Stephen Hawes poems

Stephen Hawes(1474-1523 / England)
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The Cōforte of Louers

- by Stephen Hawes 20

The prohemye.

The gentyll poetes/vnder cloudy fygures
Do touche a trouth/and clokeit subtylly
Harde is to cōstrue poetycall scryptures
They are so fayned/& made sētēcyously
For som do wryte of loue by fables pryuely
Some do endyte/vpon good moralyte
Of chyualrous actes/done in antyquyte
Whose fables and storyes ben pastymes pleasaunt
To lordes and ladyes/as is theyr lykynge
Dyuers to moralyte/ben oft attendaunt
And many delyte to rede of louynge
Youth loueth aduenture/pleasure and lykynge
Aege foloweth polycy/sadnesse and prudence
Thus they do dyffre/eche in experyence
I lytell or nought/experte in this scyence
Compyle suche bokes/to deuoyde ydlenes
Besechynge the reders/with all my delygence
Where as I offende/for to correct doubtles
Submyttynge me to theyr grete gentylnes
As none hystoryagraffe/nor poete laureate
But gladly wolde folowe/the makynge of Lydgate
Fyrst noble Gower/moralytees dyde endyte
And after hym Cauncers/grete bokes delectable
Lyke a good phylozophre/meruaylously dyde wryte
After them Lydgate/the monke commendable
Made many wonderfull bokes moche profytable
But syth the are deed/& theyr bodyes layde in chest
I pray to god to gyue theyr soules good rest

Finis prohemii.

Whan fayre was phebus/w&supere; his bemes bryght
Amyddes of gemyny/aloft the fyrmament
Without blacke cloudes/castynge his pured lyght
With sorowe opprest/and grete incombrement
Remembrynge well/my lady excellent
Saynge o fortune helpe me to preuayle
For thou knowest all my paynfull trauayle
I went than musynge/in a medowe grene
Myselfe alone/amonge the floures in dede
With god aboue/the futertens is sene
To god I sayd/thou mayst my mater spede
And me rewarde/accordynge to my mede
Thou knowest the trouthe/I am to the true
Whan that thou lyst/thou mayst them all subdue
Who dyde preserue the yonge edyppus
Whiche sholde haue be slayne by calculacyon
To deuoyde grete thynges/the story sheweth vs
That were to come/by true reuelacyon
Takynge after theyr hole operacyon
In this edyppus/accordynge to affecte
Theyr cursed calkynge/holly to abiecte
Who dyde preserue/Ionas and moyses
Who dyde preserue yet many other mo
As the byble maketh mencyon doubles
Who dyde kepe Charles frome his euyll fo
Who was he/that euer coude do so
But god alone/than in lykewyse maye he
Kepe me full sure/frome all inyquyte
Thus as I called to my remembraunce
Suche trewe examples/I tenderly dyde wepe
Remembrynge well/goddes hyghe ordynaūce
Syghynge full oft/with inwarde teres depe
Tyll at the last/I fell in to a slepe
And in this slepe/me thought I dyde repayre
My selfe alone/in to a garden fayre
This goodly gardyn/I dyde well beholde
Where I sawe a place/ryght gaye and gloryous
With golden turrettes/paynted many afolde
Lyke a place of pleasure moste solacyous
The wyndowes glased/with crystall precyous
The golden fanes/with wynde and melody
By dulcet sounde/and meruaylous armony
The knottes flagraunt/with aromatyke odoure
With goodly sprynges/of meruaylous mountaynes
I dyde than tast/the redolent lycoure
Moost clere and swete/of the goodly vaynes
Whiche dyde me ease/somwhat of my paynes
Tyll to me came/a lady of goodly age
Apareyled sadly/and demure of vysage
To me she sayd/me thynke ye are not well
Ye haue caught colde/and do lyue in care
Tell me your mynde/now shortly euerydeie
To layne the trouthe/I charge you to beware
I shall for you/a remedy prepare
Dyspeyre you not/for no thynge that is past
Tell me your mynde/and be nought agast
Al as madame/vnto her than I sayd
It is no wonder/of myne inwarde payne
Yf that my herte be meruayllously dysmayde
My trouthe and loue/therof is cause certayne
Dyuers yeres ago/I dyde in mynde retayne
A lady yonge/a lady fayre of syght
Good//wyse/and goodly/an holsome sterre of lyght
I durst not speke vnto her of my loue
Yet vnder coloure I dyuers bokes dyde make
Full pryuely/to come to my aboue
Thus many nyghtes/I watched for her sake
To her and to hers/my trouthe well to take
Without ony spotte/of ony maner yll
God knoweth all myn herte/my mynde & my wyll
The hygh dame nature/by her grete myght & power
Man/beest/and foule/in euery degre
Fro whens they came at euery maner houre
Dooth trye the trouthe/without duplycyte
For euery thynge must shewe the properte
Gentyll vngentyll/dame nature so well tryet
That all persones it openly espyeth
The lorde and knyght/delyteth for to here
Cronycles and storyes/of noble chyualry
The gentyll man gentylnes/for his passe tyme clere
The man of lawe/to here lawe truely
The yeman delyteth to talke of yomanry
The ploman his londe for to ere and sowe
Thus nature werketh/in hye degre and lowe
For yf there were one of the gentyll blode
Conuayde to yomanry for nourysshement
Dyscrecyon comen he sholde chaunge his mode
Though he knewe not/his parentes verament
Yet nature wolde werke/so by entendyment
That he sholde folowe/the condycyons doubtles
Of his true blode/by outwarde gentylnes
In all this worlde/ben but thynges twayne
As loue and hate/the trouth for to tell
And yf I sholde hate my lady certayne
Than worthy I were/to dye of deth cruell
Seynge all ladyes/that she doth excell
In beaute/grace/prudence and mekenes
What man on lyue/can more in one expres
Yf she with me sholde take dyspleasure
Whiche loueth her by honoures desyre
What sholde she do/with suceh a creature
That hateth her/by inwarde fraude and yre
I yet a louer/do not so atyre
My fayth and hope/I put in her grace
Releace to graunt me/by good tyme and space
Thretened with sorowe/of may paynes grete
Thre yeres ago my ryght hande I dyde bynde
Fro my browes for fere/y&supere; dropes doune dyde sweet
God knoweth all it was nothynge my mynde
Unto no persone/I durst my her to vntwynde
Yet the trouthe knowynge/the good gretest P
Maye me releace/of all my/p/p/p/thre
Now ryght fayre lady/so sadde and demure
My mynde ye knowe/in euery maner thynge
I trust for trouthe/ye wyll not me dyscure
Sythes I haue shewed you without lesynge
At your request/the cause of my mournynge
Whiche abyde in sorowe/in my remembraunce
Without good conforte/saufe of esperaunce
Fayre sone sayd she/sythens I knowe your thought
Your worde and dede/and here to be one
Dyspayre you not/for it auayleth nought
Ioye cometh after/whan the payne is gone
Conforte yourselfe/and muse not so alone
Doubt ye no thynge/but god wyll so agre
That at the last/ye shall your lady se
Be alwaye meke/let wysdome be your guyde
Aduenture for honoure/and put your selfe in preace
Clymbe not to fast/lest sodenly ye slyde
Lets god werke styll/he wyll your mynde encrece
Begynne no warre/be gladde to kepe the peace
Prepence no thynge/agaynst the honoure
Of ony lady/by fraudolent fauoure
Alas madame/vnto her than sayd I
Aboue .xx. woulues/dyde me touse and rent
Not longe agone/delynge moost shamefully
That by theyr tuggynge/my lyfe was nere spent
I dyde perceyue/somwhat of theyr entente
As the trouthe is knowen/vnto god aboue
My ladyes fader they dyde lytell loue
Seynge theyr falshode/and theyr subtylte
For fere of deth/where as I loued best
I dyde dysprayse/to knowe theyr cruelte
Somwhat to wysdome/accordynge to behest
Though that my body had but lytell rest
My herte was trewe vnto my ladyes blood
For all theyr dedes I thought no thynge but good
Some had wende the hous for to swepe
Nought was theyr besom/I holde it set on fyre
The inwarde wo in to my herte dyde crepe
To god aboue/I made my hole desyre
Saynge o good lorde of heuenly empyre
Let the mouut with all braunches swete
Entyerly growe/god gyue vs grace to mete
Soma had wened for to haue made an ende
Of my bokes/before he hadde begynnynge
But all vayne they dyde so comprehende
Whan they of them lacke vnderstandynge
Uaynfull was & is theyr mysse contryuynge
Who lyst the trouthe of them for to enfuse
For the reed and whyte they wryte full true
Well sayd this lady I haue perceueraunce
Of our bokes/whiche that ye endyte
So as ye saye is all the cyrcumstaunce
Unto the hyghe pleasure of the reed and the whyte
Which hath your trouth/and wyll you acquyte
Doubte ye no thynge/but at the last ye maye
Of your true mynde yet fynde a Ioyfull daye
Forsothe I sayd/dysdayne and straungenesse
I fere them sore/and fals reporte
I wolde they were/in warde all doutles
Lyke as I was/without conforte
Than wolde I thynke/my lady wolde resorte
Unto dame mercy/my payne to consyder
God knoweth all/I wolde we were togyder
Though in meane season/of grene grasse I fede
It wolde not greue me/yf she knewe my heuynesse
My trauayle is grete/I praye god be my spede
To resyste the myght/of myn enmyes subtylnesse
Whiche awayte to take/me by theyr doublenesse
My wysdome is lytel/yet god may graunt me grace
Them to defende/in euery maner of cace
Lerne this she sayd/yf that you can by wytte
Of foes make frendes/they wyll be to you sure
Yf that theyr frendshyp/be vnto yon knytte
It is oft stedfast/and wyll longe endure
Yf alwaye malyce/they wyll put in vre
No doubte it is/than god so hyght and stronge
Ful meruaylously/wyl soone reuenge theyr wronge
And now she sayd come on your waye with me
Unto a goodly toure whiche is solacyous
Beholde it yonder/full of felycyte
Quadrant it was/me thought full meruaylous
With golden turrettes/gaye and gloryous
Gargayled with greyhoūdes/and with many lyons
Made of fyne golde/with dyuers sondry dragons
The wyndowes byrall/without resplendysshaunt
The fayre yuery/coloured with grene
And all aboute there was dependaunt
Grete gargeyles of golde/full meruaylously besene
Neuer was made/a fayrer place I wene
The ryght excellent lady toke her intresse
Ryght so dyde I/by meruaylous swetnesse
Whan we came in/I dyde aboute beholde
The goodly temple/with pynacles vp sette
Wherin were ymages/of kynges all of golde
With dyuers scryptures/without ony lette
Aloft the roofe/were emeraudes full grette
Set in fyne golde/with amyable rudyes
Endented with dyamondes/and mayn turkyes
The wyndowes hystoried/with many noble kynges
The pyllers Iasper/dyuersed with asure
By pendaunt penacles/of many noble rynges
The pauement calcedony/beynge fayre and sure
The aras golde/with the story pure
Of the syche of thebes/with actes auenturous
Of ryght noble knyghees/hardy and chyualrous
Than sayd this lady/I must now go hence
Passe ye tyme here/accordynge to your lykynge
It maye fortune/your lady of excellence
Wyll passe her tyme here/soone by walkynge
Than maye she se/your dolefull mournynge
And fare ye well/I maye no lenger tary
Marke well my lesson/and from it do not vary
Whan she was gone/the temple all alonge
I went my selfe/with syghtes grete and feruent
Alas I sayd/with inwarde paynes stronge
My herte doth blede/now all to torne and rent
For lacke of conforte/my herte is almost spent
O meruelo&us; fortune/whiche hast ī loue me brought
Where is my conforte/that I so longe haue sought
O wonderfull loue/whiche fell vnto my lotte
O loue ryght clene/without ony thought vntrue
Syth thy fyrst louynge/not blemyssed with spotte
But euermore/the falseshede to extue
O dolorous payne/whiche doste renue
O pyteous herte/where is the helthe and boote
Of thy lady/that perst the at the roote
What thynge is loue/that causeth suche turment
From whens cometh it/me thynke it is good questyō
Yf it be nature/from nature it is sent
Loue maye come of kynde by true affeccyon
Loue may appetyte/by natururall eleccyon
Than must loue nedes be/I perceyue it in mynde
A thynge fyrst gyuen/by the god of kynde
Alas o nature/why mayst not thou truely
Cause my lady loue/as thou hast me constrayned
Hath she power to domyne the vtterly
Why mayst not thou/cause her be somwhat payned
With natures moeuynge/for loue is not fayned
Alas for sorowe/why madest thou her so fayre
Without to loue/that she lyst soone repayre
Two thynges me conforte/euer in pryncypall
The fyrst be bokes/made in antyquyte
By Gower and Chauncers/poetes rethorycall
And Lydgate eke/by good auctoryte
Makynge mencyon/of the felycyte
Of my lady and me/by dame fortunes chaunce
To mete togyders/by wonderull ordynaunce
The seconde is/where fortune dooth me brynge
In many placys/I se by prophecy
As in the storyes/of the olde buyldynge
Letters for my lady/depeynted wonderly
And letters for me/besyde her meruayllously
Agreynge well/vnto my bokes all
In dyuers placys/I se it in generall
O loue moost dere/o loue nere to my harte
O gentyll floure/I wolde you knewe my wo
How that your beaute/perst me with the darte
With your vertue/and your mekenes also
Sythens ye so dyde/it is ryght longe ago
My herte doth se you/it is for you bebledde
Myne eyen with teeres/ben often made full redde
Where are ye now/the floure of Ioye and grace
Whiche myght me conforte/in this inwarde sorowe
Myne excellent lady/it is a ryght pyteous case
Good be my guyde/aud saynt George vnto borowe
O clere Aurora/the sterre of the morowe
Whiche many yeres/with thy bemes mery
Hath me awaked/to se thyne emyspery
Thus as I mourned/I sawe than appere
Thre goodly myrours dependaunt on the wall
Set in fyne golde bordred with stones clere
The glasses pure/they were of crystall
Made longe ago to be memoryall
And vnder the fyrst glasse ryght fayre wryten was
Beholde thy selfe/and thy fautes or thou passe
By a sylken threde/small as ony heere
Ouer I sawe hange/a swerde full ponderous
Without a scauberde/full sharpe for to fere
The poynt dounwarde/ryght harde and asperous
All this I sawe/with hert full dolorous
Yet at auenture/to se the mystery
In the myroure/I loked than full sodenly
In this glasse I sawe/how I had ledde my lyfe
Sythens the tyme of my dyscrecyon
As vnto wyldnesse/alwaye affyrmatyfe
Folowynge the pleasure/of wylfull amonycyon
Not vnto vertue, hauynge intencyon
Ihesu sayd I/thou hast me well preserued
From this swerdes fall/whiche I haue oft deserued
O ye estates/aloft on fortunes whele
Remembre this swerde/whiche ouer you dependeth
Beware the fall/before that ye it fele
Se your one euyll/se what vengeaunce ensueth
Correcte none other/whan that your fautes renueth
Calke not not goddes power/bryef not y&supere; tens future
Beholde this glasse/se how he may endure
Many one wanteth the nature sens to brefe
By calculacyon goddes power to withstande
Bathynge theyr swerdes/in blode by myschefe
Tyll at the last as I do vnderstande
This swerde doth fal by the myght of goddes hande
Upon them all/whiche wolde his power abate
Than they repent but than it is to late
This goodly myrour/I ryght well behelde
Remembrynge well/my dedes done in tymes past
I toke forwytte/than for to be my shelde
By grace well armed/not to be agast
Thus as I stode/I dyde se at the last
The seconde myrour/as bryght as phebus
Set rounde about/with stones precyous
Ouer whiche dyde hāge/a floure of golde ryght fyne
Wherin was set/an emeraude full bryght
Ryght large and grete/whiche wōderfull dyde shyne
That me thought it was/grete conforte to my syght
Bordred dyamondes/castybarge a meruaylous; lyght
This floure dyde hange/by a ryght subtyll gynne
With a chayne of yron/and many a pryue pynne
Besyde whiche there was/a table of golde
With a goodly scrypture/enameled of grene
The sentence wherof/I dyde well beholde
The whiche sayd thus/it is openly sene
That many a one/full pryuely dooth wene
To blynde an other/by crafte and subtylnes
That ofte blyndeth hym/for all his doublenes
In this myrour whiche is here besyde
Thou shalt well lerne/thy selfe for to knowe
Passe forth no ferder/but loke and abyde
Se what shall come/lest that thou ouer throwe
A sodayne rysynge dooth oft fall alowe
Without the grounde/beryghe sure and perfyte
Beholde well this glasse/& take thy respyte
Whan thou hast so done/to this floure resorte
Laboure to gete it/from this harde yren chayne
Unto the gynnes/vnto thy grete conforte
Yf that thou canst/and take it for thy payne
To be thy helpe/in thy Journaye certayne
Lo here the vertues vnder wryten be
Of this ryall floure in euery degre
This ryche emeraude/who so dooth it bere
From his fyrst werynge/his syght shal not mynysshe
Payne of the heed he nedeth not to fere
By dynt of swerde/he shall neuer perysshe
Ne no thynge begyn/but he shall well fynysshe
Yf it be ryghtfull aftyr a true entent
Without resystence of grete impedyment
Of all nygromancy/and fals enchauntement
Agaynst hym wrought/he shall knowe the effecte
They can not blynde hym by cursed sentement
But he theyr werkes may ryght soone abiecte
No maner poyson he nedeth to susspecte
Neyther in mete not yet in ale ne wyne
Yf it beset well besyde a serpentyne
Yf he vntrue be vnto his gentyll lady
It wyll breke asondre/or crase than doubtlesse
It kepeth close/neuet the auoutry
This gentyll emeraude/this stone of rychesse
Hath many mo vertues/whiche I do not expresse
As saynt Iohan euangelyst doeth shewe openly
Who of his makynge lyst se the lapydary
Whan I had aduerted/in my remembraunce
All the maters/vnto the glasse I wente
Beholdynge it/by a longe cyrcumstaunce
Where as I dyde perceyue well verament
How preuy malyce/his messengers had sent
With subtyll engynes/to lye in a wayte
Yf that they coude take me with a bayte
I sawe there trappes/I sawe theyr gynnes all
I thanked god than/the swete holy goost
Whiche brought me hyder so well in specyall
Without whiche myrour/I had ben but loost
In god aboue/the lorde of myghtes moost
I put my trust/for to withstande theyr euyll
Whiche dayly wrought/by the myght of the deuyll
I sawe theyr maysters blacke and tydyous
Made by the craft of many a nacyon
For to dystroye me/with strokes peryllous
To lette my Iournaye/as I make relacyon
Peryllous was the waye/and the cytuacyon
Full gladde was I of the vertu of this glasse
Whiche shewed me/what daungers I sholde passe
O all ye estates/of the hygh renowne
Beware these gynnes/beware theyr subtylte
The deuyll is grete/and redy to cast downe
By calculacyon/of the cursed cruelte
Of the subtyll beestes/full of inyquyte
In the olde tyme what snares were there sette
By fals calkynge/to dystroye lordes grete
Than after this to the yron gynne
I wente anone my wyte for to proue
By lytell and lytell/to vndo euery pynne
Thus in and out/I dyde the chayne ofte moue
Yet coude I not come/vnto myne aboue
Tyll at the last/I dyde the crafte espy
Undoynge the pynnes/& chayne full meruaylously
Full gladde was I than/whan I had this floure
I kyst it oft/I behelde the coloure grene
It swaged ryght well/myn inwarde doloure
Myn eyes conforted/with the bryghtnes I wene
This ryall floure/this emeraude so shene
Whan I had goten it by my prudence
Ryght gladde I was/of fortunes premynence
O fortune sayd I/thou arte ryght fauorable
For many a one/hath ben by symylytude
To wynne this floure/full gretely tendable
But they the subtylnes/myght nothynge exclude
Sythen by wysdome/I dyde this fraude conclude
This floure/I sette nere my harte
For perfyte loue/of my fayre ladyes darte
So this accomplysshed/than incontynent
To the thyrde myrour I went dyrectly
Beholdynge aboute by good auysement
Seynge an ymage madefull wonderly
Of the holy goost with flambes ardauntly
Under whiche I sawe with letters fayre and pure
In golde well grauen this meruaylous scrypture
Frome the fader and the sone my power procedynge
And of my selfe I god do ryght ofte inspyre
Dyuers creatures with spyrytuall knowynge
Inuysyble by dyuyne flambynge fyre
The eyes I entre not it is not my desyre
I am not coloured of the terrestryall grounde
Nor entre the eres for I do not sounde
Nor by the nose for I am not myxte
With ony maner of the ayry influence
Nor by the mouthe for I am not fyxte
For to be swalowed by erthly experyence
Nor yet by felynge or touchynge exystence
My power dyuyne can not be palpable
For I myselfe am no thynge manyable
Yet vysyble I may be by good apparaunce
As in the lykenesse of a doue vnto chryste Ihesu
At his baptysme I dyde it with good countenaunce
To shewe our godhed to be hygh and true
And at his transfyguracyon our power to ensue
In a fayre cloude with clere rayes radyaunt
Ouer hym that I was well apparaunt
Also truely yet at the feest of pentycoste
To the sones moder and the apostelles all
In tonges of fyre as god of myghtes moost
I dyde appere shewynge my power spyrytuall
Enflambynge theyr hertes by vertues supernall
Whiche after that by languages well
In euery regyon coude pronounce the gospell
And where I lyst by power dyuyne
I do enspyre oft causynge grete prophecy
Whiche is mysconstrued whan some do enclyne
Thynkynge by theyr wytte to perceyue it lyghtly
Or elles calke with deuylles the trouth to sertyfy
Whiche contrary be to all true saynge
For deuylles be subtyll and alwaye lyenge
Whan I had aduerted with my dylygence
All the scrypture I sawe me besyde
Hāge a fayre swerde & shelde of meruailous excellēce
Whiche to beholde I dyde than abyde
To blase the armes I dyde well prouyde
The felde was syluer/and in it a medowe grene
With an olyue trefull meruaylously besene
Two lyons of asure vpon euery syde
Couchande were truely besyde this olyue tree
A hande of stele wherin was wryten pryde
Dyde holde this ryall swerde in certaynte
A scrypture there was whiche sayd by subtylte
Of a grete lady hondred yeres ago
In the hande of stele this swerde was closed so
No maner persone/may withstande this swerde
But one persone/chosen by god in dede
Of this ladyes kynred/not to be aferde
To touche this hande/his mater for to spede
And to vndo it/and take it for his mede
But yf that he/be not of the lygnage
The hande wyll sle hym/after olde vsage
This ryall swerde/that called is preprudence
Who can it gette/it hath these vertues thre
Fyrst to wynne ryght/without longe resystence
Secondly encreaseth/all trouth and amyte
Thyrdly of the berer through duplycyte
Be pryuely fals/to the ordre of chyualry
The swerdes crosse wyll crase/and shewe it openly
This shelde also/who so dooth it bere
Whiche of olde tyme/was called perceueraunce
Hath thre vertues/fyrst he nedeth not fere
Ony grete blodeshede/by wronge incombraunce
Secondly/it wolde make good apparaunce
By hete vnto hym/to gyue hym warnynge
To be redy/agayst his enmyes comynge
The thyrde is this/yf this calenge be ryghtfull
Neuer no swerde/shall through his harneys perce
Nor make hym blody/with woundes rufull
For he there steength/may ryghtfully reuerce
Yet moreouer/as I do well reherce
This ryall shelde/in what place it be borne
Shall soone be wonne/and shall not be forlorne
These thynges sene/to the thyrde myroure clere
I went anone/and in it loked ryght ofte
Where in my fyght/dyde wonderly appere
The fyrmament/with the sonne all alofte
The wynde not grete/but blowynge fayre and softe
And besyde the sonne/I sawe a meruaylous sterre
With beames twayne/the whiche were cast aferre
The one turnynge towarde the sterre agayne
The other stretched ryght towarde Phebus
To beholde this sterre/I was somwhat fayne
But than I mused with herte full dolorous
Whyder it sygnyfyed thynges good or peryllous
Thus longe I studyed/tyll at the last I thought
What it sholde meane/as in my herte I sought
This sterre it sygnyfyeth the resynge of a knyght
The bowynge beame agayne so tournynge
Betokened rattonnes of them whiche by myght
Wolde hym resyst by theyr wronge resystynge
The beame towarde Phebus clerely shynynge
Betokened many meruaylous fyres grete
On them to lyght that wolde his purpose lete
In the fyre clerest of euery element
God hath appered vnto many a one
Inspyrynge them/with grete wytte refulgent
Who lyst to rede many dayes agone
Many one wryteth trouthe/yet cōforte hath he none
Wherfore I fere me/lyke a swarme of bees
Wylde fyre wyll lyght amonge a thousande pees

Sepe expugnauerunt me a inuentute mea:etenim non potuerunt michi.
As the cantycles maketh good mencyon
They haue oft expugned me/syth my yonge age
Yet coude they haue me/in theyr domynyon
Though many a one/vnhappely do rage
They shall haue sorowe that shytte me in a cage
In a grte dyspyte of the holy goost
He maye them brenne/theyr calkynge is but loost

Supra dorsum meū fabricauerūt peccatores: prolongauersit iniquitatē suā.
Upon my backe synners hath fabrysed
They haue prolonged theyr grete inyquyte
From daye to daye it is not mynysshed
Wherfore for vengeaunce by grete extremyte
It cryeth aboue/now vnto the deyte
Whiche that his mynysters haue suffred so longe
To lyue in synne and euyll wayes wronge
Whan I had perceyued euery maner thynge
Of this ryall myrour/accordynge to effecte
Remembrynge the verses/of the olde saynge
Whiche in my mynde I dyde well coniecte
Than to the swerde/I thought to haue respecte
Ryght so I went/than at all auenture
Unto the hande/that helde the swerde so sure
I felte the hande/of the stell so fyne
Me thought it quaked/the fyngers gan to stretche
I thought by that/I came than of the lyne
Of the grete lady/that fyrst the swerde dyde fetche
The swerdes pomell/I began to ketche
The hande swerued/but yet neuer the lesse
I helde them bothe/by excellent prowes
And at the last/I felte the hande departe
The swerde I toke/with all my besynesse
So I subdued/all the magykes arte
And founde the scauberde/of meruaylous rychesse
After that I toke the shelde doune doubtlesse
Kyssynge the swerde/and the shelde ofte I wys
Thankynge god/the whiche was cause of this
Gladde was I than/of my ryall floure
Of my swerde and shelde/I reioyced also
It pacyfyed well/myn inwarde doloure
But fro my ladyes beaute/my mynde myght not go
I loued her surely/for I loued no mo
Thus my fayre floure/and my swerde and shelde
With eyen ryght meke/full often I behelde
Than sayd I (well) this is an happy chaunce
I trust now shortly/my lady for to se
O fortune sayd I/whiche brought me on the daūce
Fyrst to beholde her ryght excellent beaute
And so by chaunce/hast hyder conueyde me
Getynge me also/my floure my shelde and swerde
I nought mystrust the/why sholde I be aferde
O ryght fayre lady/as the bryght daye sterre
Shyneth before the rysynge of the sonne
Castynge her beames/all aboute aferre
Exylynge grete wyndes/and the mystes donne
So ryght fayre lady/where as thou doost wonne
Thy beautefull bryghtnes/thy vertue and thy grace
Dooth clere Illumyne/all thy boure and place
The gentyll heren is plonged in dystresse
Dooth walowe and tomble in somers nyght
Replete with wo/and mortall heuynesse
Tyll that aurora/with her beames bryght
Aboute the fyrmament/castynge her pured lyght
Ageynst the rysynge/of refulgent tytan
Whan that declyneth/the fayre dame dyan
Than dooth the louer/out of this bedde aryse
With wofull mynde/beholdynge than the ayre
Alas he sayth/what nedeth to deuyse
Ony suche pastyme/here for to repayre
Where is my conforte/where is my lady fayre
Where is my Ioye/where is now all my boote
Where is she nowe/that persed my herte rote
This maye I saye/vnto my owne dere loue
My goodly lady/fayrest and moost swete
In all my bokes/fayre fortune doth moue
For a place of grace/where that we sholde mete
Also my bokes full pryuely you grete
The effectes therof/dooth well dayly ensue
By meruelous thynges/to proue them to be true
The more my payne/the more my loue encreaseth
The more my Ieopardy/the truer is my harte
The more I suffre/the lesse the fyre releasheth
The more I complayne the more is my smarte
The more I se her/the sharper is the darte
The more I wryte/the more my teeres dystyll
The more I loue/the hotter is my wyll
O moost fayre lady/yonge/good/and vertuous
I knewe full well/neuer your countenaunce
Shewed me ony token/to make me amerous
But what for that/your prudent gouernaunce
Hath enrached my herte/for to gyue attendaunce
Your excellent beaute/you coude no thynge lette
To cause my herte vpon you to be sette
My ryght fayre lady/yf at the chesse I drawe
My selfe I knowe not/as a cheke frome a mate
But god aboue the whiche sholde haue in awe
By drede truely euery true estate
He maye take vengeaunce/though he tary late
He knoweth my mynde/he knoweth my remedy
He maye reuenge me/he knoweth my Ieoperdy
O thou fayre fortune/torne not fro me thy face
Remembre my sorowe/for my goodly lady
My tendre herte/she dooth full oft enbrace
And as of that it is no wonder why
For vpon her is all my desteny
Submyttynge me/vnto her gracyous wyll
Me for to saue or sodaynly to spyll
O ryght fayre lady of grene flourynge age
You can not do but as your frendes agre
Your wyte is grete/you mekenes/dooth not swage
Exyle dysdayne/and be ruled by pety
The frenshe man sayth/that shall be shall be
Yf that I dye louer was neuer none
Deyed in this worlde/for a fayrer persone
Your beaute causeth all my amyte
Why sholde your beaute/to my dethe condyscende
Your vertue and mekenes/dyde so arest me
Why sholde ye than to dame dysdayne intende
Your prudence your goodnes/dooth mercy extende
Why sholde ye than enclyne to cruelte
Your grace I trust wyll non extremyte
A dere herte I maye complayne ryght longe
You here me not/nor se me not arayed
Nor causes my paynes for to be stronge
It was myn eyes/that made me fyrst dysmayde
With stroke of loue/that coude not me delaye
My ryght fayre lady/my herte is colde and faynt
Wolde now to god/that you knewe my complaynte
Thus as I mourned I herde a lady speke
I loked asyde I sawe my lady gracyous
My herte than fared/as it sholde breke
For perfyte Ioye whiche was solacyous
Before her grace/ryght swete and precyous
I kneled doune/saynge with all mekenesse
Please it your grace/& excellent noblenes
No dyspleasure to take for my beynge here
For fortune me brought/to this place ryall
Where I haue wonne this floure so vertuous & dere
This swerde and shelde/also not peregall
Towadre hym aduenture to be tryumphall
And now by fortunes desteny and fate
Do here my duety vnto your hygh estate
Ihesu sayd she than/who hadde wende to fynde
Your selfe walkynge/in this place all alone
Full lytell thought I/ye were not in my mynde
What is the cause/that ye make suche mone
I thynke some thynge/be from you past and gone
But I wonder/how that ye dyde attayne
This floure/this swerde/the shelde also certayne
For by a lady in the antyquyte
They were made to a meruaylous entente
That none sholde get them/but by auctoryte
Whiche onely by fortune/sholde hyder be sent
Full many knyghtes by entendement
Hath them aduentred/to haue them in dede
But all was vayne/for they myght neuer spede
Wherfore surely/ye are moche fortunate
Them for to wynne by your aduenture
But it was no thynge to you ordynate
And you dyde well/to put your selfe in vre
To proue the Ieoperdy/whiche hath made you sure
Leue all your mournynge/for there is no wyght
Hath greter cause/for to be gladde and lyght
I behelde well her demure countenaunce
Unto her swete wordes/gyuynge good audyence
And than I marked in my remembraunce
Her pleasaunt apparayle/with all my dylygence
Whiche was full ryche of meruaylous excellence
Fyrst alofte her forheed/full properly was dressed
Under her orellettes/her golden heere well tressed
About her necke whyte as ony lyly
A prety chayne of the fynest golde
Some lynkes with grene enameled truely
And some were blacke/the whiche I dyde beholde
The vaynes blewe/in her fayre necke well tolde
With her swete vysage tydynges to my herte
That sodynly my thoughtes were asterte
Her gowne was golde/of the clothe of tyssewe
With armyns poudred/and wyde sleues pendaunt
Her kyrtell grene of the fyne satyn newe
To bere her longe trayne/was well attendaunt
Gentyll dame dylygence/neuer varyaunt
Than as touchynge her noble stature
I thynke there can be/no goodlyer creature
As of her aege/so tendre and grene
Fayre/gracyous/prudent/and louynge humylyte
Her vertue shyneth/beynge bryght and shene
In her is nether pryde ne sybtylte
Her gentyll herte/enclyneth to bounte
Thus beaute/godlynesse/vertue/grace/and wytte
With bounte and mekenesse/in this lady is knytte

Amour.
Thus whan my eyes hadde beholde her wele
Madame I sayd how may I now be gladde
But sygh and sorowe with herte euery dele
Longe haue I loued/and lytell conforte hadde
Wherfore no wonder though that I be sadde
Your tendre age/full lytell knoweth ywys
To loue vnloued/what wofull payne it is

Pucell.
Thoghe that I be yonge/yet I haue perceueraūce
That ther is no lady/yf that she gentyll be
But ye haue with her ony acquayntaunce
And after cast/to her your amyte
Grounded on honoure/without duplycyte
I wolde thynke in mynde/she wolde condescende
To graunt your fauoure/yf ye none yll intende

Amour.
A fayre lady I haue vnto her spoken
That I loue best/and she dooth not it knowe
Though vnto her/I haue my mynde broken
Her beuaet clere/dooth my herte ouerthrowe
Whan I do se her/my herte booth sobbe I trowe
Wherfore fayre lady/all dysparate of contorte
I speke vnknowen/I must to wo resorte

Pucell.
Me thynke ye speke/now vnder parable
Do ye se her here/whiche is cause of your grefe
Yf ye so dyde/than sholde I be able
As in this cause/te be to your relefe
Ryght lothe I were to se your myschefe
For ye knowe well/what case that I am yn
Peryllous it wolde be/or that ye coude me wyne

Amour.
Madame sayd I/thoughe myn eyes se her not
Made dymme w&supert; wepynde/& with grete wo togyder
Yet dooth myn herte/at this tyme I wote
Her excellent beaute/ryght inwardly concyder
Good fortune I trust/hach now brought me hyder
To se your mekenes/whiche doth her repayre
Whose swete conforte/dooth kepe me fro dyspayre

Pucell.
Of late I sawe aboke of your makynge
Called the pastyme of pleasure/whiche is wōdrous
For I thynge and you had not ben in louynge
Ye coude neuer haue made it so sentencyous
I redde there all your passage daungerous
Wherfore I wene for the fayre ladyes sake
That ye dyd loue/ye dyde that boke so make

Amour.
Forsothe madame/I dyde compyle that boke
As the holy goost/I call vnto wytnes
But ygnorauntly/who so lyst to loke
Many meruelous thynges in it/I do expresse
My lyue and loue/to enserche well doublesse
Many a one doth wryte/I knowe not what in dede
Yet the effecte dooth folowe/the trouthe for to spede

Pucell.
I graunt you well/all that whiche you saye
But tell me who it is/that ye loue so sure
I promyse you that I wyll not bewraye
Her name truely to ony creature
Pyte it is/you sholde suche wo endure
I do perceyue/she is not ryght ferre hence
Whiche that ye loue/wihtouten neclygence

Amour.
Surely madame/syth it pleaseth your hyghnesse
And your honour to speke so nobly
It is your grace/that hath the intresse
In my true herte/with loue so feruently
Ryght longe ago/your beaute sodanly
Entred my mynde/and hath not syth dekayde
With feruent loue/moost wofully arayde

Pucell.
And is it I/that is cause of your loue
Yf it so be I can not helpe your payne
It sholde be harde/to gete to your aboue
Me for to loue/I dyde not you constrayne
Ye knowe what I am/I knowe not you certayne
I am as past your loue to specyfy
Why wyll ye loue where is no remedy

Amour.
A madame you are cause of my languysshe
Ye maye me helpe/yf that it to you please
To haue my purpose/my herte dooth not menysshe
Thoughe I was seke/ye knewe not my dysease
I am not hole/your mercy maye me ease
To proue what I am/the holy goost werke styll
My lyfe and deth/I yelde nowe to your wyll

Pucell.
Fortune me thynke/is meruaylous fauorable
To you by getynge/of this ryall floure
Hauynge this swerde/and shelde so profytable
In mortall daungers/to be your socoure
But as touchynge your loue and fauoure
I can not graunt/neyther fyrst ne last
Ye knowe what I am/ye knowe my loue is past

Amour.
Madame the floure/the swerde and shelde also
Whiche fortune gate me/are not halfe so dere
As your persone the cause of my wo
Whose grace and beaute/shyneth so ryght clere
That in my herte your beaute doth appere
Nothynge is past/but that fortunes pleasure
May call it agayne/in the tyme futrure

Pucell.
I denye not but that your dedes do shewe
By meruaylous prowes/truely your gentylnesse
To make you a carter/there were not afewe
But tho by crafte/whiche thought you to oppresse
To accombre them selfe applye the besynesse
Yet thynke not you/so soone to se a cradle
I graunt you loue/whan ye were golden sadle

Amour.
Madame truely/it is oft dayly sene
Many a one dooth trust/his fortune to take
From an other man/to make hym blynde I wene
Whiche blyndeth hym/and dooth his pompe aslake
Often some hye/do fall alowe and quake
Ryght so maye they/whiche dyde fyrst prepence
My wo and payne for all theyr yll scyence

Pucell.
To loue me so/whiche knoweth my persone
And my frendes eke/me thynke ye are not wyse
As now of me conforte haue ye none
Wherfore this answere/maye to you suffyse
I can not do/but as my frendes deuyse
I can no thynge do/but as they accorde
They haue me promest/to a myghty lorde

Amour.
Madame in this worlde ben but thynges twayne
As loue and hate/ye knowe your selfe the trouthe
Yf I sholde hate you/deth I were worthy playne
Than had you cause/with me to be wrothe
To deserue dyspleasure/my herte wolde be lothe
Wherfore fayre lady/I yelde at this hower
To your mekenes/my herte my loue and power

Pucell.
Thynke you past all chyldy ygnoraunce
That gladde I am/yf prudence be your guyde
Grace cometh often after gouernaunce
Beware of foly/beware of inwarde pryde
Clymbe not to fast/but yet fortune abyde
For your loue I thanke you/yf trouthe haue it fyxte
As with yll thought/neuer for to be myxte

Amour.
Surely my mynde/nor yet my purpose
In ony cause by foly dyde vary
Neuer doynge thynke open ne close
That to your honour sholde be contrary
As yet for grace I am content to tary
For myn enmyes fraude and subtylnes
Whiche pryuely begyne theyr owne vnhapynesse

Pucell.
Now of trouthe/I do vnto you tell
The thynge y&supere; to your enmyes is moost dyspleasure
Is for to gouerne you by wysdome ryght well
That causeth enuy in theyr hertes to endure
But be ye pacyent and ye shall be sure
Suche thynges as they ordayne vnto your gref
Wyll lyght on them fo theyr owne myschefe

Amour.
Surely I thynke/I suffred well the phyppe
The nette also dydde teche me on the waye
But me to bere I trowe they lost a lyppe
For the lyfte hande extendyd my Iournaye
And not to call me for my sporte and playe
Wherfore by foly yf that they do synne
The holy goost maye well the batayle wynne

Pucell.
Yf fortune wolde/for the payne ye haue taken
I wolde graūt you loue/but it may noth&ybar;ge al
My loue is past/it can not be forsaken
Therfore I praye you leue your trauayle
Full lothe I were/your deth to bewayle
There is no nette/nor no tempted snare
But ye them knowe/wherfore ye maye beware

Amour.
The snares and nettes/set in sondrye maner
Doone in tyme past/made many abyrde a dawe
The tempted gynnes/were sette so cyrculer
But euermore it is an olde sayd sawe
Examples past dooth theche one to withdrawe
Frome all suche perylles/wherfore than maye I
By grace of god/beware full parfytly

Pucell.
Ye saye the trouthe/and I do not submytte
My wyll and thought to the lady Uenus
As she is goddesse/and doth true loue knytte
Ryght so to determyne/the mater betwene vs
With assent of fortune/so good gracyous
Besechynge you now for to holde you styll
For these two ladyes/maye your mynde fulfyll

Amour.
My ryght dere lady/I do therto consente
Swete are your wordes they confort my thought
Of Uenus and fortune/I abyde the Iugement
But ryght dere lady/whome I longe haue sought
Forgete me not/remembre loue dere bought
Of my herte/I wolde ye knewe the preuyte
Than as I thynke ye wolde remembre me
That came ladyes [illeg.]
The our talkynge/y&supere; tyme dyde surrendre
Dame/ye do well here repayre
Ly temple/for to take the ayre
With that sodaynly/I truely awoke
Takynge pen and ynke to make this lytell boke
Go lytell treaty se submyte the humbly
To euery lady/excusynge thy neclygence
Besechynge them/to remembre truely
How thou doost purpose to do thy dylygence
To make suche bokes by true experyence
From daye to daye theyr pastyme to attende
Rather to dye/thon thau wolde them offend.

The Cōuercyon of Swerers

- by Stephen Hawes 20

The fruytfull sentence & the noble werkes
To our doctryne wryten in olde antyquyte
By many grete and ryght notable clerkes
Grounded on reason & hyghe auctoryte
Dyde gyue vs example by good moralyte
To folowe the trace of trouthe and ryghtwysnes
Leuynge our synne and mortall wretchednes
By theyr wrytynge dothe vnto vs appere
The famous actes of many a champyon
In the courte of fame renowned fayre and clere
And some endyted theyr entencyon
Cloked in coloure harde in construccyon
Specyally poetes vnder cloudy fygures
Coueryd the trouthe of all theyr scryptures
So hystoryagraphes all the worthy dedes
Of kynges and knyghtes dyde put in wrytynge
To be in mynde for theyr memoryall medes
How sholde we nowe haue ony knowledgynge
Of thynges past/but by theyr endytynge
Wherfore we ought to preyse them doubteles
That spente theyr tyme in suche good besynes
Amonge all other my good mayster Lydgate
The eloquent poete and monke of bery
Dyde bothe contryue/and also translate
Many vertuous bookes to be in memorye
Touchynge the trouthe well and sentencyously
But syth that his dethe was intollerable
I praye god rewarde hym in lyfe perdurable
Amonge all thynges nothynge so prouffytable
As is scyence with the sentencyous scrypture
For worldly rychesse is often transmutable
As dayly dothe appere well in vre
Yet scyens a bydeth and is moost sure
After pouerte to attayne grete rychesse
Scyens is cause of promocyon doubtles
I lytell or nought expert in poetrye
Remembrynge my youth so lyght and frayle
Purpose to compyle here full breuyatly
A lytell treatyse wofull to bewayle
The cruell swerers whiche do god assayle
On euery syde his swete body to tere
With terryble othes as often as they swere
But also for drede plonged in neclygence
My penne doth quake to presume to endyte
But hope at laste to recure this scyence
Exorteth me ryght hardely to wryte
To deuoyde ydlenesse by good appetyte
For ydlenesse the grete moder of synne
Euery vyce is redy to lette ynne
I with the same ryght gretely infecte
Lykely to deye tyll grace by medecyne
Recured my sekenes my payne to abiecte
Commaundynge me by her hye power deuyne
To drawe this treatyse for to enlumyne
The reders therof by penytencyall pyte
And to pardon me of theyr benygnyte

Ryght myghty prynces of euery crysten rygyon
I sende you gretynge moche hertly & grace
Right wel to gouerne vpryght your dominyon
And all your lordes I greete in lyke cace
By this my lettre your hertes to enbrace
Besechynge you to prynte it in your mynde
How for your sake I toke on me mankynde
And as a lambe moost mekely dyde enclyne
To suffre the dethe for your redempcyon
And ye my kynges whiche do nowe domyne
Ouer my comons in terrestryall mancyon
By pryncely preemynence and Iuredyccyon
In your regall courtes do suffre me be rente
And my tender body with blode all be sprente
Without my grace ye maye nothynge preuayle
Though ye be kynges for to mayntene your see
To be a kynge it may nothynge auayle
But yf my grace preserue his dygnyte
Beholde your seruauntes how they do tere me
By cruell othes now pvon euery syde
Aboute the worlde launcynge my woūdes wyde
All the graces whiche I haue you shewed
Reuolue in mynde ryght ofte ententyfly
Beholde my body with blody proppes endewed
Within your realmes nowe torne so pyteously
Towsed and tugged with othes cruelly
Some my heed some myn armes and face
Some my herte do all to rente and race
They newe agayne do hange me on the rode
They tere my sydes and are nothynge dysmayde
My woundes they open and deuoure my blode
I god and man moost wofully arayde
To you complayne it maye not be denayde
ye nowe to tug me/ye tere me at the roote
yet I to you am chefe refuyte and boote
Wherfore ye kynges reygnynge in renowne
Refourme your seruauntes in your courte abused
To good example of euery maner towne
So that theyr othes whiche they longe haue vsed
On payne and punysshement be holly refused
Meke as a Lambe I suffre theyr grete wronge
I maye take vengeaunce thoughe I tary longe
I do forbere I wolde haue you amende
And graunte you mercy and ye wyll it take
O my swete brederne why do ye offende
Agayne to tere me whiche deyed for your sake
Lose my kyndenes and frome synne awake
I dyde redeme you frome the deuylles chayne
And spyte of me ye wyll to hym agayne
Made I not heuen the moost gloryous mansyon
In whiche I wolde be gladde to haue you in
Now come swete brederne to myn habytacyon
Alas good brederne with your mortall synne
Why flee ye frome me/to torne agayne begynne
I wrought you I bought you ye can it not denye
Yet to the deuyll ye go nowe wyllyngly

See
Me
Be
kynde
Agayne
My payne
Reteyne
in mynde
My swete bloode
On the roode
Dyde the good
my broder
My face ryght red
Myn armes spred
My woundes bled
thynke none oder
Beholde thou my syde
Wounded so ryght wyde
Bledynge sore that tyde
all for thyn owne sake
Thus for the I smerted
Why arte y&superu; harde herted
Be by me conuerted
and thy swerynge aslake
Tere me nowe no more
My woundes are sore
Leue swerynge therfore
and come to my grace
I am redy
To graunte mercy
To the truely
for thy trespace
Come nowe nere
My frende dere
And appere
before me
I so
In wo
Dyde go
se se
I
Crye
Hy
the

Unto me dere broder my loue and my herte
Turmente me no more with thyn othes grete
Come vnto my Ioye and agayne reuerte
Frome the deuylles snare and his subtyll net
Beware of the worlde all aboute the set
Thy flesshe is redy by concupyscence
To burne thy herte with cursed vyolence
Thoughe these thre enmyes do sore the assayle
Upon euery syde with daungerous iniquite
But yf thou lyst/they may nothynge preuayle
Nor yet subdue the with all theyr extremyte
To do good or yll/all is at thy lyberte
I do graunte the grace thyn enemyes to subdue
Swete broder accepte it theyr power to extue
And ye kynges and prynces of hye noblenes
With dukes and lordes of euery dygnyte
Indued with manhode wysdome and ryches
Ouer the comons hauynge the soueraynte
Correcte them whiche so do tere me
By cruell othes without repentaunce
Amende by tyme lest I take vengeaunce.

non accipies nomen dei tui in vaniam.
Exodi vicesimo

Unto the man I gaue commaundement
Not to take the name of thy god vaynfully
As not to swere but at tyme conuenyent
Before a Iuge to bere recorde truely
Namynge my name with reuerence mekely
Unto the Iuge than there in presence
By my name to gyue to the good credence
A my brederne yf that I be wrothe
It is for cause ye falsly by me swere
Ye knowe your selfe that I am very trothe
Yet wrongfully ye do me rente and tere
Ye neyther loue me nor my Iustyce fere
And yf ye dyde ye wolde full gentylly
Obeye my byddynge well and perfytely
The worldly kynges hauynge the soueraynte
Ye do well obey without resystence
Ye dare not take theyr names in vanyte
But with grete honoure and eke reuerence
Than my name more hye of magnyfycence
Ye ought more to drede whiche am kynge of all
Bothe god and man and reygne celestyall
No erthely man loueth you so well
As I do/whiche mekely dyde enclyne
For to redeme you from the fendes of hell
Takynge your kynde by my godhede dyuyne
you were the fendes I dyde make you myne
For you swete bretherne I was on the rode
Gyuynge my body my herte and my blode
Than why do ye in euery maner of place
With cruell othes tere my body and herte
My sydes and woundes it is a pyteous cace
Alas swete brederne I wolde you conuerte
For to take vengeaunce ye do me coherte
From the hous of swerers shall not be absent
The plage of Iustyce to take punysshement.

Uir multum iurans implebitur iniquitate et non discendet a domo eius plaga.
Unde. Ecclesiastici .xxxiii.

A man moche swerynge with grete iniquite
Shall be replete/and from his mancyon
The plage of vengeaunce shall not cessed be
Wherfore ye brederne full of abusyon
Take good hede to this dyscrypcyon
Come nowe to me and axe forgyuenes
And be penytente and haue it douteles

Non potest male mori qui bene vixit et vix bene moritur qui male vixit.
Augustinns.

Who in this worlde lyueth well and ryghwysly
Shall deye well by ryght good knowlegynge
Who in this worlde lyueth yll and wrongfully
Shall hardly scape to haue good endynge
I do graunte mercy but no tyme enlongynge
Wherfore good brederne whyles that ye haue space.
Amende your lyfe and come vnto my grace
My wordes my prelates vnto you do preche
For to conuerte you from your wretchednes
But lytell anaylleth you nowe for to teche
The worlde hathe cast you in suche blyndnes
Lyke vnto stones your harres hathe hardnes
That my swete wordes may not reconsyle
Your hertes harde with mortall synne so vyle
Wo worthe your hartes so planted in pryde
Wo worthe your wrath and mortall enuye
Wo worthe slouth that dothe with you abyde
Wo worthe also inmesurable glotony
Wo worthe your tedyus synne of lechery
Wo worthe you whome I gaue free wyll
Wo worthe couetyse that dothe your soules spyll
Wo worthe shorte Ioye cause of payne eternall
Wo worthe you that be so peruerted
Wo worthe your pleasures in the synnes mortall
Wo worthe you for whome I sore smerted
Wo worthe you euer but ye be conuerted
Wo worthe you whose makynge I repente
Wo worthe your horryble synne so vyolente
Wo worthe you whiche do me forsake
Wo worthe you whiche wyllyngely offende
Wo worthe your swerynge whiche dothe not aslake
Wo worthe you whiche wyll nothynge amende
Wo worthe vyce that dothe on you attende
Wo worthe your grete vnkyndenes to me
Wo worthe your hertes withouten pyte
Wo worthe your falshode and your doublenesse
Wo worthe also your corrupte Iugement
Wo worthe delyte in worldely rychesse
Wo worthe debate without extynguyshement
Wo worthe your wordes so moche impacyent
Wo worthe you vnto whome I dyde bote
And worthe you that tere me at the rote
Blessyd be ye that loue humylyte
Blessyd be ye that loue trouthe and pacyence
Blessyd be ye folowynge werkes of equyte
Blessyd be ye that loue well abstynence
Blessyd be ye vyrgyns of excellence
Blessyd be ye whiche loue well vertue
Blessyd be ye whiche do the worlde eschue
Blessyd be ye that heuenly Ioye do loue
Blessyd be ye in vertuous gouernaunce
Blessyd be ye whiche do pleasures reproue
Blessyd be ye that consyder my greuaunce
Blessyd be ye whiche do take repentaunce
Blessyd be ye remembrynge my passyon
Blessyd be ye makynge petycyon
Blessyd be ye folowynge my trace
Blessyd be ye louynge trybulacyon
Blessyd be ye not wyllynge to trespace
Blessyd be ye of my castycacyon
Blessyd be ye of good operacyon
Blessyd be ye vnto me ryght kynde
Blessyd be you whiche haue me in your mynde
Blessyd be ye leuynge yll company
Blessyd be ye hauntynge the vertuous
Blessyd be ye that my name magnefy
Blessyd be ye techynge the vycyous
Blessyd be ye good and relygyous
Blessyd be ye in the lyfe temperall
Whiche applye yourselfe to Ioye celestyall
The brytyll worlde ryght often transmutable
Who wyll in it his lyfe and tyme well spende
Shall Ioye attayne after inestymable
For in the worlde he must fyrst condyscende
To take grete payne as his power wyll extende
Agaynst the worlde the flesshe and the deuyll
By my grete grace for to withstande theyr euyll
For who can be a gretter fole than he
That spendeth his tyme to hym vncertayne
For a breuyat pleasure of worldly vanyte
Than after that to haue eternall payne
Who of the worlde delyteth and is fayne
Shall after sorowe and cry ve ve
In an other worlde quante sunt tenebre
Who is wyser than he that wyll applye
In the worlde take payne by due dylygence
After shorte payne to come grete glorye
Whiche is eterne moost hye of excellence
Where he shall se my grete magnyfycence
With many aungelles whiche for theyr solace
Insacyately do beholde my face
Regarde no Ioye of the erthly consystory
For lyke as Phebus dothe the snowe relente
So passeth the Ioyes of the worlde transytory
Tyme renneth fast tyll worldely lyfe be spente
Consyder this in your entendemente
Blessed be they that my wordes do here
And kepe it well/for they are to me dere
Therfore good brederne your hertes enclyne
To loue and drede me that am omnipotent
Bothe god and man in Ioye celestyne
Beholde my body all to torne and rente
With your spytefull othes cruell and vyolente
I loue you ye hate me ye are to harde herted
I helpe you ye tere me lo how for you I smerted
Mercy and peace dyde make an vnyte
Bytwene you and me but trouth & ryght wysnesse
Do nowe complayne byddynge my godheed se
How that ye breke the lege of sothfastnesse
They tell me that by Iustyce doubtelesse
I must take vengeaunce vpon you sykerly
That by your swerynge/agayne me crucefye
For at the request of good mercy and peace
I haue forborne you longe and many a daye
Yet more and more your synnes do encrease
Wherfore my Iustyce wyll no more delaye
But take vengeaunce for all your proude araye
I warne you ofte ye are nothynge the better
But ye amende my vengeaunce shall be gretter

Contra iuratores {epui} in celo crucifigentes per vera ardū dixit dominne. Nonne satis pro te vulneratus sum? nonne satis pro te afflictus sum desine amplius peccare qr magis aggrauat vulnus peccati &quod; vulnus lateris mei

Am not I wounded for the suffycyent
Haue I not for the ynoughe afflyccyon
Leue more to synne by good amendement
The wounde of synne to me is more passyon
Than the wounde of my syde for thy redempcyon
Thoughe I do spare I shall not desteny
But ye amende to brenne eternally
With my blody woundes I dyde your chartre seale
Why do you tere it/why do ye breke it so
Syth it to you is the eternall heale
And the releace of euerlastynge wo
Beholde this lettre with the prynte also
Of myn owne seale by perfyte portrayture
Prynte it in mynde and ye shall helthe recure
And ye kynges and lordes of renowne
Exhorte your seruauntes theyr swerynge to cease
Come vnto me and cast your synne adowne
And I my vengeaunce shall truely releace
With grace and plente/I shall you encreace
And brynge you whiche reuolue inwardly
This my complaynt/to eternall glory.
Amen.

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Poems by Stephen Hawes, Stephen Hawes's poems collection. Stephen Hawes is a classical and famous poet (1474-1523 / England). Share all poems of Stephen Hawes.

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