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Thyself shall rest in peace;

Thy friend shall joy thy fate;
Thy foc shall fret at thy good bap,

And I shall joy thy state.
But this my fond advice

May seem perchance but vain,
As rather teaching how to lose,

Than bow a friend to gain.
But this not iny intent,

To teach to find a friend;
But safely how to love and leave

Is all that I intend.
And if you prove in part,

And find my counsel true,
Then wish me well for thy good will,
'Tis all I crave.

Adieu !

Finis. My Lucke is Losse. *"

Art. XIII. Foure Paradores of Arte, Lawe, Warre,

and Service. By Tho. Scott. 1602.


" Omnis est misera servitus."

“But staie:- rest thee, Muse, and rest thee, Mind;

I now bave found the jewell which I sought;
Whose only good is in itself confin'd,

The sanctuary of the hopefull thought; :
The port of safetie, and the happy life,
Free from malitious broyles and tedious strife.

• No. III. Beginning “ Not stayed state, but feeble stay,” is printed in « Ellis's Specimens.”

Whe Who list to draw himselfe from publick throng,

And to converse with men of more regard;
Or fears the weighty power of others wrong,

Or seeks himselfe from envious tongues to ward:
Or covets quiet, or eschues debate,
Or loves content, or fears lean-visag'd hate:

Let him repaire to courte, and in the court,

Like ivy, cleave unto some great man's side,
Whose able strength his weakness may support,

And with his spreading arnis and shadow wide
Protect and patronize his feeble youth,
And yeelde him needful sap t’increase his growth.
So may he live secure; free from the fear

Of publike malice, or close-creeping hate;
And never dread the sunne or wind should sear

His verdant moysture and exalted state;
For still his lord protects him with his bowes :
So he grows up, eren as his patron grows.
O happy man! whose fortune 'tis to finde

This rarely-heire of bountie in the great;
Which sooner happens to th' illiterate hinde,

Than him whose brain the learned Sisters heat; Because the man, that's only great in show, Dreads other men his ignorance should know.

This makes the childe of forture, to reveale

His thoughts to drudging boors and shallow fools;
But all his consultations, to conceale

From those that are not enemies to schools:
For ignorance, like every other sin,
Loves still to live unknown, and blind within.

The honest servant seeks t'amend his lord,
And grieves to hear his wants themselves should speak;



But the base slave doth fearfully afford

A jeering flattery, with count'nance bleak To every word; and therefore is regarded, When truth is with suspect and hate rewarded.

Base flattery, and double diligence,

That thrust their fingers into every place; That carry tales and give intelligence

Of all that may their fellows' faith disgrace: These are employ'd, these come and go, at pleasure, Have what they ask, and ask without all measure.

He that can these, shall thrive; and may in time

Purchase large lordships with ill-gotten wealth;
And may from yeomanry to worship climb-

Ill fare that gentry so purloyn'd with stealth!
But other never may expect to rise,
For to their deeds he turns his Argus' eyes:

And doth perswade his lord, that his whole care

Is, like a trusty servant, for the best;
His younger son the better for't shall fare,

For at his death all shall to him be left ::
The credulous lord believes his smooth conclusion,
Untill, too late, he proves it an illusion.

But when the trusty servant stands aloof,

Forewarning these events, with modestie;
Exampling this with many likely proofs

Of other's craft and close hypocrise ;
He is suspected of deceit; his drift,
Thought a detractor's favour-fawning shift.

Fond youth! who dedicates thy precious hours

To do him service, that neglects thy merit;
And prizeth less the mind's unvalued powers
Than his, who only doth rude strength inherit:


Fond youthl that bind'st thy selfe to be a slave
To bim, whose love thy service cannot have.

O why should I aim all my thoughts to please

One like myselfe; or to subject my soul Unto the unrespective rule of these,

That only know how others to controul ? So asses suffer, asses spur and ride them; So camels kneel, whilst boudmen do bestride them.

But man that is free-born, not born a beast,

Should freely bear him selfe, and freely love Where reason doth induce hin; or at least

Where sympathy of liking equal move : So I could love and fear, obey and serve Him, that I see doth see what I deserve.

For what avails it me to know so much,

If other will no notice take thereof? Or cannot well discerne me to be such

As I do know myselfe, and yet will scoff At that they understand not, and suppose, Not smelling, there's no sweetness in a rose.

What boots it me, to climb the starry tower,

And fetch from thence all secrets that remain Within that everlasting blissful bower,

If I had none to tell them to again? The soul would glut herselfe with Heaven, I know, If she might not her joyes to others show.

It is a crown unto a gentle breast,

T' impart the pleasure of his Aowing mind (Whose spritely motion never taketh rest)

To one whose bosom he doth open find: So wise Prometheus, stealing heavenly fire In stones, the soul of knowledge did inspire.

1 D 2

O how

O how I (least in knowledge and in art)

Admire and love an understanding spirit!
And share with him my poor divided beart;

Wishing his fortunes equal to his mcrit.
But since in service few of these I find;
Service dislikes my male-contented mind."

Cum omnis est misera servitus, tum vero intolerabile est servire impuro, impudico, effeminato, insulso.


ART. XIV. The Rewarde of Wickednesse, discours

ing the sundrye monstrous abuses of wicked and ungodly Worldelings: in such sort set downe and written, as the same have been dyversely practised in the persones of Popes, Harlois, proude Princes, Tyrauntes, Romish Lyshoppes, and others. With a lively description of their severall falles destruction. Verye profitable for all sorte of estates to reade and looke upon. Newly compiled by Richard Robinson, servaunt in householde to the right honorable Earle of Shrewsbury. A dreame mosi pitiful, and to be dreaded.

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“Of thinges that be straunge

Who loveth to reede,
In this booke let him raunge,

His fancie to feede."

Impr. in Paules Churchyard by Will. Williamson.

410. no date.

Bibl. Pearsoniana gives the name of the printer as above: but the copy I have seen, has it not. The


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