More than to ride with pomp and pride,
Or for to jet, in others debt:

Such is my skill, and shall be still,
For any wight.

39. Too fond were I, here thus to lie,
Unless that wealth might further health,
And profit some should thereby come,
To help withall;

This causeth me, well pleas'd to be,
Such drift to make, such life to take,
Enforcing mind, remorse to find,

As need, need shall,

40. Friend, all things weigh'd, that here is said,
And being got, that pays the shot,
Methinks of right, have leave I might,
(Death drawing near)

To seek some ways, my God to praise,
And mercy crave, in time to have,
And for the rest, what he thinks best,
To suffer here.

THIS poet was of an honourable family in Essex, being son of Sir John Gascoigne, who disinherited him for his youthful prodigality. Gascoigne lived to amend the errors of his youth, and became a wise and good man; but the father died with the sin upon him of an unforgiving temper. The young man, who had been educated at Cambridge, and entered at Gray's Inn, was cast upon the world. He had sold such of his patrimony as could not be alienated from him; and finding his hopes of preferment at home fail him, embarked as an adventurer for Holland, in which country, it appears, he had previously travelled. We may believe him that he had shaken off his evil habits, but he had not shaken off his evil companions; for, on this occasion, he had for his fellow-adventurer that Rowland Yorke, who before that time was notorious as a profligate, and afterwards infamous as a traitor.

The most valuable of his poems, if not the best, relate to his adventures on the voyage, and in the Dutch war, where he behaved well, and obtained the good opinion of the Prince of Orange, whose sterling worth he seems to have justly appreciated. After two years' hard service, he was compelled to surrender, with a body of five hundred English, in attempting to escape from the unfinished and indefensible fort at Valkenburg. It was during the memorable and dreadful siege of Leyden; they made their way to the walls of that city; but from suspicion, jealousy, and misunderstanding, combined with the dread of famine, the citizens refused to open the gates; the English were then fortunate in obtaining honourable terms of surrender; still more so in having them observed. For the Spaniards, in that age, were as regardless of honour as of faith, when heretics were to be dealt with; but it was their policy then to conciliate England, not to provoke it: and though Don Luys Gayetan, to whom they had surrendered, was for putting them to death, in

conformity with the advice of the Spanish counsellors at the Hague, Don Bernardino de Mendoza, who, was then at Brussels, on his way to London as ambassador, desired that their lives might be spared, and that they might be sent home. During their imprisonment, they received every possible kindness from the Baron de Liques, and from Verdugo.

This put an end to his military career. He resumed the study of the law, but with neither liking nor aptitude for the profession; and soon seems to have depended for his future prospects upon the fair character which he had now established, and upon those who were alike able to appreciate and to serve him; for he had friends among the best and noblest of the age. By some of these, (Raleigh perhaps, or Arthur Lord Grey, the friend and patron of Spenser,) he was introduced to the queen, whom he accompanied to Kenilworth in one of her progresses, and recited before her some of the verses which he composed on that occasion. His immediate means appear to have been such as might content one who had become a wise and thoughtful man. He married, settled at Walthamstow, amused himself with gardening, and employed himself in composition; but falling into a lingering and wasting disease, he was taken to Stamford by his friend George Whetstone, and there, being worn almost to a skeleton, but in a religious, calm, and happy frame of mind, he expired without a struggle, recommending his wife and only child to the queen's bounty. His age is not known, but it cannot have been under forty, for he frequently speaks of himself as in middle age; and says, in one place, that the crow's foot had grown under his eyes.

Gascoigne wrote the first prose comedy in our language, and his Jocasta (partly paraphrased, partly abridged, from the Phoenissæ of Euripides), is the second of our tragedies that was written in blank

verse,

THE ARRAIGMENT OF A LOUER.

Ar Beautyes barre as I dyd stande,
When false suspect accused mee,

George (quod the Judge) holde vp thy hande,
Thou art arraignde of Flatterye :

Tell therefore howe thou wylt bee tryde:
Whose iudgement here wylt thou abyde?

My Lorde (quod I) this Lady here,
Whome I esteeme aboue the rest,
Doth knowe my guilte if any were:
Wherefore hir doome shall please me best;
Let hir bee Judge and Jurour boathe,
To trye mee guiltlesse by myne oathe.

Quod Beautie, no, it fitteth not,
A Prince hir selfe to iudge the cause:
Wyll is our Justice well you wot,
Appointed to discusse our Lawes :
If you wyll guiltlesse seeme to goe,
God and your countrey quitte you so.

Then crafte the cryer cal'd a quest,
Of whome was falshoode formost feere,
A pack of pickethankes were the rest,
Which came false witnesse for to beare,
The Jurye suche, the Judge vniust,
Sentence was sayde I should be trust.

Jelous the Jayler bound mee fast, To heare the verdite of the byll, George (quod the Judge) nowe thou art cast, Thou must goe hence to heauie hill, And there be hangde all bye the head, God rest thy soule when thou art dead.

Downe fell I then vpon my knee, All flatte before Dame Beauties face, And cryed, good Ladye pardon mee, Which here appeale vnto your grace, You knowe if I haue beene vntrue, It was in too much praysing you.

And though this Judge doe make suche haste,
To shead with shame my guiltlesse blood :
Yet let your pittie first bee plaste,
To saue the man that meant you good,
So shall you shewe your selfe a Queene,
And I maye bee your seruaunt seene.

(Quod Beautie) well: bicause I guesse,
What thou dost meane hencefoorth to bee,
Although thy faultes deserue no lesse,
Than Iustice here hath iudged thee,
Wylt thou be bounde to stynt all strife,
And be true prisoner all thy lyfe?

Yea Madame 'quod I) that I shall,
Loe fayth and trueth my suerties 1:
Why then (quod shee) come when I call,
I aske no better warrantise.

Thus am I Beauties bounden thrall,
At hir commaunde when shee doth call.

Euer or neuer.

Common Bayll.

THE LULLABIE OF A LOUER.

SING lullaby, as women doe,

Wherewith they bring their babes to rest,
And lullaby can I sing to,

As womanly as can the best.
With lullaby they still the childe,
And if I be not much beguild,
Full many wanton babes haue I,
Which must be stild with lullabie.

First lullaby my youthfull yeares,
It is nowe time to go to bed,
For croocked age and hoary heares,
Haue wone the hauen with in my head:
With Lullaby then youth be still,
With Lullaby content thy will,

Since courage quayles, and commes behind,
Go sleepe, and so beguile thy minde.

Next Lullaby my gazing eyes,
Which wonted were to glaunce apace.
For euery Glasse maye nowe suffise,
To shewe the furrowes in my face:
With Lullabye then winke awhile,
With Lullabye your lookes beguile :
Lette no fayre face, nor beautie brighte,
Entice you efte with vayne delighte.

And Lullaby my wanton will,
Lette reasons rule, nowe reigne thy thought,
Since all to late I finde by skyll,

Howe deare I haue thy fansies bought.

With Lullaby nowe tak thyne ease,

With Lullaby thy doubtes appease :
For trust to this, if thou be styll,
My body shall obey thy will.

Thus Lullabye my youth, myne eyes,
My will, my ware, and all that was,
I can no mo delayes deuise,
But welcome payne, let pleasure passe :
With Lullaby now take your leaue,
With Lullaby your dreames deceiue,
And when you rise with waking eye,
Remember then this Lullabye.
Euer or Neuer.

GASCOIGNES GOOD MORROW.

You that haue spent the silent night,
In sleepe and quiet rest,

And ioye to see the cheerefull lyght

That ryseth in the East:

Now cleare your voyce, now chere your hart,
Come helpe me nowe to sing :

Eche willing wight come beare a part,
To prayse the heauenly King.

And you whome care in prison keepes,
Or sickenes doth suppresse,

Or secret sorowe breakes your sleepes,
Or dolours doe distresse :

Yet beare a parte in dolfull wise,

Yea thinke it good accorde,

And acceptable sacrifice,

Eche sprite to prayse the lorde.

The dreadfull night with darkesomnesse, Had ouer spread the light,

And sluggish sleepe with drowsynesse,

Had ouer prest our might:

A glasse wherin you may beholde,
Eche storme that stopes our breath,

Our bed the graue, our clothes lyke molde,
And sleepe like dreadfull death.

Yet as this deadly night did laste,

But for a little space,

And heauenly daye nowe night is past,
Doth shewe his pleasaunt face:

So must we hope to see Gods face,
At last in heauen on hie,

When we haue chang'd this mortall place,
For Immortalitie.

And of such happes and heauenly ioyes,

As then we hope to holde,

All earthly sightes and wordly toyes,
Are tokens to beholde.

The daye is like the daye of doome,
The sunne, the Sonne of man,

The skyes the heauens, the earth the tombe
Wherein we rest till than.

The Rainbowe bending in the skye,
Bedeckte with sundrye hewes,
Is like the seate of God on hye,
And seemes to tell these newes:
That as thereby he promised,
To drowne the world no more,

So by the bloud which Christ hath shead,
He will our helth restore.

The mistie cloudes that fall somtime,
And ouercast the skyes,

Are like to troubles of our time,
Which do but dymme our eyes:
But as suche dewes are dryed vp quite,
When Phoebus shewes his face,
So are such fansies put to flighte,
Where God doth guide by grace.

The caryon Crowe, that lothsome beast,
Which cryes agaynst the rayne,
Both for hir hewe and for the rest,
The Deuill resembleth playne:
And as with gonnes we kill the crowe,
For spoyling our releefe,
The Deuill so must we ouerthrowe,
With gonshote of beleefe.

The little byrde which sing so swete,
Are like the angelles voyce,
Which render God his prayses meete,
And teache vs to reioyce :

And as they more esteeme that myrth,
Than dread the nights anoy,

So much we deeme our days on earth,
But hell to heauenly ioye.

Unto which Joyes for to attayne

God graunt vs all his grace,

And sende vs after worldly payne,

In heauen to haue a place.

Where wee maye still enioye that light,
Which neuer shall decaye :

Lorde for thy mercy lend vs might,

To see that ioyfull daye.

Haud ictus sapio.

GASCOYNES GOOD NIGHT.

WHEN thou hast spent the lingring day in pleasure [at nighte:

and delight,

Or after toyle and wearie waye, dost seeke to rest Unto thy paynes or pleasures past, adde this one labour yet, [God forget, Ere sleepe close vp thyne eye to fast, do not thy But searche within thy secret thoughts, what deeds did thee befal : [call. And if thou find amisse in ought, to God for mercy Yea though thou find nothing amisse, which thou canst cal to mind, [behind : Yet euer more remember this, there is the more And thinke how well so euer it be, that thou hast spent the daye, [waye. It came of God, and not of thee, so to direct thy Thus if thou trie thy dayly deedes, and pleasure in this payne,

Thy life shall clense thy corne from weeds, and thine shal be the gaine:

[to winke, But if thy sinfull sluggishe eye, will venter for Before thy wading will may trye, how far thy soule maye sinke, [smoth is made, Beware and wake, for else thy bed, which soft and May heape more harm vpō thy head, than blowes of enmies blade. [thou doest lye, Thus if this paine procure thine ease, in bed as Perhaps it shall not God displease, to sing thus

soberly;

I see that sleepe is lent me here, to ease my wearye bones, [greeuous grones.

As death at laste shall eke appeere, to ease my My dayly sportes, my panch full fed, haue causde my drousie eye, [soule to dye : As carelesse life in quiet led, might cause my The stretching armes, the yauning breath, which I to bedward vse, [me refuse. Are patternes of the pangs of death, when life will And of my bed eche sundrye part in shaddowes doth resemble, [flesh to treble. The sūdry shapes of deth, whose dart shal make my My bed it selfe is like the graue, my sheetes the winding sheete, [me most meete: My clothes the mould which I must haue, to couer The hungry fleas which friske so freshe, to wormes I can cōpare, [the bones ful bare : Which greedily shall gnaw my fleshe, and leaue The waking Cock that early crowes to weare the [the latter day. Puts in my minde the trumpe that blowes before And as I rise vp lustily, when sluggish sleepe is past, So hope I to rise ioyfully, to Judgement at the last. Thus wyll I wake, thus wyll I sleepe, thus wyl I [godly wyse.

night awaye,

hope to ryse, Thus wyll I neither waile nor weepe, but sing in My bones shall in this bed remaine, my soule in [earthly dust. By whome I hope to ryse againe from death and Haud ictus sapio.

God shall trust,

THE INTRODUCTION TO

THE PSALME OF DE PROFUNDIS.

THE skies gan scowle, orecast with misty clowdes, When (as I rode alone by London waye, Cloakelesse, vnclad) thus did I sing and say: Behold quoth I, bright Titan how he shroudes

His head abacke, and yelds the raine his reach,
Till in his wrath, Dan Ioue haue soust the soile,
And washt me wretch which in his trauaile toile.
But holla (here) doth rudenesse me appeach,
Since Ioue is Lord and king of mighty power,
Which can commaund the Sunne to shewe his face,
And when him lyst) to giue the raine his place.
Why doe not I my wery muses frame,
(Although I bee well soused in this showre,)
To write some verse in honour of his name?

GASCOIGNES MEMORIES,

Written vpon this occasion. Hee had (in myddest of his youth) determined to abandone all vaine delightes and to returne vnto Greyes Inne, there to vndertake againe the studdie of the common Lawes. And being required by fiue sundry Gentlemen to write in verse somewhat worthye to bee remembred, before he entered into their fellowshippe, hee compiled these fiue sundrie sortes of metre vppon fiue sundrye theames, whiche they deliuered vnto him, and the first was at request of Frauncis Kinwelmarshe who deliuered him this theame. Audaces fortuna iuuat. And therevppon hee wrote this Sonnete following.

Ir yelding feare, or cancred villanie,

In Cæsars haughtie heart had tane the charge,
The walles of Rome had not bene rearde so hye,
Nor yet the mightye Empire left so large.
If Menelaus could haue ruld his wyll,
With fowle reproche to loose his faire delight,
Then had the stately towres of Troy stoode styll,
And Greekes with grudge had dronke their owne

despight.