English

This emblem's forth the world aright,
Which now shines on me hot and bright,
Now it blowes cold on me,
But ne're wil constant be;
'Tis just like the weather,
Hot and cold together.
One while it mee with many favours crownes,
Anon it stabs me with as many frownes.

Why do I then my trust put in it,
Seeing it varies every minute?
I may goe court the moon,
And stop her course, as soon
As bind the world to stay
My faithful friend a day.
If it be so inconstant, I intend

Three gallant knights ride down the road, —
They use nor spur nor rein;
In laugh and jest they little bode
That on this way their steeds have trod
They turn not back again.

They laugh and chat along the way,
These noble lords of Spain, —
No haste to go, no care to stay,
A dusty road, a sunny day;
And little heed the three that they
Will ne'er go back again.

" Groom, take this horse; Boy, feed him well! "
Ah, me, a caution vain!
Yet not one warning voice to tell

Have we not had a fruitful yeer of grain,
Fair weather too to bring it in amaine?
And shall we not an offering to Him pay,
Who gives us richly all things to enjoy?
Did not the heathens shew their thankfulnesse
To their corn-goddess Ceres, and expresse
The same by sacrifices of the best?
And shal we faile our thanks to manifest
To our true God, who bears the Christian name?
O let not us fall short of them for shame!
But what wil He accept? What shal we bring?
A sheafe of wheat, or some such trivial thing?

Courts Comender, states maintayner,
Potentates defender, goverments Joyner
Princes prayser, churches Preacher
Arts rayser, virtues teacher
Ages rewarder, Honnors strengthner
Beautys guarder, favours lengthner
Witts admirer, wisedomes scholler
Physickes desirer, Lawes follower
Fortunes blamer, natures observer
Justice proclaimer, Frindships preserver,
Retorninge the halter, Contemning the wrong.

Courts scorne states disgracinge
potentates scoffe govermentes defacinge
prelates nip churches unhollowinge
artes injure vertues debasinge
ages monster honors wastinge
bewties blemishe favors blastinge
wittes excrement, wisdomes vomitt
Phisickes scome, lawes comett
Fortunes child, natures defilde
Justice revenge freindshipe beguild
Such is the songe such is the author
Worthie to be rewarded with a halter

Why art so sad and sullen, O my muse!
That now to make a verse thou dost refuse?
Must thou be mov'd by a reward to raise
Thy fancie up? Lo here's a sprig of bayes
To make a lawrel; if that wil not do it,
Meere indignation wil create a poet.
Art thou not angry yet at these mad times?
Canst thou forbeare to write satyric rhimes?
A rod is good for mad-men in their fits,
'Twil them restrain, if not restore teir wits;
The world is a great Bedlam, where men talke
Distractedly, and on their heads doe walk,

Lord! when Thou com'st to judg the world with right,
Thou'lt steale upon us like a thief i'th' night,
Or like a flash of lightning from the skie,
Or like the suddain twinkling of an eye,
Or like the pains on woman, much about
The time when once that her account is out.
O let me like to that good husband watch,
Lest that the thief me unprepared catch;
O let Thy grace be evermore my light,
That th' other lightning may not me affright.
O let mine eye be ever fixt on Thee,
That Thy last coming I with joy may see.

O how I long to be dissolv'd, and see
This mortal put on immortalitie!
Me thinks each day's a yeer, each year's an age
Till I arrive at that most glorious stage
Of heaven, where saints and martyrs gazing on,
Look if I tread the same steps they have gone;
But I, like Drake, so great a compasse take
About the world, such strange meanders make,
That they have got the goal in shorter space
Then I have been in running half my race.
So have I seen a christal streame to glide
In various windings by a meadowes side,

'Twas in a village, near Castlebury,
A cobler and his wife did dwell;
And for a time no two so merry,
Their happiness no tongue can tell.

But to this couple, the neighbours tell us,
Something did happen that caus'd much strife,
For, going to a neighb'ring alehouse,
The man got drunk and beat his wife.

II.

But, though he treated her so vilely,

Lady farwell whom I in Sylence serve
Wold god thou knewste the depth of my desire,
Then might I hope, thoughe nought I can deserve,
Som drop of grace, wold quench my scorchyng fyre.
But as to Love unknowne I have decreed,
So spare to speake doth often spare to speed.

Yett better twere that I in woe should waste
Then sue for Grace and Pyty in Despighte
And though I see in thee such pleasures plaste
That feedes my Joy and breedes my cheef delyghte,
Wythall I see a chast Con[t]entt Dysdayne