English

Loe, ladies! heare (if you can use it well)
An Arbour fenst from burning fire and frost;
A place it is where pride shall never dwell,
Nor fortune worke a mase, doe shee her worst;
A place wherein the worthie dame should live,
Whom no extreame may change from vertuous thought:
Even such a place, my Muse (faire dames) doth give
To you, the which with double toile is wrought.
Here may you see, by lampes of other lives,
A president to live in worthie name;
Here may you see, when death your dayes deprives,

Lady, receive thy pesaunts gift in gree,
(Whose will is much, although his worth be small)
A gift it is that best beseemeth thee,
Whose vertues hould thy beauties rare in thrall;
So that, sith that you live without a match,
Garde you your fame with this well meaning watch.

Thinke that you live in gase of envies eyes,
Whose sight doth search in secretst thought of minde:
Thinke false suspect about you still hath spies,
Will forge offence where they no fault can finde:
Thinke deepe disdaine would blot your life with blame,

The Argument of the following discourse of Lady
Barbaraes vertuous behaviours . A Boemian
knight, named Ulrico, married a vertuous lady,
called Barbara. Ulrico, being a little nipt with
povertie, woulde faine have supplyed his want by
service in the warres, which adventure he long
delayed through the jealous suspicion of his wives
behaviour: notwithstanding, his imaginations
quieted by the direction of a cunning
negromancer, named Pollacco, hee craved

As supreme head of Hungarie a king there whileome reign'd,
Corvinus hight, whose worthy force a worlde of praises gain'd:
What law and justice once had made throgh rule he never broke;
He cherisht friendes, he chast his foes with many a sturdy stroke.
Ymov'd through zeale, with clattering armes he stoupt S. Mahones pride,
The Turkish crue from Christian boundes he chast on every side.
This noble prince unto his spouse a gallant lady chusde,
A matrone in her mayden yeres, such modestie she usde:

For wantons heede heere wrayed is the thrall,
Of loving wormes, how both they freese and frie,
How sweetest thoughtes are sawst with bitter gall.
How care them cloyes that live in jelousie,
What yll successe stolne marriages ensue,
How forst consentes sield beare a loving hart,
How sugred woordes to[o] late faire ladies rue,
How vaine they strive that lovers seeke to part,
How envious tongues are apt to sowe debate,
How fancie bringes the stoutest mindes in awe,
How lovers wrongde from love do fall to hate,

An aunswere to a Gentlewoman, by love constrained to sue to him whom of late she scorned.

Nie driven to death by raging love, reviv'de by happie meanes,
I smile you seeke that erst you scornd with those your silver streames.
Now time performes, my words prove true, when as I was your thrall,
Your sugred joyes in flowting me would turne to bitter gall.

Else not the name of Goddesse just dame Venus doth deserve,
Unlesse her servauntes shee advaunce, and makes her foes to sterve.
Your scalding sighes, let witnes be, what sorrowes I sustainde,

The Lover in praise of his Ladie

Appelles, O thou famous Greeke!
Thy praise unto my eares doth sounde,
Since thou so farre abroade didst seeke
In countries through the world so rounde,
Till thou hadst drawen forth Venus shape,
Whose beautie past Syr Paris rape.

O! that thy fortune had beene such,
To light whereas my lady lives,
Whose glittering beautie is so much,
As to thinke on my heart it ryves;
For Venus shee doth passe as farre,
As doth the sunne each shyning starre.

Verses of complaint, devised for a well meaning lover, to move his maistresse to pitie

Now cease, good lady, cease to weave my further woe,
Where scorne hath worne my joyes to eb, let pitie force them flowe.
[To] you, I sue and serve, to you I waile and weepe,
[For] you my restlesse eyes doth watch, when other men do sleepe.
To you my sighes I send, which makes my heart to bleede,
For you my teares, like Tiber streames, from dazeled eyes proceede.
No wealth I do enjoy, but that I wish you part,

The lover blameth his ladies mistrust, wherin is figured the passions of an earnest lover

What fancie fond did force your mynde,
My deare, to judge me so unkinde,
As one of wits bereau'd,
To breake the bonds of loyaltie,
As one devoyd of honestie?
No, no, you are deceavd;
For where such perfect amitie
Is linckt with true fidelitie,
By no meanes Junos jealousie
A sunder may it part:
For since with you I fell in love,

G. W. to the signe of the brasen bell

And not without desart I thee a tyrant call,
Which, save a scorne, thou madst of me to eache mishape art thrall:
Thy credite is the church, O false unfriendly bell!
When as thou soundest the marridge joyes, or ringst the carefull knell.
The souldier in distresse by the[e] alarum makes,
And when good hap doth him advaunce, thy sides he rudely shakes,
Digressing from his state to toyle of baser chaunce.
A thrall thou art to Hick and Steven in every morris daunce.