Order is broke in things of weight,
Measure and mean, who doth not flee?
Two things prevail, money and sleight; To seem is better than to be.
The bowl is round and doth down slide;
Each one thrusteth, none doth uphold.
A fall fails not where blind is guide; The stay is gone, who can him hold? Folly and falsehood prayeth
NICHOLAS GRIMALD
The Introduction and Notes are at page 921
FROM RICHARD TOTTEL's Songs and Sonnets, 1557
What sweet relief the showers to thirsty plants we see, What dear delight the blooms to bees, my true love is to me.
As fresh and lusty Ver foul winter doth exceed,
As morning bright, with scarlet sky, doth pass the evening's weed,
As mellow pears above the crabs esteemëd be,
So doth my love surmount them all, whom yet I hap to see. The oak shall olives bear, the lamb the lion fray, The owl shall match the nightingale in tuning of her lay,
Or I my love let slip out of mine entire heart, So deep reposëd in my breast is she, for her desert. For many blessed gifts, O happy, happy land,
Where Mars and Pallas strive to make their glory most to stand, Yet, land, more is thy bliss that in this cruel age
A Venus' imp thou hast brought forth, so steadfast and so sage.
Among the Muses nine, a tenth, if Jove would make, And to the Graces three, a fourth, her would Apollo take. Let some for honor hunt, and hoard the massy gold, With her so I may live and die, my weal cannot be told.
Man's life, after Posidonius or Crates
What path list you to tread? what trade will you assay? The courts of plea, by brawl and bate, drive gentle peace away. In house, for wife and child, there is but cark and care; With travail and with toil enough in fields we use to fare. Upon the seas lieth dread; the rich, in foreign land, Do fear the loss; and there the poor like misers poorly stand. Strife, with a wife; without, your thrift full hard to see; Young brats a trouble; none at all, a maim it seems to be; Youth, fond; age hath no heart, and pincheth all too nigh. Choose then the liefer of these two: no life, or soon to die.
Metrodorus' mind to the contrary
What race of life run you? what trade will you assay? In courts is glory got and wit increased, day by day. At home we take our ease, and beek ourselves in rest; The fields our nature do refresh with pleasures of the best. On seas is gain to get; the stranger, he shall be Esteemëd, having much; if not, none knoweth his lack but he. A wife will trim thy house; no wife? then art thou free. Brood is a lovely thing; without, thy life is loose to thee. Young bloods be strong; old sires in double honor dwell. Do 'way that choice, no life, or soon to die; for all is well.
What one art thou, thus in torn weed yclad? Virtue, in price whom ancient sages had. Why poorly 'rayed? For fading goods past care. Why double-faced? I mark each fortune's fare. This bridle, what? Mind's rages to restrain. Tools why bear you? I love to take great pain. Why wings? I teach above the stars to fly. Why tread you death? I only cannot die.
To his familiar friend
No image carved with cunning hand, no cloth of purple dye, No precious weight of metal bright, no silver plate give I. Such gear allures not heavenly hearts; such gifts no grace they bring, I, lo, that know your mind, will send none such. What then? Nothing. A funeral song, upon the decease of Annes, his mother Yea, and a good cause why thus should I plain, For what is he can quietly sustain So great a grief with mouth as still as stone? My love, my life, of joy my jewel, is gone. This hearty zeal if any wight disprove As woman's work, whom feeble mind doth move, He neither knows the mighty nature's laws Nor, touching elders' deeds, hath seen old saws. Martius to vanquish Rome was set on fire, But vanquished fell, at mother's boon, his ire. Into Hesperian land Sertorius, fled, Of parent aye chief care had in his head. Dear weight on shoulders Sicil brethren bore While Ætna's giant spouted flames full sore. Not more of Tyndar's imps hath Sparta spoke Than Arge of charged necks with parent's yoke. Nor only them thus did foretime entreat; Then was the nurse also in honor great, Caiet, the Phrygian, from amid fire-flame Rescued, who gave to Latin strands the name; Acca, in double sense Lupa ycleped, To Roman calendars a feast hath heaped. His Capra Jove among the stars hath pight, In welkin clear yet, lo, she shineth bright. Hyades as gratefully Lyai did place, Whom, in prime-tide, supports the Bull's fair face. And should not I express my inward woe When you, most loving dam, so soon hence go? I, in your fruitful womb conceived, borne was While wandering moon ten months did overpass. Me, brought to light, your tender arms sustained, And with my lips your milky paps I strained. You me embraced, in bosom soft you me Cherished, as I your only child had be. Of issue fair with numbers were you blest, Yet I the best-beloved of all the rest.
Good luck certain fore-reading mothers have, And you of me a special judgment gave. Then, when firm pace I fixed on the ground, When tongue can cease to break the lisping sound, You me straightway did to the Muses send, Ne suffered long a loitering life to spend;
What gain the wool, what gain the web had brought,
It was his meed that me there daily taught. When with Minerve I had acquaintance won, And Phœbus seemed to love me as his son, Brownshold I bade, at parents' hest, farewell; And gladly there in schools I gan to dwell Where Granta gives the ladies nine such place That they rejoice to see their blissful case. With joys at heart in this Parnasse I bode While through his signs five times great Titan glode; And twice as long by that fair ford whereas Swan-feeder Thames no further course can pass. Oh, what desire had you, therewhile, of me! Mid doubtful dreads what joys were wont to be! Now linen clothes, wrought with those fingers fine, Now other things of yours did you make mine; Till your last threads gan Clotho to untwine, And of your days the date extreme assign. Hearing the chance, your neighbors made much moan; A dear-worth dame, they thought, their comfort gone. Kinswomen wept; your charge, the maidens, wept; Your daughters wept, whom you so well had kept. But my good sire gave, with soft words, relief, And cloaks with outward cheer his inward grief, Lest by his care your sickness should augment, And on his case your thoughtful heart be bent. You, not forgetting yet a mother's mood, When at the door dart-thirling death there stood, Did say: Adieu, dear spouse, my race is run; Whereso he be, I have left you a son. And Nicholas you named and named again, With other speech, aspiring heavenly reign, When into air your sprite departed fled And left the corpse a-cold in lukewarm bed. Ah, could you thus, dear mother, leave us all? Now should you live, that yet, before your fall, My songs you might have sung, have heard my voice, And in commodities of your own rejoice. My sisters, yet unwedded, who shall guide? With whose good lessons shall they be applied? Have, mother, monuments of our sore smart: No costly tomb, areared with curious art, Nor Mausolean mass, hung in the air, Nor lofty steeples that will once appair; But wailful verse and doleful song accept. By verse the names of ancient peers be kept:
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