntrewe advyse;

I do detest all naples men for they ar fearse and vaine;

I hate the romane sluggart for he dois tak litill paine;

I hate the inglish mutin man, the scottish brave and neate;

I hate the traitur bourguigion and frenshman vndiscreit;

I hate the glorious spanyart proude and duchte ay tane with drink;

and to be short in euery land there case to lothe I think;

I hate my self and all my faults, bot mair a pedant foole,

quhase skill is nought and dois conduct the children to the shoole.


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