The Pastime of Pleasure: An Allegorical Poem

* * * * And betwene them bothe they did get a sonne, Whiche was my father, that in Kente did wonne. His name was Davy Dronken-nole, He never dranke but in a fayre blacke boule....

And for because that I was than full sadde And by the way he made me good game; To have his company I was somwhat gladde. I was not proude, I toke of him no shame: He came to me...

Wyth Flora paynted and wrought curyously, In divers knottes of marvaylous gretenes; Rampande lyons stode up wondersly, Made all of herbes with dulcet swetenes, Wyth many dragons...

I thought full longe, till I had a syght Of La Bell Pucell, the most fayre ladye; My minde upon her was bothe day and nyght, The fervent love so perst me inwardly, Wherfore I we...

And pryvely she asked a question, Of Perceverance, what I called was? La Graunde Amoure, without abusion, Cosen, quod she: he doth all lovers passe; Like as dothe Phebus in the...

And towarde me I dyde se than comynge La Belle Pucell, the moost fayre creature Of ony fayre erthely person lyvyng, Whiche with me mette with chere so demure. Of the shynynge go...

In this marveylous hall, replete with richesse, At the hye ende she sat full worthely. I came anone unto her great noblenesse, And kneled adowne before her mekely. Madame, I say...

So forthe I went, tossynge on my brayne, Greatly musyng, over hyll and vale. The way was troublous, and ey nothing playne; Tyll at the laste I came to a dale, Beholdyng Phebus d...

Before the lawe, in a tumblyng barge The people sayled, wythout parfitnes, Throughe the worlde all about at large; They hadde none ordre nor no stedfastnes, Tyll rethoricians fo...

Produced by Mark C. Orton, Stephen Hutcheson, and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This book was produced from scanned images of public domain ma...

Thus can I make an alteracion Of worthely honoure, whiche doth depende All onely in my dominacion; Through the worlde my whele doth extende, As reason doth ryght well comprehend...

O mortall folke! revolve in your mynde That worldly joye and frayle prosperitie What is it lyke, but a blast of wynde? For you therof can have no certaintie: It is nowe so full...