EBBA 32597

Huntington Library - Britwell

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Churchyardes Lamentacion of Freyndshyp.

IN Court some say doth freindshyp flowe,

And some to Court for freindshyp goe:

But I that walke the worlde aboute,

Could never yet fynde freyndshyp out.

For fynenesse shewes so fayre a face,

That freyndshyp hath no dwellynge place

Yea, depe dyssemblynge manners mylde,

Hath sayth and freindshyp both exylde:

The holowe harte is fowle and fell,

Wheare freyndshyp loketh now to dwell.

The humble speche and Syrenes songe

Hath shrouded freyndshyp over longe,

The wylye wordes that waves wyth wynde

Hath brought true frendshyp out of mynde:

And to be shorte, fayre wordes is all

The fruite that from the tree dothe fall.

Wordes weldes the worlde, & beares the swaye,

And freindshyp daylye dothe decaye:

Yet durste I make of it reporte,

it is amonge the meaner sorte,

If any faythe or freyndshyp bee:

But I so lytle freindshyp see,

I feare the vertue of the same

Consystes but in the gentle name.

The worlde is waxen now so nyce

That we have learnd the frenche devyce,

At your commaundement for a showe,

and meane no farther for to goe:

We are as free of promyse styll

as though we mente a great good wyll,

And brave it out for gloryes sake,

and much adoe therof we make,

To blase abrode our bountye great:

Tush man the fyre hath lost his heate,

The flame yeldes furthe but sparkles smal,

theare is no freyndshyp now at all.

Geve eare and here a pretye Jest:

Theare was a man (at my request)

That seemd an earnest freinde in dede,

and swore he wolde supplye my nede

Wyth all hys helpe he could devyse,

and ofte to blere hys Ladyes eyes,

And make her know hys lyberall mynde:

(for women Larges love of kynde.)

He promyst many a goodlye gyfte,

but when I put hym to hys shyfte,

For quycke performaunce of thys geare,

then backwarde gan he for to swarve

Eche worde had past hys mouth before.

I pray you now if we had store

Of such good freinds, when nede shuld cum

myght not a pore man stryke hys Drum

Before theyr dores wyth chereful sprete,

and sounde a marche in open strete

A thousand tymes amidste hys greefe,

or he should fynde thearby releefe?

Fyve hundred of such mates as thease

(whose freyndshyp is not worthe a pease,

Whose bravery shynes beyonde the Sunne,

yet slypper laddes when all is done.)

My hap hath bene to mete or thys:

beware I say the Judas kysse,

The flyrynge face the Parate gaye,

the bablynge tongue that hath no staye,

The fawner fyne that croutcheth lowe,

the plyant head that bendes lyke bowe,

Whose nature lykes not freindshyps lawe:

the gloryous man, the pratynge dawe.

Tut, tut, I warne thee oversoone,

ful longe had nede to be the spoone

A man should have for every feate

that wyth the dyvell thynkes to eate:

For dyvels in these dayes are to ryfe,

and thou must nedes leade out thy lyfe

Wyth depe dyssemblers every wayes:

the dyvels are much more to prayse

Then muffled men that myscheife breedes:

who are not knowen but by theyr deedes?

Oh frendshyp thou art much mysused

to be wyth freindes thus abused,

For freyndshyp should wyth open face

be seene and felt in every place.

Of playnenesse first was freyndshyp wrought,

Just as the Gods, and pure of thought:

Full free and franke as Lordes hath byn,

full bent the peoples hartes to wynne:

Full glad to fyll the nedye hande,

full fyrme of worde, and sure to stande

As Oke that every storme wyl byde:

not lost with want, nor wonne wyth pryde

And welthy pompe, the pumpe of synne,

that bryngeth every myscheife in:

But alwayes cleare from falseheddes trayne.

Than tell me now and do not fayne:

Where do that freindshyp buylde his bowre?

where is such freindshyp had thys howre?

Where maketh he now hys mansyon place?

or where (good Lord) hath men such grace

To lyght upon so great a blysse?

mans mynde and nature altered is:

The worlde in wyckednesse is drounde,

and trulye freindshyp is unsounde

And rotten lyke corrupted fruite,

though gloryous men wyll beare a brute

Of freindes, theyr freyndshyp is so colde

that we therof have lytle holde:

When it should serve our turne (god knowes)

we reape the weede, and plant the Rose:

We gape for golde, and grype but glasse:

now dothe such wordes of offyce passe

Tweene all estates bothe farre and nere,

that talke is nought but fayned chere

To make fayre weather for a whyle

tyl one the other do beguyle.

I tell the man who playes the parte

of wylye Fox, must lerne thys arte:

They are no small byrdes (as I gesse)

if I in authors maye expresse

The synnes that now be kept in store,

that puts in practyse this and more

To compasse cloked freindshyp fyne.

The Fowler never drawes hys lyne

So strayghte upon the selye fowle:

nor sure the byas of the bowle

Goeth not so strayghte on mayster blocke,

as dayly dothe thys dallyenge flocke

Upon the polycye of the brayne

to brynge the selye foole to trayne.

Men are so used these dayes wyth wordes,

they take them but for jestes and boordes

That Christmas Lordes were wonte to speke.

well, well, I say the worlde is weke,

And weker it is lyke to be,

when credyte out of the worlde shall flye,

When trust is gone, and trothe is dead,

and faythfull freyndshyp hydes hys head,

And wordes are help of none effecte,

and promyse faythfull is suspecte.

Farewell, al earthly hope is past,

I see our maners change so fast,

And suche affection leades our wyll

awrye, to fyckle freindshyp styll:

That sure true freindshyp sylent syttes,

and nought beares rule but wylye wyttes:

Unshamefaste wayes, and meare deceyte,

for playnenesse such a pleasante bayte,

As choketh up bothe hye and lowe,

and poysoneth all the worlde I trowe:

Wherfore synce freyndshyp takes hys leave,

and fynenesse dothe us all deceyve,

Let freyndshyppes name be banyshed quyte,

for sure it is a great dyspyte

To speke of freindshyp any tyme,

to make of freyndshyp prose or ryme,

Or gyve to freyndshyp anye prayse,

that is so frutelesse in our dayes.

Finis. quod. Churchyarde.
Imprinted at london by Thomas Col-
well for Nicolas Wyer dwelling in S.
Martyus parysshe nere to Charynge
Crosse, at the sygne of Saint
John Evangelist.

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EBBA 32597