Ïðî÷èòàíèé :  218
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The greene Knights farewell to Fansie
Fansie (quoth he) farewell, whose badge I long did beare,
And in my hat full harebrayndly, thy flowers did I weare:
To late I finde (at last), thy frutes are nothing worth,
Thy blossomes fall & fade full fast, though braverie bring the forth.
By thee I hoapt alwayes, in deepe delights to dwel,
But since I finde thy ficklenesse, Fansie (quoth he) farewell.
Thou madste me live in love, which wisedome biddes me hate,
Thou bleardst mine eies & madste me thinke, yt faith was mine by fate:
By thee those bitter sweetes, did please my taste alway,
By thee I thought that love was light, and payne was but a play:
I thought that Bewties blase, was meete to beare the bell,
And since I finde my selfe deceyved, Fansie (quoth he) farewell.
The glosse of gorgeous courtes, by thee did please mine eye,
A stately sight me thought it was, to see the brave go by:
To see there feathers flaunte, to marke their straunge devise,
To lie along in Ladies lappes, to lispe and make it nice:
To fawne and flatter both, I liked sometimes well,
But since I see how vayne it is, Fansie (quoth he) farewell.
When court had cast me of, I toyled at the plowe
My fansie stoode in straunge conceipts, to thrive I wote not how:
By mils, by making malte, by sheepe and eke by swyne,
By ducke and drake, by pigge and goose, by calves & keeping kine:
By feeding bullockes fat, when pryce at markets fell,
But since my swaines eat up my gaines, Fansie (quoth he) farewell.
In hunting of the deare, my fansie tooke delight,
All forests knew, my folly still, the mooneshine was my light:
In frosts I felt no cold, a sunneburnt hew was best,
I sweate and was in temper still, my watching seemed rest:
What daungers deepe I past, it follie were to tell,
And since I sigh to thinke thereon, Fansie (quoth he) farewell.
A fansie fedde me ones, to wryte in verse and rime,
To wray my griefe, to crave reward, to cover still my crime:
To frame a long discourse, on slurring of a strawe,
To rumble rime in raffe and ruffe, yet all not worth an hawe:
To heare it sayde there goeth, the Man that writes so well,
But since I see, what Poetes bee, Fansie (quoth he) farewell.
At Musickes sacred sounde, my fansies eft begonne,
In concordes, discordes, notes and cliffes, in tunes of unisonne:
In Hyerarchies and straynes, in restes, in rule and space,
In monacordes and moving moodes, in Burdens under base:
In descants and in chants, I streyned many a yel,
But since Musicians be so madde, Fansie (quoth he) farewell.
To plant straunge countrie fruites, to sow such seedes likewise,
To digge & delve for new foud rootes, where old might wel suffise:
To proyne the water bowes, to picke the mossie trees,
(Oh how it pleasd my fancie ones) to kneele upon my knees,
To griffe a pippine stocke, when sappe begins to swell:
But since the gaynes scarce quite the cost, Fansie (quoth he) farewell.
Fansie (quoth he) farewell, which made me follow drommes,
Where powdred bullets serves for sauce, to every dish that commes:
Where treason lurkes in trust, where Hope all hartes beguiles,
Where mischief lieth still in wayte, when fortune friendly smiles:
Where one dayes prison proves, that all such heavens are hell,
And such I feele the frutes thereof, Fansie (quoth he) farewell.
If reason rule my thoughts, and God vouchsafe me grace
Then comfort of Philosophie, shall make me chaunge my race:
And fonde I shall it finde, that Fansie settee to showe,
For weakely stands that building still, which lacketh grace by low:
But since I must accept, my fortunes as they fell,
I say God send me better speede, and Fansie now farewell.
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