Whose shiuering cold is warmde with smoke, in steed of flaming fire: (15) Sith talke of tickle trust, doth breed a hope most vaine, This prouerb true by proofe I find, that fayre wordes make fooles faine.
Fayre speech alway doth well, where deedes insue faire wordes, +Faire speech againe alway doth euill, that bushes giue for birdes: +Who hopes to haue fayre wordes, to trie his luckie lot, (20) If I may counsell, let him strike it while the Iron is hot. +But them that feed on cloddes, in steed of pleasant grapes, And after warning often giuen, for better lucke still gapes: Full loath I am, yet must I tell them in wordes plaine, This prouerb old proues true in them, that faire wordes make fooles faine.
(25) Wo worth the time, that wordes so slowly turne to deedes, Wo worth the time that fayre sweet flowres, are growne to rotten weedes: But thrise wo worth the time, that truth away is fled, Wherein I see how simple hartes, with wordes are vainely fed. Trust not fayre wordes therefore, where no deedes do insue, (30) Trust wordes as skilfull Falkners do, trust Haukes that neuer flue: Trust deedes, let wordes be wordes, which neuer wrought me gaine, Let my experience make you wise, and let wordes make fooles faine.
FINIS M. Edwardes.
8. In his extreame sickenesse. +
W Hat grieues my bones, and makes my body faint? UUhat prickes my flesh, and teares my head in twaine? Why do I wake, when rest should me attaint? When others laugh, why do I liue in paine? (5) I tosse, I turne, I chaunge from side to side, And stretch me oft, in sorrowes linckes betide. +
I tosse, as one betost in waues of care, I turne, to flie the woes of loathsome life? I chaunge, to spie if death this corpes might spare, (10) I stretch to heauen, to rid me of this strife. Thus do I stretch, and chaunge, and tosse, and turne, While I in hope of heauen, my life do burne.
Then hold thee still, let be thy heauinesse,