Seven Sonnets in Sequence

- on a theme suggested to Gascoigne by Sir Alexander Nevil

Sonnet I

IN haste, post haste, when first my wandering mind

Beheld the glistring Court with gazing eye,

Such deep delights I seemed therein to find,

As might beguile a graver guest than I.

The stately pomp of Princes and their peers

Did seem to swim in floods of beaten gold;

The wanton world of young delightful year

Was not unlike a heaven for to behold,

Wherein did swarm (for every saint) a Dame

So fair of hue, so fresh of their attire,

As might excel Dame Cynthia for Fame,

Or conquer Cupid with his own desire.

These and such like baits that blazed still

Before mine eye, to feed my greedy will.

Sonnet II

Before mine eye, to feed my greedy will,

'Gan muster eke mine old acquainted mates,

Who helped the dish (of vain delight) to fill

My empty mouth with dainty delicates;

And foolish boldness took the whip in hand

To lash my life into this trustless trace,

Till all in haste I leapt a loof from land

And hoist up sail to catch a Courtly grace.

Each lingering day did seem a world of woe,

Till in that hapless haven my head was brought;

Waves of wanhope so tossed me to and fro

In deep despair to drown my dreadful thought;

Each hour a day, each day a year, did seem

And every year a world my will did deem.

Sonnet III

And every year a world my will did deem,

Till lo! at last, to Court now am I come,

A seemly swain that might the place beseem,

A gladsome guest embraced by all and some.

Not there content with common dignity,

My wandering eye in haste (yea post post haste)

Beheld the blazing badge of bravery,

For want whereof I thought myself disgraced.

Then peevish pride puffed up my swelling heart,

To further forth so hot an enterprise;

And comely cost began to play his part

In praising patterns of mine own devise.

Thus all was good and might be got in haste,

To prink me up, and make me higher placed.

Sonnet IV

To prink me up, and make me higher placed,

All came too late that tarried any time;

Piles of provision pleased not my taste,

They made my heels too heavy for to climb.

Methought it best that boughs of boistrous oak

Should first be shread to make my feathers gay,

Till at the last a deadly dinting stroke

Brought down the bulk with edgetools of decay.

Of every farm I then let fly a leaf

To feed the purse that paid for peevishnesss,

Till rent and all were fallen in such disease,

As scarce could serve to maintain cleanliness;

They bought the body, fine, farm, leaf, and land;

All were too little for the merchant's hand.

Sonnet V

All were too little for the merchant's hand,

And yet my bravery bigger than his book;

But when this hot account was coldly scanned,

I thought high time about me for to look.

With heavenly cheer I cast my head aback

To see the fountain of my furious race,

Compared my loss, my living, and my lack

In equal balance with my jolly grace,

And saw expenses grating on the ground

Like lumps of lead to press my purse full oft,

When light reward and recompense were found,

Fleeting like feathers in the wind aloft.

These thus compared, I left the Court at large,

For why the gains doth seldom quit the charge.

Sonnet VI

For why the gains doth seldom quit the charge:

And so say I by proof too dearly bought,

My haste made waste; my brave and brainsick barge

Did float too fast to catch a thing of naught.

With leisure, measure, mean, and many moe

I mought have kept a chair of quiet state.

But hasty heads cannot be settled so,

Till crooked Fortune gave a crabbed mate.

As busy brains must beat on tickle toys,

As rash invention breeds a raw devise,

So sudden falls do hinder hasty joys;

And as swift baits do fleetest fish entice,

So haste makes waste, and therefore now I say,

No haste but good, where wisdom makes the way.

Sonnet VII

No haste but good, where wisdom makes the way,

For proof whereof behold the simple snail

(Who sees the soldier's carcass cast away,

With hot assault the Castle to assail)

By line and leisure climbs the wall,

And wins the turret's top more cunningly

Than doughty Dick, who lost his life and all

With hoisting up his head so hastily.

The swiftest bitch brings forth the blindest whelps;

The hottest Fevers coldest cramps ensue;

The nakedest need hath ever latest helps.

With Nevil then I find this proverb true,

That Haste makes waste, and therefore still I say,

No haste but good, where wisdom makes the way.

George Gascoigne

At Beauty's bar as I did stand...

AT Beauty's bar as I did stand,

When False Suspect accused,

``George,'' quod the judge, ``hold up thy hand;

Thou art arraigned of flattery.

Tell therefore how thou wilt be tried.

Whose judgment here wilt thou abide?''

``My lord,'' quod I, ``this lady here,

Whom I esteem above the rest,

Doth know my guilt, if any were,

Wherefore her doom shall please me best;

Let her be judge and juror both,

To try me, guiltless by mine oath.''

Quod Beauty, ``No, it fitteth not,

A Prince herself to judge the cause;

Will is our Justice, well you wot,

Appointed to discuss our laws;

If you will guiltless seem to go,

God and your country quit you so.''

Then Craft, the crier, called a quest,

Of whom was Falsehood foremost fere;

A pack of pickthanks were the rest,

Which came fale witness for to bear;

The jury such, the judge unjust,

Sentence was said I should be trussed.

Jealous, the jailer, bound me fast,

To hear the verdict of the bill;

``George,'' quod the judge, ``now thou art cast,

Thou must go hence to Heavy Hill,

And there be hanged, all but the head;

God rest thy soul when thou art dead.''

Down fell I thn upon my knee,

All flat before Dame Beauty's face,

And cried, ``Good Lady, pardon me,

Which here appeal unto your Grace;

You know if I have been untrue,

It was in too much praising you.

``And though this judge do make such haste

To shed with shame my guiltless blood,

Yet let your pity first be placed,

To save the man that meant you good;

So shall you show yourself a queen,

And I may be your servant seen.''

Quod Beauty, ``Well; because I guess

What thou dost mean henceforth to be,

Although thy faults deserve no less

Than Justice here hath judged thee,

Wilt thou be bound to stint all strife,

And be true prisoner all thy life?''

``Yea, madam,'' quod I, ``that I shall;

Lo, Faith and Truth, my sureties.''

``Why, then,'' quod she, ``come when I call,

I ask no better warrantise.''

Thus am I Beauty's bounden thrall,

At her command when she doth call.

George Gascoigne

Amid my bale I bathe in bliss...

AMID my bale I bathe in bliss,

I swim in heaven, I sink in hell;

I find amends for every miss,

And yet my moan no tongue can tell.

I live and love--what would you more?

As never lover lived before.

I laugh sometimes with little lust,

So jest I oft and feel no joy;

My ease is builded all on trust,

And yet mistrust breeds mine annoy.

I live and lack, I lack and have:

I have and miss the thing I crave.

These things seem strange, yet are they true,

Believe me, sweet, my state is such;

One pleasure which I would eschew

Both slakes my grief and breeds my grutch;

So doth one pain which I would shun

Renew my joys where grief begun.

Then, like the lark that passed the night

In heavy sleep with cares oppressed,

Yet when she spies the pleasant light,

She sends sweet notes from out her breast,

So sing I now because I think

How joys approach, when sorrows shrink.

And as fair Philomene again

Can watch and sing when others sleep,

And taketh pleasure in her pain

To wray the woe that makes her weep,

So sing I now for to bewray

The loathsome life I lead alway.

The which to thee, dear wench, I write,

That know'st my mirth but not my moan;

I pray God grant thee deep delight

To live in joys when I am gone.

I cannot live: it will not be.

I die to think to part from thee.

George Gascoigne

When thou hast spent the lingering day...

WHEN thou hast spent the lingering day in pleasure and delght,

Or after toil and weary way, dost seek to rest at night,

Unto thy pains or pleasures past, add this one labor yet:

Ere sleep close up thine eye too fast, do not thy God forget,

But search within thy secret thoughts, what deeds did thee befall;

And if thou find amiss in aught, to God for mercy call.

Yea, though thou find nothing amiss which thou canst call to mind,

Yet evermore remmeber this: there is the more behind;

And think how well so ever it be that thou hast spent the day,

It came of God, and not of thee, so to direct thy way.

Thus if thou try thy daily deeds and pleasure in this pain,

Thy life shall cleanse thy corn from weeds, and thine shall be the gain;

But if thy sinful, sluggish eye will venture for to wink,

Before thy wading will may try how far thy soul may sink,

Beware and wake; for else, thy bed, which soft and smooth is made,

May heap more harm upon thy head than blows of en'my's blade.

Thus if this pain procure thine ease, in bed as thou dost lie,

Perhaps it shall not God displease to sing thus, soberly:

``I see that sleep is lent me here to ease my weary bones,

As death at last shall eke appear, to ease my grievous groans.

My daily sports, my paunch full fed, have caused my drowsy eye,

As careless life, in quiet led, might cause my soul to die.

The stretching arms, the yawning breath, which I to bedward use,

Are patterns of the pangs of death, when life will me refuse.

And of my bed each sundry part in shadows doth resemble

The sundry shapes of death, whose dart shall make my flesh to tremble.

My bed itself is like the grave, my sheets the winding sheet,

My clothes the mold which I must have to cover me most meet;

The hungry fleas, which frisk so fresh, to worms I can compare,

Which greedily shall gnaw my flesh and leave the bones full bare.

The waking cock, that early crows to wear the night away

Puts in my mind the trump that blows before the Latter Day.

And as I rise up lustily when sluggish sleep is past,

So hope I to rise joyfully to Judgment at the last.

Thus will I wake, thus will I sleep, thus will I hope to rise,

Thus will I neither wail nor weep, but sing in godly wise;

My bones shall in this bed remain, my soul in God shall trust,

By whom I hope to rise again from death and earthly dust.''

George Gascoigne

Gascoigne's Lullaby

SING lullaby, as women do,

Wherewith thy bring their babes to rest,

And lullaby can I sing too,

As womanly as can the best.

With lullaby they still the child,

And if I be not much beguiled,

Full many wanton babes have I,

Which must be stilled with lullaby.

First, lullaby, my youthful years,

It is now time to go to bed,

For crooked age and hoary hairs

Have won the haven within my head.

With lullaby then, youth, be still,

With lullaby content thy will,

Since courage quails and comes behind,

Go sleep, and so beguile thy mind.

Next, lullaby, my gazing eyes,

Which wonted were to glance apace.

For every glass may now suffice

To show the furrows in my face.

With lullaby then wink awhile,

With lullaby your looks beguile,

Let no fair face nor beauty bright

Entice you eft with vain delight.

And lullaby, my wanton will,

Let reason's rule now rein thy thought,

Since all too late I find by skill

How dear I have thy fancies bought.

With lullaby now take thine ease,

With lullaby thy doubts appease.

For trust to this, if thou be still,

My body shall obey thy will.

Eke lullaby, my loving boy,

My little Robin, take thy rest.

Since age is cold and nothing coy,

Keep close thy coin, for so is best.

With lullaby be thou content,

With lullaby thy lusts relent.

Let others pay which hath mo pence;

Thou art too poor for such expense.

Thus, lullaby, my youth, mine eyes,

My will, my ware, and all that was.

I can no mo delays devise,

But welcome pain, let pleasure pass.

With lullaby now take your leave,

WIth lullaby your dreams deceive,

And when you rise with waking eye,

Remember Gascoigne's lullaby.

George Gascoigne

And What If I Did Then?

"AND what if I did then?

Are you aggrieved therefore?

The sea hath fish for every man,

And what would you have more?"

Thus did my mistress once

Amaze my mind with doubt;

And popped a question for the nonce,

To beat my brains about.

Whereto I thus replied:

"Each fisherman can wish

That all the seas at every tide

Were his alone to fish;

"And so did I, in vain;

But since it may not be,

Let such fish there as find the gain,

And leave the loss to me.

"And with such luck and loss

I will content myself,

Till tides of turning time may toss

Such fishers on the shelf.

"And when they stick on sands,

That every man may see,

Then I will laugh and clap my hands,

As they do now at me."

George Gascoigne

For That He Looked Not Upon Her

YOU must not wonder, though you think it strange,

To see me hold my louring head so low;

And that mine eyes take no delight to range

About the gleams which on your face do grow.

The mouse which once hath broken out of trap,

Is seldom 'ticed* with the trustless bait,        [enticed]

But lies aloof for fear of more mishap,

And feedeth still in doubt of deep deceit.

The scorched fly, which once hath 'scaped the flame,

Will hardly come again to play with fire:

Whereby I learn that grievous is the game

Which follows fancy dazzled by desire:

  So that I wink or else hold down my head,

  Because your blazing eyes my bale* have bred.        [evil fate]

George Gascoigne

The Looks Of A Lover Enamoured

THOU, with thy looks, on whom I look full oft,

And find therein great cause of deep delight,

Thy face is fair, thy skin is smooth and soft,

Thy lips are sweet, thine eyes are clear and bright,

And every part seems pleasant in my sight;

Yet wote* thou well, those looks have wrought my woe,      [know]

Because I love to look upon them so.

For first those looks allured mine eye to look,

And straight mine eye stirred up my heart to love;

And cruel love, with deep deceitful hook,

Choked up my mind, whom fancy cannot move,

Nor hope relieve, nor other help behoove

But still to look; and though I look too much,

Needs must I look because I see none such.

Thus in thy looks my love and life have hold;

And with such life my death draws on apace:

And for such death no med'cine can be told

But looking still upon thy lovely face,

Wherein are painted pity, peace, and grace.

Then though thy looks should cause me for to die,

Needs must I look, because I live thereby.

Since then thy looks my life have so in thrall

As I can like none other looks but thine,

Lo, here I yield my life, my love, and all

Into thy hands, and all things else resign

But liberty to gaze upon thine eyen*:      [eyes]

Which when I do, then think it were thy part

To look again, and link with me in heart.

George Gascoigne

Fie, Pleasure, Fie!

FIE, pleasure, fie! thou cloyest me with delight;

  Thou fill'st my mouth with sweetmeats overmuch;

I wallow still in joy both day and night:

  I deem, I dream, I do, I taste, I touch

No thing but all that smells of perfect bliss,

Fie, pleasure, fie! I cannot like of this.

To taste, sometimes, a bait of bitter gall,

  To drink a draught of sour ale some season,

To eat brown bread with homely hands in hall,

  Doth much increase man's appetites, by reason,

And makes the sweet more sugared that ensues,

Since minds of men do still seek after news.

It might suffice that Love hath built his bower

  Between my lady's lively shining eyes;

It were enough that beauty's fading flower

  Grows ever fresh with her in heavenly wise;

It had been well that she were fair of face,

And yet not rob all other dames of grace.

To muse in mind, how wise, how fair, how good,

  How brave, how frank, how courteous, and how true

My lady is, doth but inflame my blood

  With humours such as bid my health adieu:

Since hap always when it is clomb* on high,      [climbed]

Doth fall full low, though erst* it reached the sky.      [before]

Lo, pleasure, lo! lo, thus I lead a life

  That laughs for joy and trembleth oft for dread;

Thy pangs are such as call for change's knife

To cut the twist, or else to stretch the thread,

Which holds yfeer* the bundle of my bliss:      [in fear]

Fie, pleasure, fie! I dare not trust to this.

George Gascoigne

Inscription in a Garden

IF any flower that here is grown

Or any herb may ease your pain,

Take and account it as your own,

But recompense the like again;

      For some and some is honest play,

      And so my wife taught me to say.

If here to walk you take delight,

Why, come and welcome, when you will;

If I bid you sup here this night,

Bid me another time, and still

      Think some and some is honest play,

      For so my wife taught me to say.

Thus if you sup or dine with me,

If you walk here or sit at ease,

If you desire the thing you see,

And have the same your mind to please,

      Think some and some is honest play,

      And so my wife taught me to say.

George Gascoigne