The Louer against one that compared his Mistresse with his Ladie

A Madnesse to compare
the Pipler with the Pine,
Whereof the Mariner makes his Mast,
and hanges it all with line.
A follie to preferre
a Lampe before the Sunne,
Or brag that Balams lumpish Asse
with Bucephall shall runne.
Then cease for shame to vaunt,
and crowe in craking wise
Of hir that least deserues to haue
hir beauties fame arise.
Thou foolish Dame beware
of haughtie Peacocks pride:
The fruite thereof in former age
hath sundrie times bene tride.
Arachne can expresse
how angrie Pallas was,
When shée in néedle worke would séeme
the Heauenly Wight to passe.
The Spider shewes the spite
that shée (good wench) abid,
In token of hir pride shee hanges
at roufe by rotten thrid.
No foode shée hath allowde
lesse Fortune sende the Flie:
The Cobwed is hir costly Couch
appointed hir to lie.
Wich venim ranck and vile
hir wombe is like to burst,
A token of hir inwarde hate
and hawtie minde at furst.
And thou that surely thinkst
thy Ladie to excell,
Example take of others harme
for iudgement that befell:
When Pan the Pastors prince,
and Rex of Rustick route,
To passe Apollo in his play
and Musick went aboute:
Mount Tmolus was the Iudge
that there the roome possest,
To giue his verdite for them both
which vttered Musick best.
First came the Rustick forth
with Pipe and puffed bag,
That made his eies to run like streames,
and both his lips to wag.
The noyse was somewhat rude
and ragged to the eare:
The simplest man aliue would gesse
that pieuish Pan was there.
Then Phoebus framde his frets,
and wrested all his pinnes,
And on his curious strings to strike
the skilfull God beginnes.
So passing was his play
as made the trées to daunce,
And stubborne Rocks in déepest vales
for gladsome ioy to praunce.
Amphyon blusht as red
as any glowing flame:
And Orpheus durst not shew his face,
but hide his head for shame.
Ynough quoth Tmolus tho,
my iudgement is that Pan
May pipe among the ruder sort
that little Musick can.
Apollos playe doth passe
of all that ere I hearde:
Wherefore (as reason is) of mée
the Luter is preferde.
Meanewhile was Mydas prest,
not pointed Iudge in place:
But (lyke a dolt that went about
Apollo to deface)
Tushe Tmolus, tushe quoth hee,
Pan hath the better skill:
For hée the emptie bagge with winde
and strouting blast doth fill.
Apollo wagges his ioints
and makes a iarring sounde:
Lyke pleasure is not in the Lute
as in the Bagpipe founde.
No sooner had hée spoke
those witlesse wordes and sed,
But Phoebus graft on Asses eares
vpon his beastly hed.
In proofe of iudgement wrong
that Mydas did maintaine,
Hée had a paire of sowsing eares
to shilde him from the raine.
Wherefore (my Friende) take héede
of afterclaps that fall:
And déeme not hir a Dearling that
deserues no prayse at all.
Your iudgement is beguilde,
your Senses suffer shame:
That so doe séeke to blaze hir armes,
and to aduaunce hir fame.
Let hir go hide hir head
in lothsome lurking mue,
For crabbed Crowfoote marres hir face
and quite distaines hir hue.