When heapes of heauie hap, had fild my harte right full,
And sorrow set forth pensiuenes, my ioyes away to pull
I raunged then the woods, I romde the fields aboute,
A thousand sighes I set at large, to seeke their passage out.
And walkyng in a dompe, or rather in dispaire,
I cast my weeping eye a side, I saw a fielde full faire
And lokyng vpwarde than, I spied a Mount therein,
Which Flora had euen for her life, dect as you haue not seen.
Then could I not but thinke the same some sacred place,
Where God or Goddes such did dwell, as might releue my case
I sat me downe, for whie? Death could but stop my breath,
And to a man so sorrowfull, what sweter is then death?
No sooner was I set, but slepe approcht mine eye,
Wherein the Nymphes of Helicon appeared by and by.
And straight those sisters nine, the ground of Musicks arte,
My thought did striue who might preuaile, to ease my heauie harte.
The cunning they shewed there, the subtile notes they soung,
As in a wrest clene from my hart (my thought) the cares they wrong
Celestiall were the notes, which then (amazde) I hearde,
Their ditties eke were wonderfull, note ye whome they preferde.
As for thy bloud (quoth they) right noble we confesse,
Thy pettigree (to long for vs) the Heralds can expresse.
But happie happie Duke, the second chylde of Fame,
Which (next vnto the highest) she doth so recoumpt the same.
And happie Thomas ones, twise happie Norffolke toe,
Thrise happie men that leade your liues, where Howard hath to doe
Which Howards happie daies, they praied God to encrease,
Three times the space of Natures course, like Nestor liue in peace.
What age hath seen his like, so free of purse and toung?
Where liues a iuster Iustice now, though rare in one so young?
What plaint can there be tolde, to his most godlie eare?
But that he kepes the other styll, the blamed soule to heare?
In mekenes he more meke, then is the mekest Doue,
Yet is his secret wisedome such, he knoweth whome to loue
In freendship, he surmounts Gisippus and his Tite,
All Nobles may well note his race, and thereby take their lighte.
In peace a Salomon, in warre so stoute a Prince,
As raigned not tyll Hector came, nor liued neuer since
Then Sceuola, more firme, which for his cuntries turne,
His hand from arme before his foes, in fierie flame did burne.
He in the pride of peace, delights in marciall showe,
Doe marke his turnoys vpon horse, note well his vse of bowe.
Nay marke him yet that shall, note well his paynefulnes,
No sugred slepe can make him freend to sluggish Idlenes.
What that becomes a Prince, in his good grace doth want?
In peace, a courtier for the Courte, a second Mars in camp.
Thus styll they soung, whose notes were cause of my releefe,
And I bewrapped in a Traunce, had cleane forgot my greefe
And triple were my ioyes, ones, cause my paynes were past,
And twise agayne, because that Prince amongst vs here is plast.
I clapt my handes for ioye (alas) I wakt withall,
And then my muses and their songes, my ioyes were gone and all.
And then retournd my greefe, I felt a further care,
Because to shew what I had seen, did passe my power so farre
And that a man vnlearnd, of arte that hath no skyll,
Should haue a charge so great as this, and could doe it so yll.
Yet thus I gan to wright, I knew right well that he,
Which due desert did thus commend, should shade the want in me
To whome I pray the Lorde, to send like yeares a Noye
In happie health and quiet state, to his and all our ioye.