Ah! wretched World! the house of heavinesse,
Fild with the wreaks of mortall miserie;
Ah! wretched World! and all that is therein, 125
The vassals of Gods wrath, and slaves to sin.
Most miserable creature under sky
Man without Understanding doth appeare;
For all this worlds affliction he thereby,
And Fortunes freakes, is wisely taught to beare: Of wretched life the onely ioy shee is,
And th' only comfort in calamities.
She armes the brest with constant patience
Against the bitter throwes of Dolours darts:
She solaceth with rules of Sapience
The gentle minds, in midst of worldly smarts: When he is sad, shee seeks to make him merie, And doth refresh his sprights when they be werię.
But he that is of reasons skill bereft,
And wants the staffe of wisedome him to stay,
Is like a ship in midst of tempest left,
Withouten helme or pilot her to sway:
Full sad and dreadfull is that ships event;
So is the man that wants intendiment.
Why then doo foolish men so much despize 145
The precious store of this celestiall riches?
Why doo they banish us, that patronize
The name of Learning? Most unhappie wretches!
The which lie drowned in deep wretchednes,
Yet doo not see their owne unhappinesse.
My part it is, and my professed skill,
The stage with tragick buskin to adorne,
And fill the scene with plaints and outcries shrill
Of wretched persons to misfortune borne:
But none more tragick matter I can finde
Than this, of men depriv'd of sense and minde.
For all mans life me seemes a tragedy
Full of sad sights and sore catastrophees;
First comming to the world with weeping eye,
Where all his dayes, like dolorous trophees, 100
Are heapt with spoyles of fortune and of feare,
And he at last laid forth on balefull beare.
So all with ruefull spectacles is fild,
Fit for Megæra or Persephone,
But I, that in true tragedies am skild,
The flowre of wit, finde nought to busie me:
Therefore I mourne and pitifully mone,
Because that mourning matter I have none.-—
Then gan she wofully to waile, and wring
Her wretched hands in lamentable wise;
And all her sisters, thereto answering,
Threw forth lowd shrieks and drerie dolefull cries.
So rested she and then the next in rew
Began her grievous plaint, as doth ensue.
WHERE be the sweete delights of learnings trea-
That wont with comick sock to beautefie [sure,
The painted threaters, and fill with pleasure
The listners eyes and eares with melodie;
In which I late was wont to raine as queene,
And maske in mirth with graces well beseene? 180
O! all is gone; and all that goodly Glee,
Which wont to be the glorie of gay wits,
Is layd abed, and no where now to see;
And in her roome unseemly Sorrow sits,
With hollow browes and griesly countenaunce,
Marring my ioyous gentle dalliaunce.
And him beside sits ugly Barbarisme,
And brutish Ignorance, ycrept of late
Out of dredd darknes of the deepe abysme,
Where being bredd, he light and heaven does bate:
They in the mindes of men now tyrannize,
And the faire scene with rudenes foule disguize.
All places they with follie have possest,
And with vaine toyes the vulgar entertaine,
But me have banished, with all the rest
That whilome wont to wait upon my traine,
Fine Counterfesaunce, and unhurtfull Sport,
Delight, and Laughter, deckt in seemly sort.
All these, and all that els the comick stage
With seasoned wit and goodly pleasance graced,
By which mans life, in his fiest imáge,
Was limned forth, are wholly now defaced;
And those sweete wits, which wont the like to frame,
Are now despizd, and made a laughing game.
And he, the man whom Nature selfe had made
To mock her selfe, and truth to imitate
With kindly counter under mimick shade,
Our pleasant Willy, ah! is dead of late:
With whom all ioy and iollie meriment
Is also deaded, and in dolour drent.
In stead thereof, scoffing Scurrilitie,
And scornfull Follie with Contempt is crept,
Rolling in rymes of shamelesse ribaudrie
Without regard, or due decorum kept;
Each idle wit at will persumes to make,
And doth the Learneds taske upon him take.
But that same gentle Spirit, from whose pen Large streames of honnie and sweef nectar flowe, Scorning the boldnes of such base-borne men, Which dare their follies forth so rashlie throwe, Doth rather choose to sit in idle cell,
Than so himselfe to mockerie to sell.
So am I made the servant of the manie,
And laughing-stocke of all that list to scorne,
Not honored nor cared for of anie ;
But loath'd of losels as a thing forlorne;
Therefore I mourne and sorrow with the rest,
Untill my cause of sorrow be redrest.—
Therewith she loudly did lament and shrike,
Pouring forth streames of teares abundantly, 23
And all her sisters, with compassion like,
The breaches of her singulfs did supply.
So rested shee; and then the next in rew
Began her grievous plaint, as doth ensew.
LIKE as the dearling of the summers pryde, 235
Fair Philomele, when winters stormie wrath
The goodly fields, that erst so gay were dyde
In colours divers, quite despoyled hath,
All comfortlesse doth hide her cheerlesse head
During the time of that her widowhead :
So we, that earst were wont in sweet accord
All places with our pleasant notes to fill,
Whilest favourable times did us afford
Free libertie to chaunt our charmes at will;
All comfortlesse upon the bared bow,
Like woful culvers, doo sit wayling now.
For far more bitter storme than winters stowre,
The beautie of the world hath lately wasted,
And those fresh buds, which wont so faire to flowre,
Hath marred quite, and all their blossoms blasted;
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