Specimens of English literature from the 'Ploughmans crede' to the ...

Specimens of English literature from the 'Ploughmans crede' to the ... Specimens of English literature from the 'Ploughmans crede' to the ...

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;;;;;224 XX. SIR THOMAS WIAT.Ferde of her life,at home she wisht her the,And to the dore (alas) as she did skippe,The heauen it would, lo ! and eke her chance was so,At the threshold her sely fote did tripleAnd ere she might recouer it agayne, 65The traytour cat had caught her by the hippe,And made her there against hir will remayne,That had forgot her power, surety, and rest,^ For semyng welth, wherin she thought to raine. __-^'Alas (my Poyns) how men do seke the best, 70And finde the worst, by errour as they strayAnd no maruell, when sight is so opprest,And blindes the guide, anone out of the wayGoeth guide and all, in seking^^^uiet life.O wretched mindes, there is no gplde that may 75Graunt that you seke, no warre, no peace, no strife.No, no, although thy head were hoopt with golde,Sergeant with mace, with hawbart, sword, nor knife,Can not repulse the care that folow should.Ech kinde of life hath with him his disease. 80Liue in delite, euen as thy lust would.And thou shalt finde, when lust doth most thee please,It irketh straight, and by it-selfe doth fade.A small thing is it, that may thy minde appease.None of you al there is, that is so madde, 85To seke for grapes on brambles or on bryersNor none, I trow, that hath his witte so badde,To set his haye for conies ouer riuersNor ye set not a dragge-net for an hareAnd yet the thing, that most is your desire, 90You do misseke, with more trauell and care.Make plaine thine hart, that it be not knottedWith hope or dreade, and so thy will be bare

XX. (b) satire II. ;225From allaifectes, whom vice hath euer spottedThy-selfe content with that is thee assinde, 95And yse^ U wejl,jhat^alotted.Then seke no more out of thy-selfe to findeThe thing that thou hast sought so long beforeFor thou shalt feele itstickyng in thy minde.Maddcj ifj^ list to continue your sore, 100Let present passe, and gape on time to come,And dejge your-selfe in trauell more and more.Henceforth (my Poins) this shalbe all and summe,These wretched foles shall haue nought els of me,But [bow] to the great God and to his dome. 105None other paine pray I for them to be,But when the rage doth leade them from the right,That, lokyng backward, Vertue they may se,Euen as she is, so goodly fayre and bright.And whilst they claspe their lustes in armes a-crosse,Graunt them, good Lord, as thou maist of thy might.To freate inward, for losyng such a losse.no(B) Of the Courtiers ti/e, written to John Poins.A/TYne owne lohn Poyns, sins ye delite to knowThe causes why that homeward I me draw.And fie the prease of courtes, where so they go.Rather then to Hue thrall, vnder the aweOf lordly lokes, wrapped within my cloke, 5To will and lust learnyng to set a lawIt is not that ^ because I scorne or mockeThe power of them, whom fortune here hath lentCharge ouer vs, of ryght to strike the stroke^The word ' that' is inserted in second ed. The first ed. omits it.Q

;;;;;224 XX. SIR THOMAS WIAT.Ferde <strong>of</strong> her life,at home she wisht her <strong>the</strong>,And <strong>to</strong> <strong>the</strong> dore (alas) as she did skippe,The heauen it would, lo ! and eke her chance was so,At <strong>the</strong> threshold her sely fote did tripleAnd ere she might recouer it agayne, 65The tray<strong>to</strong>ur cat had caught her by <strong>the</strong> hippe,And made her <strong>the</strong>re against hir will remayne,That had forgot her power, surety, and rest,^ For semyng welth, wherin she thought <strong>to</strong> raine. __-^'Alas (my Poyns) how men do seke <strong>the</strong> best, 70And finde <strong>the</strong> worst, by errour as <strong>the</strong>y strayAnd no maruell, when sight is so opprest,And blindes <strong>the</strong> guide, anone out <strong>of</strong> <strong>the</strong> wayGoeth guide and all, in seking^^^uiet life.O wretched mindes, <strong>the</strong>re is no gplde that may 75Graunt that you seke, no warre, no peace, no strife.No, no, although thy head were hoopt with golde,Sergeant with mace, with hawbart, sword, nor knife,Can not repulse <strong>the</strong> care that folow should.Ech kinde <strong>of</strong> life hath with him his disease. 80Liue in delite, euen as thy lust would.And thou shalt finde, when lust doth most <strong>the</strong>e please,It irketh straight, and by it-selfe doth fade.A small thing is it, that may thy minde appease.None <strong>of</strong> you al <strong>the</strong>re is, that is so madde, 85To seke for grapes on brambles or on bryersNor none, I trow, that hath his witte so badde,To set his haye for conies ouer riuersNor ye set not a dragge-net for an hareAnd yet <strong>the</strong> thing, that most is your desire, 90You do misseke, with more trauell and care.Make plaine thine hart, that it be not knottedWith hope or dreade, and so thy will be bare

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