Posts tagged ‘1576’

Thursday, 9 December 2021

The Calculation of Life by Jean Antoine de Baïf

Thou art aged; but recount,
Since thy early life began,
What may be the just amount
Thou shouldst number of thy span:
How much to thy debts belong,
How much when vain fancy caught thee,
How much to the giddy throng,
How much to the poor who sought thee,
How much to thy lawyer’s wiles,
How much to thy menial crew,
How much to thy lady’s smiles,
How much to thy sick-bed due,
How much for thy hours of leisure,
For thy hurrying to and fro,
How much for each idle pleasure,
If the list thy memory know.
Every wasted, misspent day,
Which regret can ne’er recall,
If all these thou tak’st away,
Thou wilt find thy age but small:
That thy years were falsely told,
And, even now, thou art not old.

From: Hunt, N. Clemmons (ed.), The Poetry of Other Lands. A Collection of Translations into English Verse of the Poetry of Other Languages, Ancient and Modern, 1883, Porter and Coates: Philadelphia, p. 322.

Date: 1576 (original in French); 1835 (translation in English)

By: Jean Antoine de Baïf (1532-1589)

Translated by: Louisa Stuart Costello (1799-1870)

Wednesday, 22 August 2018

A Prosopopoicall Speache of the Booke by Abraham Fleming (Flemyng)

Some tell of starres th’influence straunge,
Some tell of byrdes which flie in th’ayre,
Some tell of beastes on land which raunge,
⁠Some tell of fishe in rivers fayre,
Some tell of serpentes sundry sortes,
⁠Some tell of plantes the full effect,
Of English dogges I sound reportes,
⁠Their names and natures I detect,
My forhed is but baulde and bare:
⁠But yet my bod’ys beutifull,
For pleasaunt flowres in me there are,
⁠And not so fyne as plentifull;
And though my garden plot so greene,
⁠Of dogges receave the trampling feete,
Yet is it swept and kept full cleene,
⁠So that it yeelds a savour sweete.

From: Caius, John and Fleming, Abraham (transl.), Of Englishe Dogges, the Diversities, the Names, the Natures, and the Properties: A Short Treatise Written in Latine, 1850, A. Bradley: London, p. [unnumbered].

Date: 1576

By: Abraham Fleming (Flemyng) (c1552-1607)

Thursday, 25 February 2016

Who mindes to bring his shippe to happy shore, Must care to knowe the lawes of wysdomes lore by Jasper Heywood

My freend, yf thou wylt credite me in ought,
To whom the trueth by tryall well appeares;
Nought woorth is wit, till it be dearer bought,
There is no wysedome but in hoarie heares.
Yet yf I may of wysedome oft define,
As well as others have of happinesse;
Then to my woordes, my freende, thy eare encline;
The thinges that make thee wyse, are these, I gesse.

Feare God, and knowe thy selfe in eche degree,
Be freend to all, familier but to fewe;
Too light of credite, see thou never be,
For tryal oft in trust dooth treason shewe.
To others faultes cast not so much thy eye,
Accuse no man of gilt, amend thy owne;
Of medling much dooth mischiefe oft aryse,
And oft debate by tickle tongue is sowne.

What thing thou wilt have bid, to none declare;
In woorde or deede, beware of had I wist:
So spend thy good, that some thou ever spare,
For freendes like Haukes doo soare from emptie fist.
Cut out thy coate, according to thy cloth,
Suspected persons see thou alwayes flee:
Beleeve not him who once hath broke his troth,
Nor yet of gift, without desart, be free.

Time quickly slips; beware how thou it spend,
Of wanton youth repentes a painefull age:
Beginne nothing without an eye to thend,
Nor bowe thyne care from counsell of the sage;
If thou to farre let out thy fancie slip,
And witlesse wyll from reasons rule outstart;
Thy folly shall at length be made thy whippe,
And sore the stripes of shame shall cause thee smart.

To doo too much for olde men is but lost,
Of freendship had to women comes like gaine:
Bestowe not thou on children to much cost,
For what thou dooest for these is all in vayne.
The olde man, or he can requite, he dyes;
Unconstant is the womans waveryng minde:
Full soone the boy thy freendship wyl despise,
And him for love thou shalt ungratefull finde.

The aged man is like the barren ground,
The woman like the Reede that wagges with Winde:
There may no trust in tender yeeres be found,
And of the three, the boy is most unkinde.
If thou have found a faithful freend in deede,
Beware thou lose not love of such a one:
He shall sometime stand thee in better steede,
Then treasure great of golde or precious stone.

From: Stevens, George and Brydges, Egerton, The Paradise of Dainty Devices, Reprinted from a Transcript of the First Edition, 1576, in the hand writing of the late George Stevens, Esq. With an Appendix: Containing Additional Pieces from the Editions of 1580 & 1600. And Introductory Remarks, Biographical and Critical, 1810, Robert Triphook and William Sancho: London, pp. 6-8.

Date: 1576

By: Jasper Heywood (1535-1598)

Monday, 24 August 2015

Songe by Ellin Thorne with rough translation into almost modern English by flusteredduck

Would god that deth with cruell darte
and fatall sesters thre
before had perste my virgins harte
or I did fancye the

Cupido then his force had bent
and golden bowe in vaine
my womans harte hade not ben rent
with this most rewfull paine

His denting darte no soner flew
from sounding silver stringe
but pinchinge paines eke dolores newe
within my brest did springe

O lukeless happ unhapy luke
some lyones me feede
some Savage tiger gave me suke
un thankfulness me brede

Els I not once had fended the
whoss shynning comely graice
constraines me nowe to rune I se
a captives Rufull rayce

O spile me not but spedely
thie mercy here extende
and I wyll serve the faithfully
unto my latter ende.

Song by Ellin Thorne (translated by flusteredduck)

Would god that death with cruel dart
and fatal sisters three
before had pierced my virgin’s heart
or I did fancy thee

Cupid then his force had bent
And golden bow in vain
my woman’s heart had not been rent
with this most rueful pain

His denting dart no sooner flew
from sounding silver string
but pinching pains of dolour new
within my breast did spring

O luckless that unhappy luck
some lioness fed me
some savage tiger gave me suck
unthankfulness bred me

Else I not once had offended thee
whose shining comely grace
constrains me now to ruin I see
a captive’s rueful race

O destroy me not but speedily
thy mercy here extend
and I will serve thee faithfully
unto my later end.

From: Stevenson, Jane and Davidson, Peter (eds.), Early Modern Women Poets: An Anthology, 2001, Oxford University Press: Oxford, pp. 75-76.

Date: c1576

By: Ellin Thorne (fl. 1576)

Monday, 27 January 2014

The Sturdy Rock by John Thorne

The sturdy rock for all his strength
By raging seas is rent in twaine:
The marble stone is pearst at length,
With little drops of drizling rain:
The oxe doth yeeld unto the yoke,
The steele obeyeth the hammer stroke.

The stately stagge, that seemes so stout,
By yalping hounds at bay is set:
The swiftest bird, that flies about,
Is caught at length in fowlers net:
The greatest fish, in deepest brooke,
Is soon deceived by subtill hooke.

Yea, man himselfe, unto whose will
All things are bounden to obey,
For all his wit and worthie skill,
Doth fade at length, and fall away.
There is nothing but time doeth waste;
The heavens, the earth consume at last.

But vertue sits triumphing still
Upon the throne of glorious fame:
Though spiteful death mans body kill,
Yet hurts he not his vertuous name:
By life or death what so betides,
The state of vertue never slides.


Date: 1576

By: John Thorne (1514-1573)

Saturday, 28 December 2013

Amantium Irae by Richard Edwardes

In going to my naked bed as one that would have slept,
I heard a wife sing to her child, that long before had wept;
She sighàd sore and sang full sweet, to bring the babe to rest,
That would not cease but criàd still, in sucking at her breast.
She was full weary of her watch, and grievàd with her child,
She rockàd it and rated it, till that on her it smiled.
Then did she say, Now have I found this proverb true to prove
The falling out of faithful friends renewing is of love.

Then took I paper, pen, and ink, this proverb for to write,
In register for to remain of such a worthy wight:
As she proceeded thus in song unto her little brat,
Much matter utter’d she of weight, in place whereas she sat:
And provàd plain there was no beast, nor creature bearing life,
Could well be known to live in love without discord and strife:
Then kissàd she her little babe, and sware by God above,
The falling out of faithful friends renewing is of love.

She said that neither king nor prince nor lord could live aright,
Until their puissance they did prove, their manhood and their might.
When manhood shall be matchàd so that fear can take no place,
Then weary works make warriors each other to embrace,
And left their force that failàd them, which did consume the rout,
That might before have lived their time, their strength and nature out:
Then did she sing as one that thought no man could her reprove,
The falling out of faithful friends renewing is of love.

She said she saw no fish nor fowl, nor beast within her haunt,
That met a stranger in their kind, but could give it a taunt:
Since flesh might not endure, but rest must wrath succeed,
And force the fight to fall to play in pasture where they feed,
So noble nature can well end the work she hath begun,
And bridle well that will not cease her tragedy in some:
Thus in song she oft rehearsed, as did her well behove,
The falling out of faithful friends renewing is of love.

I marvel much pardy (quoth she) for to behold the rout,
To see man, woman, boy and beast, to toss the world about:
Some kneel, some crouch, some beck, some check, and some can smoothly smile,
And some embrace others in arm, and there think many a wile,
Some stand aloof at cap and knee, some humble and some stout;
Yet are they never friends in deed until they once fall out:
Thus ended she her song and said, before she did remove,
The falling out of faithful friends renewing is of love.


Date: 1576 (published)

By: Richard Edwardes (1525-1566)