A sweet Sonnet, wherein the Lover exclaimeth against
Fortune for the loss of his Ladies favour, almost past hope to get again, and in the end
receives a comfortable answer, and attains his desire, as may here appear.
To the Tune of Fortune my Foe.
The Lovers complaint for the loss
of his Love.
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FOrtune my foe, why dost thou frown on me
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And will thy favour never better be?
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Wilt thou I say, for ever breed my pain,
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And wilt thou not restore my joys again?
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Fortune hath wrought my grief & great annoy
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Fortune hath falsly stoln my love away;
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My love and joy, whose sight did make me glad
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Such great misfortunes never young man had.
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Had fortune took my treasure and my store,
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Fortune had never griev'd me half so sore,
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But takeing her whereon my heart did stay,
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Fortune thereby hath took my life away;
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Far worse then death my life I lead in woe,
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With bitter thoughts still tossed too and fro.
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O cruel chance, thou breeder of my pain,
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Take life, or else restore my love againe.
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In vain I sigh, in vain I wail and weep,
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In vain mine eyes refrain from quiet sleep,
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In vain I shed my tears both night and day,
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In vain my love my sorrows do bewray.
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My love doth not my pitteous plaint espy,
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Nor feels my love what griping grief I try;
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Full well I may false fortunes deeds reprove,
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Fortune that so unkindly keeps my love.
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Where shall I seek or search my love to find,
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When fortune fleets and wavers like the wind,
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Sometimes aloft, sometimes again below,
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Thus tottering fortune tottereth too and fro.
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Then will I leave my love in fortunes hands,
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My dearest love in most unconstant bands,
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And onely serve the sorrows dew to me,
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Sorrows hereafter, thou shalt my Mistris be,
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And onely joy, that sometimes conquers Kings,
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Fortune that rules on earth & earthly things,
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So that alone I live not in this woe,
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For many more hath fortune served so.
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No man alive can fortunes spight withstand,
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With wisdom, skill, or mighty strength of hand,
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In midst of mirth she bringeth bitter Moan,
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And woe to me that hath her hatred known.
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If wisdoms eyes had but biind fortune seen,
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Then had my love, my love for ever beeu;
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Then love farewel, though fortune favour thee,
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No fortune frail shall ever conquer me,
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The Ladies comfortable and pleasant
Answer.
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AH silly soul, art thou so sore afraid?
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Mourn not my dear nor be not so dismaid
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Fortune cannot withall her power and skill,
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Enforce my heart to think the any ill,
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Blame not thy chance, nor envy at thy choice,
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No cause thou hast to curse, but to rejoyce,
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Fortune shall not thy joy and love deprive,
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If by my love it may remain alive.
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Receive therefore thy life again to thee,
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Thy life and love shall not be lost by me,
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And while thy heart upon thy life do stay,
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Fortune shall never steal the same away.
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Live thou in bliss and banish death to Hell,
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All careful thoughts see thou from thee expel;
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As thou doth wish, thy love agrees to be,
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For proof whereof I come my self to thee.
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In vain therefore do neither wail nor weep,
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In vain therefore break not thy quiet sleep,
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Wast not in vain thy time in sorrow so,
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For why thy love delights to ease thy woe.
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Full well thy love thy privy pangs doth see,
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And soon thy love will send to sucker thee:
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Tho well thou may'st false fortunes deeds reprove,
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Yet cannot fortune keep away thy love.
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Nor will thy love at fortunes back abide,
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Whose fickle wheel doth often slip aside,
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And never think that fortune beareth sway
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If vertue watch, and will not her obey,
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Pluck up thy heart supprest with brinish tears,
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Torment me not, but take away thy fears;
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Thy Mistris mind brooks no unconstant bands
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Much less to live in rueing fortunes hands.
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Though mighty Kings by fortune get the foyl,
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Losing thereby their travel and their toyl;
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Though fortune be to me a cruel foe,
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Fortune shall not make me to serve thee so.
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For fortunes spight thou needst not care a pin,
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For thou thereby shall neither loose nor win;
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If faithful love and favour I do find.
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My recompence shall not remain behind.
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Dye not in fear, nor live in discontent,
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Be thou not slain, where never blood was ment
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Revive again, to faint thou hast no need,
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The less afraid, the better thou shalt speed,
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A New Ballad, intituled, The Stout Cripple of Cornwal;
wherein is shewed, his Dissolute Life, an deserved death.
The Tune is, The Blind Begger.
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OF a stout Cripple that kept the High-way,
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And beg'd for his living all time of the day.
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A story I'le tell you that pleasant shall be
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The Cripple of Cornwal sir-named was he.
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He crept on his hands, and knees up and down,
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In a torn Jacket, and a ragged torn Gown,
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For he had never a leg to the knee,
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The Cripple of Cornwel sir-named was he.
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He was of stomack couragious and stout,
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For he had no cause to complain of the Gout,
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To go upon stilts most cunning was he,
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With a staff on his neck most gallant to see.
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Yea no good fellowship would he forsake,
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Were it in secret a purse for to take,
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His help was as good as any might be,
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The Cripple of Cornwel sir-named was he.
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When he upon any service did go,
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The Crafty young Cripple provided it so:
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His stool he kept close in an old hollow tree,
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That stood from the City a mile 2 or three.
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Thus all the day long he beg'd for relief,
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And all the night long he plaid the false thief,
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And seven years together this custom kept he,
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And no man knew him such a person to be.
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There were few Grasiers that went on the way,
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But unto the Cripple for passege did pay,
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And every brave Merchant that he did discry,
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He emtied their purses e're they passed by.
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The noble Lord Courtney both gallant & bold,
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Rode forth with great plenty of silver and gold;
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At Exetor there a purchase to pay,
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But that the false Cripple his journey did stay:
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For why the false Cripple heard tydings of late,
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As he sat for alms at the Noblemans gate,
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This is (quoth the Cripple) a booty for me,
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And i'le follow closely, as closely may be.
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Then to his companions the matter he moved,
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which their false actions before time had proved
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they make themselves ready & deeply they swear
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The Monies their own before they come there.
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Upon his two stilts the Cripple did mount,
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To have the best share it was his full account-
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All cloathed in Canvas down to the ground,
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He took up his place his mates with him round.
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Then came the Lord C. wi'h half a score men,
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Yet little suspecting these thieves in their Den.
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And they perceiving them come to their hand,
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In a dark evening bid them to stand,
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Deliver thy purse quod the Cripple with speed.
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For we be good fellows & thereof have need
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Not so quod L. Courtney, but this i'le tell ye,
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Win it and wear it, else get none of me.
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With that the L. Courtney stood in his defence
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And so did his servants, but e'r they went hence:
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Two of the true-men were slain in the fight,
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And four of the theives were put to the flight.
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And while for their safeguard they run thus away
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The jolly bold cripple did hold them in play,
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And with his Pike-staff he wounded them so,
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As they were unable to run or to go.
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With fighting the Lord Courtney was out of breath,
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and most of his servants were wounded to death,
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Then came other Hors-men riding so fast,
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The Cripple wos forced to fly at the last.
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And over a River that ran there beside,
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Which was very deep and eighteen foot wide,
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With his long stafe and stilts leaped he,
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And shifted himself in an old hollow tree,
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Then througout the city was hue and cry made
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To have these thieves apprehended and staid.
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The Cripple he creeps on his hands & his knees,
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And in the high-way great passing he sees,
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And as they came riding, he begging doth say,
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O give me one penny good masters I pray.
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And thus unto Exeter creeps he along,
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No man suspecting that he had done wrong:
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Anon the Lord Courtney he spyes in the street,
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He comes unto him and kisses his feet;
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Saying, God save your honour, & keep you from ill
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And from the hand of your enemy still.
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Amen quod L. Courtney & therewith threw down
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Unto the poor Cripple an English Crown.
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Away went the Cripple and thus he did think,
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five hundered pound more will make me to drink
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In vain that hue and cry it was made.
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They found none of them tho the country was laid
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But this grieved the cripple night & day,
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That he so unluckily mist of his prey.
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Nine hundred pound the Cripple had got,
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By begging and thieving so good was his lot;
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A thousand pound he would make it up he said,
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And then he would give over his trade.
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But as he strived his mind to full-fill,
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In following his actions so lewd and so ill:
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At last he was taken the law to suffice,
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Condemned and hanged at Exeter Size,
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Which made all men amazed to see,
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That such an impudent Cripple as he,
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Should venture himself to such actions as they
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To rob in such sort upon the high-way.
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FINIS.
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