The louers of the worlde.

I See their sleights, and secrete science,
That sues to serue, and are out caste:
I see those Dames, that drawes the lines,
That shutts the netts, when fishe are fast.
I see some stande, and craue a looke,
Like eager haukes, that watche their praie:
For want of baite, thei bite the hooke,
Like louyng wormes, thei spende the daie.

I see some smile, that makes men smart,
Whiche liu's vnlearnde, in louers lawes:
Yet with their witts, and wilie arte,
With fondlyngs foode, thei feede the Dawes.
Light triflyng toies, will children please,
As well as gold, or presious stones:
The faunyng whelpps, thinkes them at ease,
When fleshe is gone, to gnawe the bones.

I see thee still, and quiet sorte,
When sutche as I, the sturdie tempest tries:
And yeelds to shocks, as swellyng surges ries.

More bold then wise, to trouble Casars cares,
With bare deuise, and deawe of barraine braine:
But dangers doubt, and dread of further feares,
Bids homely gest, be bolde and plie the maine.
Through hazardes greate, a gobb of gold we gaine,
The Dice must ronne, and sutche as light on lucke:
Maie liue from lacke, and weald this worldly mucke.

The Marchant thriu's, through ventring ship and goods,
(If vessell scape, a flawe or Pirats sleight:)
The Soldiours gaine, their fame by manly moods,
And winns the feeld, where coward dare not feight.
The suter maie, not sleepe in things of weight,
But watche and speake, and venter boldly throwe:
Thei come by fruite, that clims the highest bowe.

Blinde Deastnie deals, the dole when all is done,
Toile reaps but teares, and trothe hath emptie hande:
In vaine the wise, about the worlde doeth roune:
For staie of state, that doeth in Destnie stande.
The haplesse then, doeth builde his house on sande,
No penne preuailes, no seruice winns reward:
Till labours long, by Fortune be prefard.

Where Ladders lacke, in vaine the clouds he climes,
No connyng helpes, nor courage can doe good:
At Cannon mouthe, then laye doune idell Rimes,
And win the reste, by death and losse of blood.
Where seas are drie, in vaine we fishe the modd,
Where neither suite, nor seruice getteth grace:
Flie from the foile, and giue fonde Fortune place.

It maie be so, amid the moste extreemes,
Whiche sitts and marks, these ianglyng Iayes:
Yet findeth game, and goodly sport,
To see sutche birds, caught in the spraies.
I see them laugh, when louers lowre,
There doettyng tyme, hath taught them witte:
Who knowes what meanes, bothe sweete and sowre,
Will flie the force, of fancies fitte.

I see some sheepe, but yet no fooles,
Whiche vse to roome, emong the rout:
Yea skilfull scholers, of the schooles,
For thei can chuse, the fairest out,
The Hunter knowes, the fattest Deare,
Amid the heard, where game doeth ronne:
These men likewise, as doeth appeare,
Emong the Starrs, findes out the Sonne.

I see how crafte, can cloke his care,
And paint his plaints in paper plaine:
As Marchants doe, set forthe their ware,
And lye full loude, for little gaine.
I see how trothe, would tell his taile,
And through he goes emong the swarme:
I see how beutie makes a stale,
To take yong frie, that thinks no harme.

Mutche more is seen, that scapes myne eyes,
An Argoes were, full rare to finde:
This is a glasse, to showe the wise,
That wilfull loue, is euer blinde.
It thinks it doeth, it self so shroude,
That none can see, his trade nor trace:
How should he walke, with in a cloude,
When loue is written in his face.