The choysest Flowers of our Moderne
Poets, with their Poeticall comparisons.
Descriptions of Bewties, Personages, Castles,
Pallaces, Mountaines, Groves, Seas,
Springs, Rivers, &c.
Whereunto are annexed other various discourses,
both pleasaunt and profitable.
Imprinted at London for N. L. C. B. and T. H. 1600.
PUBLISHED FOR N.L.C.B.
PUBLISHED FOR T.H.
|Affliction||7. vid. povertie.|
|Confusion of languages.||384|
|Care of children||462|
|Division of the day naturall.||324|
|Description of Mammo||256|
|Description of Beautie and Personage.||385|
|Descript. of Pall. Cast. &c.||466|
|Descrip. of seas, Rivers, &c.||478|
|Mediae noctis inclinatio||324|
|Proper Epithites, &c.||482|
And here and there with every wind she flings:
Nothing so secret but to her appeareth,
And apt to credit every thing she heareth.
Foule babling, tell tale, secrets soone bewraier,
The aire bred Eccho, the speaker of lies:
Shrill-sounding trompet, truths unkind betraier.
False larum-bell, awaking dead mens eies.
Fond pratling parrat telling all thou hearest,
Oft furthest off, when as thou shouldst be nearest.
The path is set with danger, leads to fame,
When Minos did the Grecians flight denie,
He made him wings and mounted through the skie.
Still fame wil grow if once abroad it flie,
Whether it be a troth, or be a lie.
Fame doth explore what lies most secret hidden,
Entring the closet of the pallace dweller,
A broad revealing what i [...] forbidden,
Of truth and falshood both an equall teller,
Tis not a guard can serve for to expell her:
The sword of justice cannot cut her wings,
Nor stoppe her mouth from uttering secret things.
Celestiall goddesse ever-living fame,
Minervaes daughter by faire Maias sonne,
Of all th'inhabitants of heavens faire frame:
Most highly honored since the world begunne,
And shall be till the fatall glasse be runne.
Soules sweet receit, the healths restorative:
Hearts cordiall, the minds preservative.
Goddesse of thoughts, muse animating appetite,
Aulter of honour, simple of renowne,
Shrine of devotion, yeelding art her merite:
Lifes richest treasure, vertues gorgious gowne,
Heavens best abilliment, Ariadnes crowne.
The Cynosura of the purest thought,
Faire Helice, by whom the heart is taught.
Ch. Fitz Ieffrey.
A grisly shape of Famine might we see,
With greedy lookes and gaping mouth that cride
And would torment as she should there have dide:
Her body thin and bare as any bone,
Whereto was left nought but the case alone:
And that alas was gnawne on every where,
All full of holes, that I ne mought refraine
From teares to see how she her armes could teare,
And with her teeth gnash on her bones in vaine,
When all for nought she faine would so sustaine
Her starven corps, that rather seem'd a shade,
Then any substance of a creature made.
Great was her force, whom stone walles could not stay,
Her tearing nayles snatching at all she sawe:
With gaping iawes, that by no meanes y may
Be satisfied from hunger of her mawe,
But eates her selfe, as she that hath no lawe:
Gnawing alas her carkas all in vaine,
While you may count each sinew, bone and vaine:
On her, while we thus firmly fixt our eie,
That bled for [...]uth of such a drery sight,
Lo suddenly she shrikte in so huge wise,
As made hell gates to shiver with the might:
Where with a dart we sawe how it did light
Right on his brest, and therewithall pale death
Enthrilling it, to reave her of her breath.
Meane cates are welcome still to hungry guests.
Fancie we feele includes all passions might.
S. Phil. Sydney.
Fancie by kind, with reason striveth still.
What God hath said, that cannot but ensue,
Though all the world would have it overthrowne:
When men suppose by fetches of their owne
To flie their Fate, they further on the same,
Like blasts of winde, which oft revive the flame.
M. of M.
The heavens do rule in their continuall course,
That yeelds to Fate, that doth not yeeld to force.
Chaunce is uncertaine, fortune double faced.
Ed. Fairfax. Transl.
---Demogorgon ruler of the Fates.
---The Fates can make
Waie for themselves, their purpose to pertake.
---What the Fates do once decree,
Not all the gods can chaunge, nor Iove himself can free.
---The lawes of Fate
Being grau'n in steele, must stand inuiolate.
Who can escape what his owne Fate hath wrought,
The work of heavens wil, surpasse all humane thought.
---Who can deceive his destenie?
Or weene by warning to avoid his Fate?
That when he sleepes in more securitie
And safest seemes, him soonest doth amate,
And findeth due effect, or soone or late
So feeble is the power of fleshly arme.
---Indeed the Fates are firme,
And may not shrinke though all the word do shake:
Yet ought mens good endevours them confirme,
And guide the heavenly causes to their co~stant terme.
Each man they say his Fate hath in his hands,
And what he makes or marres to leese or save,
Of good or evil, is even selfe do, selfe have.
I. H. M. of M.
The Fates farre off, foreseene come gently neare.
Our Fate is not prevented though fore-knowne,
For that must hap decreed by heavenly powers,
Who worke our fall, yet make the fault still ours.
A golden treasure is the [...]ried friend,
But who may gold from counterfeits defend?
Trust not to soone, nor yet to soone mistrust,
With th'one thy selfe, with th'other thy friend thou hurtst,
Who twines betwixt, & stears the golde~ mean,
Nor rashly loveth, nor mistrusts in vaine.
Mir. of M.
--- Friends are geason now a daies,
And growe to fume before they taste the fier:
Aquersitie bereaving mans availes,
They flie like feathers dallying in the winde.
They rise like bubbles in a stormy raine,
Swelling in words, and flying faith and deeds.
Faint friends when they fall out, most cruel foemen be.
Better a new friend, then an old foe is said.
He that will thrive, must thinke no courses vile.
No hurt but good (who meanes to multiplie)
Bought wit is deare, and drest with sower sauce,
Repentance comes too late, and then say I,
Who spares the first, and keepes the last unspent
Shall find that sparing yeelds a goodly rent.
Let first thine owne hand hold fast all that comes,
But let the other learne his letting flie:
--- Furie furiously mans life assailes
With thousand cannons, sooner felt then seene,
Where weakest, strongest, fraught with deadly teene,
Blind, crooked, blisterd, melancholy, sad,
Many-nam'd poyson, minister of death,
Which from us creepes, but to us gallopeth.
Foule, trouble rest, phantasticke, greedy-gut,
Bloud sweating, hearts-theefe, wretched, filthy-slut
The childe of surfait and aires-temper vicious,
Perillous knowne, but unknowne most pernicious.
--- Furie cruell cursed wight,
That unto Knighthood workes much shame and woe,
And that same hag, his aged mother hight,
Occasion, the roote of all wrath and dispight.
With her, who so will raging Furie tame,
Must first begin, and welther amenage,
First her restraine from her reproachfull blame
And evill meanes, with which she doth enrage
Her franticke sonne, and kindles his courage,
Then when she is withdrawne, or strong withstood,
Is eath his Idle Furie to asswage,
And calme this tempest of his passion wood,
The bankes are overflowne, when so sped is the flood.
Furie was red with rage, his eyes did glowe,
While flakes of fier from forth his mouth did flowe
His hands and armes y bath'd in bloud of those
Whom fortune, sinne, or fate made countries foes.
---True Gentrie standeth in the trade
Of vertuous life, not in the fleshly line,
For bloud is knit, but Gentrie is divine.
I. H. M. of M.
Above cognizance or armes, or pedigree farre,
An unspotted coate, is like a blazing starre.
Kind Amalthea was transformd by Iove,
Into his sparkling pavement, for his love,
Though but a goate, and giving him her milke,
Bazenes is flinty Gentrie, soft as silke.
In heaven she lives, and rules a living signe
In humane bodies: yet not so divine,
That she can worke her kindnes in our hearts.
The true Gentilitie by their owne armes
Advance themselves, the falls by others harmes.
--- By his side rode loathsome Gluttonie,
Deformed creature, on a filthy swine:
His belly was upblowen with luxurie,
And eke with fatnes, swollen were his eine.
And like a Crane, his necke was long and fine,
With which he swallowed up excessive feast,
For want of which, poore people oft did pine,
And all the way most like a brutish swine,
He spued up his gorge, that all did him detest.
Fat paunches have leane pates, and daintie bits
Make rich the ribs, but bankrout quite the wits.
Your appetites O gluttons to content,
The sacred breast of Thetis blew, is rent:
The aire must be dispeopled for your mawes,
The Phoenix sole can scarce escape your clawes.
Th. Hudson. Transl.
Of little nature lives, superfluous meate
But dulls the spirit, and doth the stomacke freate.
Who fareth finest, doth but feed, and overfeedeth oft,
Who sleepeth softest doth but sleep, and sometimes oversoft.
--- Excesse doth worke accesse to sinne.
O plague, O poyson to the warlike state,
Thou mak'st the noble hearts effeminate,
While Rome was rul'd by Curioes and Fabrices,
Who fed on rootes, and sought not for delices.
And when the onely Cressons was the foode,
Most delicate to Persia then they stoode
In happie state, renown'd in peace and warre,
And through rhe world their triumphs spread a farre.
But when they after in th'Assirian hall,
Had heard the lessons of Sardanopall,
And when the other given to belly-cheare,
By Galbaes, Neroes, Vitels govern'd were,
Who gloried more to fill a costly plate,
Then kill a Pirrhus or a Mithridate.
Then both of them were seene for to be sacked
By nations poore, whom they before had wracked.
Th. Hudson. Transl.
O glutton throates, O greedie guts profound,
The chosen meates which in the world his bound,
By th' Abderois invented, may not stanch
Nor satisfie your foule devouring panch,
But must in Moluke seeke the spices fine,
Canary suger, and the Candy wine.
Fatnesse by nature (not immoderate)
Kils not the wit, quels not the mindes estate.
But fatnes by intemperance increast,
When living man resembseth loathsome beast:
And belly cheare, with greedie gluttonie
Is held the fulnesse of felicitie.
This maketh men addicted to the same,
Dull in conceit, grosse minded, worthy blame.
Of such do Basis, Galen, Plato write:
That fattest belly hath the weakest sprite.
--- O short, ô dangerous madnesse,
That in thy rage doest trustie Clytus smother,
By his deare friend: Panthea by his mother.
Phrenzie, that makes the vaunter insolent,
The talkefull blab, cruell and violent,
The fornicator waxe adulterous,
Th'adulterer to become incestuous,
With thy plagues leven, swelling all our crimes
Blinde, shamelesse, senslesse, quenching oftentimes
The soule within it selfe: and oft defames
The holiest men, with execrable flames.
Like as the must beginning to reboyle,
Makes his new vessell wood-bands to recoyle:
Lifts up his lees, and spues with fuming vent,
From this tubbes ground his scumming excrement.
So ruinist thou thy hoast, and foolishly
From his hearts bottome driu'st all secrecy.
The voyce that goeth of your unspotted fame,
Is like a tender flowre, that with the blast
Of every little winde doth fade away.
G. Gascoigne. Transl.
The purest treasure mortall times affoord,
Is spotlesse reputation, that away,
Men are but guilded trunkes, or painted clay.
You cannot be too curious of you name,
Fond show of ill (though still the mind be chaste)
Decaies the credit oft that Ladies had,
Sometimes the place presumes a wanton minde,
Repaire sometimes of some doth hurt their honour.
Sometimes the light and garish proud attire,
Perswades a yeelding bent of pleasing youthes.
---Dearth the lively forme of death,
Still yawning wide with lothsome stinking breath,
With hollow eyes, with meger cheekes and chinne,
With sharpe leane bones, piercing her sable skinne,
Her emptie bowels may bee plainely spide,
Cleane through the wrinckles of her withered hide,
Shee hath no bellie, but the bellies seate,
Her knees and knuckles swelling very great,
Insatiate Orque, that even at one repaste,
Almost all creatures in the world with waste,
Whose greedie gorge dish after dish doth draw,
Seekes meate in meate, for still her monstrous maw
Voydes in devouring, and sometimes she eates
Her owne deere babes, for lacke of other meates,
Nay more sometimes (O strangest gluttonie,)
Shee eates her selfe, her selfe to satisfie,
Lessning her selfe, her selfe so to inlarge,
And cruell thus, shee doth our grandfire charge,
And brings beside from Limbo to assist her,
Rage, feeblenesse, and thirst her ruthlesse sister.
---Cruell thirst came out of Cyren land,
Where shee was fostered on the burning sand,
With hote intracted tongue, and sunken eine,
With stomacke worne, and wrinckled visage keene
With light and meagre, corse, and pailed vaines,
In steede of bloud, that brimstone hot retaines,
Her poysoned mouth blew through that holy towne,
Such hellish aire, that stiffeled up and down.
This said, as soone confusedly did bound,
Through all the work, I wote not what strange sound,
A iangling noyse, not much unlike the rumors
Of Bacchus Swaines, amid their drunken humors:
Some speake betweene the teeth, some in the nose:
Some in the throate their words doe ill dispose:
Some howle and cry, and some stut and straine,
Each hath his gibberish, and all strive in vaine.
To finde againe their knowne beloved tong,
That with their milk they suckt in cradle yong:
Arise betimes while th'opal-coloured morne,
In golden pompe dooth May dayes doore adorne;
And patient, heare th'all differing voyces sweet
Of painted fingers, that in Groves doe greete:
There love Bon-iours each in his phrase and fashion,
From trembling pearch, uttering his earnest passion,
And so thou mayest conceite what mingle mangle
Among this people every where did iangle.
Bring me (quoth one) a trowell, quickly, quicke,
One brings him up a hammer; hew this bricke
Another bids, and then they cleave a tree:
Make fast this rope, and then they let it flee,
One calls for planks, another morter lacks:
They beare the first a stone, the last an axe,
One would have spikes, and him a spade they gave,
Another askes a sawe, and gets a sive;
Thus crosly crost, they prate and poynt in vaine,
What one hath made, another marrs againe,
Nigh breathlesse all, with theyr confused yawling
In bootelesse labour, now begins appawling.
Daughter of Time, sincere Posteritie,
Alwayes new borne, yet no man knowes thy birth,
The arbitresse of pure Sinceritie,
Yet, changeable, (like Proteus) on the earth,
Sometime in plenty, sometime joynd with dearth.
Alwayes to come, yet alwayes present heere,
Whom all runne after, none come after neere.
Unpartiall Judge of all save present state,
Truth's Idioma of the things are past,
But still pursuing present things with hate,
And more injurious at the first then last,
Preserving others, while thine owne do wast:
True treasurer of all antiquitie,
Whom all desire, yet never o [...] could see.
Char. Fitz Ieffrey.