English

PART I.

BEING THE THIRD OF CHRISTABEL

I T is the wolf, on stealthy prowl,
Hath startled the night with a dismal howl;
It is the raven, whose hoarse croak
Comes like a groan from the sear old oak;
It is the owl, whose curdling screech
Hath peopled with terrors the spectral beech:
For again the clock hath tolled out twelve,
And sent to their gambols the gnome and the elve,
And awoken the friar his beads to tell,

Whether stars doe stir good liking from aboue,
By hidden force and couert power deuyne
Or chaunce breede, choyce and leades vs on to loue
And fancy falles as fortune list assigne,
I cannot iudge nor perfectly desyne
But this I know, once let it gather roote
And to remoue it then is slender boote

Let sicknes grow, let cankers worke theyr wyl
Seeke not at first their malyce to suppresse
Scorne wholsome helpe,doe floute at physikes skil
In hope thy greefe wyl swage and waxen losse
And thou at last shalt neuer haue redresse

As auncient men report, there dwelt
A Merchant man of yore
In Florence, who by traficke had
Increast his stocke to more
Than any of his race had done,
A very wealthy wight:
Who on his wife begate a sonne
That (Girolamus) hight
And after time the babe was borne,
The father chaunst to die,
But (as it hapt) he made his will
Before, and orderly
Disposde his goods, as men are wont:
The carefull mother then,
A widow left, with good aduise
And ayde of learned men.
The tutors of this merchants sonne,

As noble mindes to loue are kindly bent,
And haughty harts to fancie homage yeelde,
As Cupid makes the stoutest states relent,
And martiall men that daunt tho foe in fielde:
So meanost mates are masht within the net
That wily loue, to trappe his trayne hath set.

What Prince so prowde, what king for al his crown:
What sage so sadde, or solemne in his sawes,
What wight so wise, but Cupid brings him downe,
And makes him stoupe to nature and her lawes?
Both poore and rich doe loue by course of kinde,

The fame of Florence is so great,
That simple men do knowe
The brute therof by true report:
Where dwelt not long agoe,
A virgin fresh and fayre to viewe,
A iolly lusty dame,
As any was in all the towne,
Symona was her name
Whose beautie though were very braue
And kinde had done as much
For her, as she mought well request,
Yet fortune seemde to grutche
And malice at her featurd shape:
For as the same did passe,
Euen so her father of the meane
And basest order was.

S YMONA likt of Pasquine passing well,
And he did frie as fast with egal flame,
In sorte, as on a time these louers fell
To make a match, of purpose for the same:
With one consent where time and place was set,
This louing couple in a garden met
There ech to other vttered their deuise,
To salue the sores that fancy fixt in brest,
They kist, they colld, thus neither part was nice,
To take the time of both is compted best:
Amid their glee, twas Pasquines hap to spie
A bed of sage, that there was growing by:

Those realmes right happy are, where princes raigne,
That measure out by vertue all their deedes,
Abhorring with their vassals blood to staine
Their sacred hands, and gore their kingly weedes:
The subiects there with willing harts obay,
And Peeres be safe from fall and foule decay.

But (out alas) where awfull Tyrants hold
In haughtie cruell hands the royall powre,
And mischiefe runnes by office vncontrolde,
There aye the great the lesser sort deuoure:
By daylie proofe ech one may daily sec,

What time the proude and puisant prince
Antigonus, in hande
The Macedonian Scepter held
And gouernd all the land:
There livde one Aristotimus,
A beast of blooddie kinde,
That all to monstrous murther did
Imploy his Tigres minde.
Who, when by fauour and by force
Of Antigon the King,
The state of Elyesus to
His yoke and becke did bring:
Full tyrantlike he strake the stroke,
And hauing got the crowne,
Gaue vp himselfe to loathsome lust,
And brought the subiects downe,

When Aristotimus did strike the stroke,
In Elyesus, and did weld the Mace
As King alone, so heauie was his yoke,
That subiects thought themselues in wofull cace:
For greedie gulles that gapt for giltles blood,
Were best esteemde, and most in fauour stood.
Ech villaino vile that vaunted of his vice,
Ech loathsome leacher longing for his lust,
Was mounted vp, and held in hiest price,
Sinne sate at bench, extortion counted iust,
The best might bear no palme whilst he did rain,
He banisht some, and some with sword were slain.

If all the earth were paper made, to write,
And all the Sea conuerted into incke,
It would not serue to shew Cupidos might:
No head can halfe his bloudy Conquests thinke:
Vnto his yoke he forceth euery wight,
No one away dares for his life to shrinke.
Who most contends, the widest wound receaues,
For Cupid then by force his freedome reaues.

The sage who sayde, that (loue exceeded all)
Pronounst the troth, and spake as we do fynde:
He wist full well, that euery wight was thrall