FROM THE GROATSWORTH OF WIT.
FIE, fie on blind fancy,
It hinders youth's joy ;
Fair virgins, learn by me,
To count love a toy.
When Love learn'd first the A B C of delight,
And knew no figures nor conceited phrase,
He simply gave to due desert her right,
He led not lovers in dark winding ways;
He plainly will'd to love, or flatly answer'd no,
But now who lists to prove, shall find it nothing so.
Fie, fie then on fancy,
It hinders youth's joy ;
Fair virgins, learn by me
To count love a toy.
For since he learn'd to use the poet's pen,
He learn'd likewise with smoothing words to feign,
Witching chaste ears with trothless tongues of men,
And wronged faith with falsehood and disdain.
He gives a promise now, anon he sweareth no;
Who listeth for to prove shall find his changing so.
Fie, fie then on fancy,
It hinders youth's joy;
Fair virgins, learn by me
To count love a toy.
VERSES AGAINST ENTICING COURTESANS.
WHAT meant the poets in* invective verse
To sing Medea's shame, and Scylla's pride,
Calypso's charms by which so many died?
Only for this their vices they rehearse;
That curious wits which in the world converse,
May shun the dangers and enticing shows
Of such false Sirens, those home-breeding foes,
That from their eyes their venom do disperse.
So soon kills not the basilisk with sight;
The viper's tooth is not so venomous;
The adder's tongue not half so dangerous,
As they that bear the shadow of delight,
Who chain blind youths in trammels of their hair,
Till waste brings woe, and sorrow hastes despair.
DECEIVING World, that with alluring toys
Hast made my life the subject of thy scorn,
And scornest now to lend thy fading joys
T'outlength my life, whom friends have left forlorn;
How well are they that die ere they be born,
And never see thy slights, which few men shun
Till unawares they helpless are undone !
Oft have I sung of love and of his fire;
But now I find that poet was advis'd,
Which made full feasts increasers of desire,
And proves weak love was with the poor despis'd;
For when the life with food is not suffic'd,
What thoughts of love, what motion of delight,
What pleasance can proceed from such a wight?
Witness my want, the murderer of my wit:
My ravish'd sense, of wonted fury reft,
Wants such conceit as should in poems fit
Set down the sorrow wherein I am left:
But therefore have high heavens their gifts bereft,
Because so long they lent them me to use,
And I so long their bounty did abuse.
O that a year were granted me to live,
And for that year my former wits restor❜d!
What rules of life, what counsel would I give,
How should my sin with sorrow be deplor'd!*
But I must die of every man abhorr'd:
Time loosely spent will not again be won;
My time is loosely spent, and I undone.
A CONCEITED FABLE OF THE OLD COMEDIAN
AN ant and a grasshopper, walking together on a green, the one carelessly skipping, the other carefully prying what winter's provision was scattered in the way; the grasshopper scorning (as wantons will) this needless thrift, as he termed it, reproved him thus;
The greedy miser thirsteth still for gain
His thrift is theft, his weal works others woe: That fool is fond which will in caves remain, When 'mongst fair sweets he may at pleasure go. To this, the ant, perceiving the grasshopper's meaning, quickly replied;
The thrifty husband spares what unthrifts spends,
His thrift no theft, for dangers to provide ;
Trust to thyself; small hope in want yield friends:
A cave is better than the deserts wide.
*be deplor'd] The 4to. " then deplore."
In short time these two parted, the one to his pleasure, the other to his labour. Anon harvest grew on, and reft from the grasshopper his wonted moisture. Then weakly skips he to the meadows' brinks, where till fell winter he abode. But storms continually pouring, he went for succour to the ant, his old acquaintance, to whom he had scarce discovered his estate, but the little worm made this reply;
Pack hence, quoth he, thou idle, lazy worm;
My house doth harbour no unthrifty mates:
Thou scorn'd'st to toil, and now thou feel'st the
storm,
And starv'st for food, while I am fed with cates:
Use no entreats, I will relentless rest,
For toiling labour hates an idle guest.
The grasshopper, foodless, helpless, and strengthless, got into the next brook, and in the yielding sand digged himself a pit: by which likewise he engraved this epitaph;
When spring's green prime array'd me with delight,
And every power with youthful vigour fill'd,
Gave strength to work whatever fancy will'd,
I never fear'd the force of winter's spite.
When first I saw the sun the day begin,
And dry the morning's tears from herbs and grass,
I little thought his cheerful light would pass,
Till ugly night with darkness enter'd in;
And then day lost I mourn'd, spring past I wail'd;
But neither tears for this or that avail'd.
Then too, too late, I prais'd the emmet's pain,
That sought in spring a harbour 'gainst the heat,
And in the harvest gather'd winter's meat,
Perceiving famine, frosts, and stormy rain.
My wretched end may warn green springing youth
To use delights, as toys that will deceive,
And scorn the world, before the world them leave,
For all world's trust is ruin without ruth.
Then blest are they that, like the toiling ant,
Provide in time 'gainst woeful winter's want.
With this the grasshopper, yielding to the weather's extremity, died comfortless without remedy.
FROM CICERONIS AMOR, TULLY'S LOVE. (ED. 1597.)
WHEN gods had fram'd the sweet of women's face,
And lock'd men's looks within their golden hair,
That Phoebus blush'd to see their matchless grace,
And heavenly gods on earth did make repair;
To quip fair Venus' overweening pride,
Love's happy thoughts to jealousy were tied.
Then grew a wrinkle on fair Venus' brow;
The amber sweet of love is turn'd to gall;
Gloomy was heaven; bright Phoebus did avow
He could be coy, and would not love at all,
Swearing, no greater mischief could be wrought
Than love united to a jealous thought.
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