English

These passionate verses wittingly lost wheras fayre Laymos might find them, of likelyhoode she perceiving his singular good love, having sufficient cause of quarell, waxed every day more straunger then other, until poore Plasmos purse, to make atonement, provided some pretie devise that appeased her anger; these lovers thus reconciled, it seemeth Plasmos to requite the friendship of his purse, in praise whereof hee wrote these verses insuing.

This wrangling hate seemeth to be but a passion proceeding of Plasmos passing love; the which digested, made his affection more perfect: neverthelesse, this following invention wrayeth the evil fortunes of rash beleefe and cholericke revenge, after which (for the most) insueth repentaunce: yet for that the sonet it selfe foresheweth but a fitt of disquiet minde, by love occasioned, it shall passe for mee without any preface.
Fowle fall thee, false suspect, so thrive, thou jelous thought,
Woe worth you both, you reard the hate that all my harme hath wrought:

It seemeth by this devise folowing, that Plasmos triumph was but a voluntarie invention: otherwise, if it had beene devised of any certaintie, his pleasures would a beene of longer continuaunce. Likewise it seemeth his lady Laymos, that he so highly commended, was in very deede as sayre as Flora, as faithful as Faustine, as loving as Layis, as meeke as Medea, as honest as Hellen, as constant as Cressed, and as modest as Maria Bianca; and therefore worthie of estimation.

his hap and hard fortune, unto the which
is annexed the sundrie complaintes of foure notable
couseners, the instrumentes of his greatest troubles;
which, in the prime of their mischievous enterprises,
with soudaine death and vexation were straungelie
visited. At the end of every of the said inven-
tions, for the more plaine knowledge
of them, is the Reporters ad-
monition in prose, both plea-
sant and profitable.
The Reporter.

I waying once my harmes by others health,
By just account I sound the felfe same thing.
Which weand my wo did worke anothers wealth,
Which wrought my pain to some did pleasure bring:
Thus, cloyd with care, to see my lucklesse lot,
My senses fayld, as though I were a sot.

Yet Sopors beames so could not cleare my brest,
But stormes of care did shower in my thought;
Thus slumber sweete did yeald but little rest,
For pinching paine supprest that pleasure wrought;
But as my woes did wander here and there,

My Muse to mount Parnassus hill
Which whilom tokst delight,
Faire Venus joyes to set to vew,
And wray blind Cupids spite,
Go shrowde thy selfe in Limbo lake,
This dririe tale to tell,
Of dice, to figure forth the frute,
A second showe of hell:
There crave the ayde of wrathfull sprites,
The authors of this art,
And joyne with them such hellish impes,
As waytes to woorke our smart.
For sure their plagues to paint aright,
Beseemeth well the toile
Of him that pend the paines of hell,

With teares in thought imprint, both frem and knowen frende,
Three speciall notes of much availe, by Notes untimely ende.
Note first his honest life of every sort was lov'd,
Learned hee was and vertuous both, his manhoode throughly prov'd.
A gallant witte hee had, the which hee governde so
As did content all sortes of men, when cause the use did show.
Hee had both health and wealth, his fortune was to hard,
And yet, in spite of froward chaunce, Fame shall his vertues gard.
His life would followed bee, his death forwarnes his friends

Where vertue may, or vallor one advaunce,
To base his hap a loute to live belowe,
Or credite seeke with men of meanest chaunce,
A fearefull hart a dunghill minde doe showe;
On thornes no grapes, but sower slowes doth growe;
Even so by sottes, no fame, but shame doth rise,
A faire catch for such to count thee wise.

The forward minde doth covet this at least,
To prease, where hee is poorest of the traine,
And not to live with those (himselfe) the best,
For sure hee shall a lowsie kingdome gaine,

Mine owne good friend, since thou so faine wouldst know,
What kynde of trade doth yeald the surest gaine,
My judgement, now, of some I meane to showe,
And after toyle, which quiteth best thy paine,
The merchant he, which cuts the mounting seas,
With course direct, as lyes his best availe,
The Spanish marte whose mynde sometime doth please,
With further reach some hoyst their hovering saile.
Some passe Maroccoes straights, by paineful toyle,
Some seeke to reape the fruites of Ciprus soyle.

My knowledge yet, unto the world yknowne,
May haply warne my friends to shunne this baite.
Amonge the lewde this seede is hugely sowne,
They daily take this bitter sweete receite;
For why, their foode is rapine and deceite,
My larges yet to all I franckly give,
Within this world that have desire to live.

The cleargie they no worldly creatures are:
They cost contemne, their weedes but homely bee,
Heaven seedes their soules, their paunche hath pouer fare,
They goodes despise, but what with Scriptures gree,