Classic Poem

Lordings , allow my light and lewde deuise,
And Ladies, ye that are of greatest state,
Beare with my bookes, imputing nought to vice
That I haue pende in youth, nor now of late:
My prime prouokt my hasty idle quil
To write of loue, when I did meane no ill.
Two things in cheese did moue me thus to write,
And made me deeme it none offence at all:
First Ouids works bedeckt with deepe delight,
Whom we of Poets second best doe call
I found him full of amours euery where:
Each lease of loue the title eke did beare
Then next I liued in place among the moe,
Where fond affection bore the cheefest sway,
And where the blinded archer with his bow
Did glaunce at sundry gallants euery day:
And being there, although my minde were free,
Yet must I seeme loue wounded eke to be.
I sawe how some did seeke their owne mishap,
And hunted dayly to deuoure the hookes
That beuty bayted, and were caught in trap,
Like wilfull wights that fed on womens lookes:
Who being once entangled in the line,
Did yelde themselues, and were content to pine.
Some other minding least to follow loue,
By haunting where dame Uenus darlings dwelt,
By force were forst Cupidos coales to prooue,
Whose burning brands did make their minds to melt,
So as they were compeld by meere mischaunce,
As others did, to follow on the daunce.
Some eke there were that groapt but after gaine,
That faynd to frie and burne with blooming heate
Of raging loue and counterfetted paine,
When they (God wot) had slender cause to treate:
But all was done to make their Ladies deeme
How greatly they their beuties did esteeme
And then (O gods) to vew their greeful cheeres,
And listen to their fonde lamenting cries,
To see their cheekes deepe dented in with teares,
That day and night powred out from painful eyes,
Would make a heart of marble melt for woe,
That sawe their plights, and did their sorowes know.
And all for lacke of ruthe and due remorse,
Their cruel Ladies bore so hard a hand,
And they (poore men) constraynd to loue perforce,
And fruitlesse cleane to sowe the barrain sand:
That vnto me, who priuie was of all,
It was a death, and grieued me to the gall
Then for my friends (as diuers loued me well)
Endite I must some light deuise of loue,
And in the same my friends affection tell,
Whom nothing mought from beauties bar remooue:
My pen must plead the sillie Suters case,
I had my hire, so he mought purchase grace
Some otherwhile, when beautie bred disdaine,
And feature forst a pride in hawtie brest,
So as my friend was causelesse put to paine,
And for good will might purchace slender rest:
Then must my quill to quarels flatly fall,
Yet keep the meane twixt sweete and sower brall
Sometimes I must commend their beauties much
That neuer came where any beautie lay,
Againe somwhiles my mates would haue me tutch
The quicke, bicause they had receiued the nay:
And thus my pen, as change of matter grew,
Was forst to grief, or els for grace to sue
Thus did I deale for others pleasure long,
(As who could well refuse to do the like?)
And for my self somtimes would write among
As he that liues with men of war must strike.
I would deuise a Sonet to a dame,
And all to make my sullen humor game.
So long I wrote, so oft my friends did sue,
So many were the matters, as at last
The whole vnto a hansome volume grewe:
Then to the presse they must in all the hast,
Mauger my beard, my mates would haue it so,
Whom to resist it was in vaine, you know
These causes forst my harmeles hand to write,
And no desire I had to treate of ill:
Who doth not know that youthfull heads delight
Sometimes to shewe the quientnes of their quil?
But pardon (Lordings) what is past and done,
I purpose now a better race to runne
I meane no more with loues deuise to deale,
I neuer wil to wanton Uenus bowe,
From Cupids court to Pallas I appeale,
Iuno be iudge whom I doe honor now:
Hie time it is for him to blow retreate,
And leaue to loue whom selfe rod now doth beate.
Wherfore, goe (wanton) trusse vp all your trash,
Fancy, farewel, to grauer gods I goe
Then loue and Uenus: cleane my hands I wash
Of vayne desires that youth enrageth so
Vertue doth farre surmount such filthy vice:
Amend, my mates, or els you know the price.

Vtile consilium est saeuas extinguere flammas,

Qui non est hodie, cras minus aptus erit.