Poem – Ah Silly Pug Wert Thou So Sore Afraid

Ah, silly Pug, wert thou so sore afraid? 

Mourn not, my Wat, nor be thou so dismayed. 

It passeth fickle Fortune’s power and skill 

To force my heart to think thee any ill. 

No Fortune base, thou sayest, shall alter thee? 

And may so blind a witch so conquer me? 

No, no, my Pug, though Fortune were not blind, 

Assure thyself she could not rule my mind. 

Fortune, I know, sometimes doth conquer kings, 

And rules and reigns on earth and earthly things, 

But never think Fortune can bear the sway 

If virtue watch, and will her not obey. 

Ne chose I thee by fickle Fortune’s rede, 

Ne she shall force me alter with such speed 

But if to try this mistress’ jest with thee. 

Pull up thy heart, suppress thy brackish tears, 

Torment thee not, but put away thy fears. 

Dead to all joys and living unto woe, 

Slain quite by her that ne’er gave wise men blow, 

Revive again and live without all dread, 

The less afraid, the better thou shalt speed. 

Poem – Oh Fortune

Oh, Fortune! how thy restlesse wavering state

Hath fraught with cares my troubled witt!

Witnes this present prisonn, whither fate

Could beare me, and the joys I quitt.

Thou causedest the guiltie to be losed

From bandes, wherein are innocents inclosed:

Causing the guiltles to be straite reserved,

And freeing those that death had well deserved.

But by her envie can be nothing wroughte,

So God send to my foes all they have thoughte.
signed – A. D. MDLV.

Elizabethe, Prisonner. 

On Monsieur’s Departure – Queen Elizabeth I

I grieve and dare not show my discontent, 

I love and yet am forced to seem to hate, 

I do, yet dare not say I ever meant, 

I seem stark mute but inwardly to prate. 

I am and not, I freeze and yet am burned. 

Since from myself another self I turned. 
My care is like my shadow in the sun, 

Follows me flying, flies when I pursue it, 

Stands and lies by me, doth what I have done. 

His too familiar care doth make me rue it. 

No means I find to rid him from my breast, 

Till by the end of things it be supprest. 
Some gentler passion slide into my mind, 

For I am soft and made of melting snow; 

Or be more cruel, love, and so be kind. 

Let me or float or sink, be high or low. 

Or let me live with some more sweet content, 

Or die and so forget what love ere meant.

Poem -On Monsieur’s Departure – Queen Elizabeth I

I grieve and dare not show my discontent, 

I love and yet am forced to seem to hate, 

I do, yet dare not say I ever meant, 

I seem stark mute but inwardly to prate. 

I am and not, I freeze and yet am burned. 

Since from myself another self I turned. 
My care is like my shadow in the sun, 

Follows me flying, flies when I pursue it, 

Stands and lies by me, doth what I have done. 

His too familiar care doth make me rue it. 

No means I find to rid him from my breast, 

Till by the end of things it be supprest. 
Some gentler passion slide into my mind, 

For I am soft and made of melting snow; 

Or be more cruel, love, and so be kind. 

Let me or float or sink, be high or low. 

Or let me live with some more sweet content, 

Or die and so forget what love ere meant.

Poem -When I Was Fair And Young  – Queen Elizabeth I

When I was fair and young, then favor graced me. 

Of many was I sought their mistress for to be. 

But I did scorn them all and answered them therefore: 
Go, go, go, seek some other where; importune me no more. 

How many weeping eyes I made to pine in woe, 

How many sighing hearts I have not skill to show, 

But I the prouder grew and still this spake therefore: 
Go, go, go, seek some other where, importune me no more. 

Then spake fair Venus’ son, that proud victorious boy, 

Saying: You dainty dame, for that you be so coy, 

I will so pluck your plumes as you shall say no more: 
Go, go, go, seek some other where, importune me no more. 

As soon as he had said, such change grew in my breast 

That neither night nor day I could take any rest. 

Wherefore I did repent that I had said before: 

Go, go, go, seek some other where, importune me no more.

Poem – The Doubt Of Future Foes – Queen Elizabeth I

The Doubt Of Future FoesThe doubt of future foes exiles my present joy, 

And wit me warns to shun such snares as threaten mine annoy; 

For falsehood now doth flow, and subjects’ faith doth ebb, 

Which should not be if reason ruled or wisdom weaved the web. 

But clouds of joys untried do cloak aspiring minds, 

Which turn to rain of late repent by changed course of winds. 

The top of hope supposed the root upreared shall be, 

And fruitless all their grafted guile, as shortly ye shall see. 

The dazzled eyes with pride, which great ambition blinds, 

Shall be unsealed by worthy wights whose foresight falsehood finds. 

The daughter of debate that discord aye doth sow 

Shall reap no gain where former rule still peace hath taught to know. 

No foreign banished wight shall anchor in this port; 

Our realm brooks not seditious sects, let them elsewhere resort. 

My rusty sword through rest shall first his edge employ 

To poll their tops that seek such change or gape for future joy.