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Portrait of Thomas Sackville


Sacvyles olde age*


fraunces that art the Iewell and renowne
the onely flowre of phiscike in our dayes
to hym that dothe requyre a skyll profowne
or faythefullnes respectes or depe care wayes
whom envye [that] her selffe that all thyngese wold deface
off force is forste to yelde the cheffest prayse
to the all sortes off scycknes gevethe place
and at thy wyll the gryffe thereof alaies
old age alone that hatefull huge dysease
no medycine maye wthstond nor cure the payne
no arte may once renewe the passed dayes
off freshe grene yeres to ronne the race agayne
So crepes it on vs wholly vnwares
and dryes the iuyce wherewt the lyef dothe staye
dullethe the mynde and wt a thownsand cares
pecemeale the swete off lyff it dothe decaie
bewty it reves and wt the comly shappe
that part off man where memory dothe rest
off all our strenghe it suckethe vp the sappe
and queinttes the lyvelie heate wtin our brest
febles [the] our force and breakes the vyttall brethe
and wt the body revethe bloud and all
saddethe the mynde and lastely to the deathe
hales furthe our course to hast our ende wtall ||
This chaunge workes age and off our youghte so grene
leves vs nought elles but only name and blaste
as in marble tombes engraved is seen
the vayne titles that sownd off glory paste
     O envius fates and grudgynge at mans blysse
whi on the ronnynge spyndell off our lief'
the courser thread so slowlye whurled is
well nere isponne and redy to the knyffe
and lustie youthe so soune to rolle awaye
that er we know what iewell we enioye
man from hym selff is tourned a nother waye
to droupe in woe that lyved even now in ioye
yea er we canne perceiue we live and be
and off our yovthe fele what a swette we haue
broken and dooune we now shuld thynke we die
in lyngerynge lief' wth on fote in the grave
     The wyld swyfte hart canne lenghthen forth his race
so manye yeres in leif' and lustines
the chatterynge chowghe can leve so longe a space
and nothynge faded off hys youthefulnes
vnhappy man no soner hathe he past
twyse tewnty yeres and that in heapes off gryefe
but carkaslyke old age aprochethe fast
wastynge the lust that shuld sustayne the lyffe ||
and not alone the bodyes lustines
but off the mvnde the force eke he assaies
dullynge the swyfte immortall lyvelines
as perle and prynce off philosophie sayes
but whie allege i suche autoryte
the dolefull syght that daylie dothe ensue
agge that is com and yought that now dothe die
profe profe alas hathe made it all to true
lo me how late this sackevile did you see
flowrynge in youthe so gladsome and so green
now chaunged an other man and now not he
that erst appered when youthefulnes was seen
now felethe he the burden off his yeres
and now hys cowrse he bendes an other waie
now failes his strenghe now drouppen all his cheres
his chynne is whit now all his lockes ar graye
     O bryttell world o short and false delyght
o tender youthe swete yeres to soone that passe
o happye times off lief' how soone how light
haue ye ben [past] lost o me where is alas
my freshe grene yeres where ar my youthfull daies
wth stelynge steppes how haue ye crept aparte
how ar ye fled ohey oho how decaies
the lustie lief' that dothe so soon departe ||
     So flete awaie the swyfte and ronnynge streames
and so the cloude dothe flie before the wynde
in secrete nyght so pas awaie the dreames
that leaven nowght but wretched cares behinde
So fades the rose that purple rede hathe died
the lustie grene so withers it awaye
so i alas while i in cradell byde
in tender childhode while i sporte and plaie
while learnynge i [a] desyre while i applye
the latten tounge and while i reade the greke
while I delight to learne Astronomie
for swete knowlege while i searche and seke
In mvses while i pas awaie the tyme
off Troylus the double wo to here
the knyghtes storie and off the reves ryme
the myllers tale and eke off chaunteclere
in Surreas verse while fyxed is my Ioye
his englyshe vyrgell for to read and waie
off Iust Aeneas and the fall off troye
and wyates psalmes while that i synge and saie
in court amyd the heavenly ladyes bryght
to fede myne eyes whyle I somtyme desyre
and wth the stroke that reaves me off my syght
while sparclynge In my breste I feale the fyre
in loue Somwhyle while I do sarve and sue
in wo and playnt off my renewynge Sore ||
And off my [state] chaunce the hard estate berewe
my true sarvyce that [shat] she estemes no more
swete frendes while I embrace and to my loue
Some lustie ditie while i do Indite
wythein my stody while I mvse and move
to the fraunces while I these verses wryte
age creapethe on when sodenlye I fele
my strengthe my lust my lyffe and all berefte
that wonder thynckethe me in so shorte while
to worke suche chaunge what space or tyme was lefte
the tissue purple and the diamonde
vaine Iewells and the farre fette thinges off fame
how toochethe man wth washt and de tender hand'
and wt what care lorde dothe he kepe the same
and golden yeares more worthe then any gold
more ryche then perle more pure then precious stone
a Iewell off more force a thousand folde
then all that in the world we compte vpon
In wretched toyes is spent and o alas
frutles is suffered to depart in vayne
lo purple yet when it dothe were and pas
as freshe wt new maye be restored agayne
and Codrus thoughe he pyne vpon the gras
to Crassus welthe maye trust yet to attayne
yea Irus thoughe thou be that crassus was
yet mayest thou hope Craessus to waxe agayne ||
but lustie yeres when they be once forlore
when fled and gon is youthe so freshe and newe
them neither Circes poisons maye restore
nor yet the rodde off marcury renewe
not Ioue him selffe thoughe he wold noryshe the
wth nectar wyne off heavenly goddes aboue
not all the hearbes that in the world be
Thoughe Chiron wold on the there vertue prove
not gyges rynge maye geve the once a hope
aye to enioye [to] thye lustie youthe for past
nor yet Sibilla wt her grislye soppe
that to the dreadfull Cerberus she cast
the golden howres so fast awaie theie flete
alas and byd fare well for evermore
ne playnt ne syghes ne teares ne no regrete
may gayne retorne or ones there course restore
the restles sonne when he hathe ronne his race
and to west downe rold hym In his [ch] waine
out off the este wt new and chearefull face
bryght to the world he shewes him selffe agayne
the wanderynge moone when quenched is her lyght
throughe persant [off her] bryghtnes off her brothers spher<e>
amyd the skyes aprochinge once the nyght
in former shape as [sh] freshe she doth appeare ||
winter when he is worne and woxen olde
to youthe agayne retournes wth lusty grene
and after flakynge snowe and frosen colde
Swete sprynge and flowres the swalow bryngethe in
but our sommer as soone as it is past
and off our age the cruell wynter come
when his sterne wrathe hathe wt his blusterynge blast
blowne Downe our flowers off lust and rent our bloome
as sone as ben our temples overspred
wth flakes off hore as whit as any snowe
when that the warmthe and lyvely bloud is dead
frosen wt cold and com is wynters woe
then gon is hope . and then maye nevermore
man see the sprynge off his youthes flowres agayne
no sommer maye his parched grene restore
but welke and were contynually in payne
tyll deathe alone our swete and dolefull fooe
ridder of smart increaser of our sore
wth dredfull stroke geue end vnto our woe
and slaye the corps that lived in deathe before
these thinges when we beholde and in this state
bothe luste and lief' forwasted when we see
then waxe we wyse and then alas to late
our dayes myspent and wepe and waylen wee
then droppe the teares out off our wythered eyn
and then In playnt is all our pleasure pyght ||
Then lothe we in our hart the wasted tyme
off pleasant yovthe that once we held so lyght
our sugred swete that did so late abound
wth bittered [st.] taste is torned into gall
eche thoughte off youthe geves then so depe a wounde
as if the hart were thrilled therewthall
lo then in vayne the flower off youthe mispent
eche houre there off not well emplied we waile
then then wth syghes bemone we and lament
so rare a Iewell enioyed wtout avayle
but now alas what space off lief' remaines
what yeres ar lefte that I maye recompence
my folies past wt frute off present paines
my Idle youthe wt aged dyligence
wrethelynge now hast thou rested overmoche
now slepe no more what Sackevile now awake
wt myght and mayne whyle that thy power is suche
to frutefull vse do now thy selffe betake
while that thou mayest and whyle as yet thou reste
but in the porche off sad and wofull age
while yet thy hore is grene and not increste
and while the lust yet dothe not hole aswage
     O pleasant tyme o youthe and youthfull toyes
disport and mirthe farwell for ever more
o false delyghtes o vayne and worldly Ioyes ||
vnto the world agayne I yow restore
O tryffles past adieu I ye forsake
my guyde my master o Chaucer alas farwell
thy tales and the to others I betake
to reade wt myrthe whom it delyghthe well
Thou troylus my rymes giude and steer
my pennes lodestarre and my masters same
my dayes pleasure and my nyghtes fere
farewell alas for I geve up the same
farewell Surrea iewell off englishe verse
mirrour off makynge and off poetrie
thy loftye rymes vp to the heuens perce
wryt in the skyes to the worldes eye
cround is thy honour wt eternite
thou syttest hyest in the house off fame
the and thy golden verses honour I
and on my kne fall when i here thy name
but oh farewell my youthe is so fordonne
that lusty rymes agre not wt my eld
my lyffe it hathe a nother race to ronne
and eke my penne another [way] worke to weld
     O myghtty loue here yelde I vp to the
the harte and hand that sarved the so longe
the lusty penne that wonted for to be
the swete complaynt off woffull louers [woffull] wronge ||
ladies off court farewell and court wtall
the pleasaunt shynnynge [shyn] off your bewtyes lyght
the glisterynge palaice and the goden halles
vayne wrethed pompe dothe me nomore delyght
Awaye pleasures away pasttyme and playe
flatterynge delyghtes depart I ye reiecte
vnto the hevenly kynge that lives for aye
my selffe and all hence forthe wyll I derecte
my pen shall paynt his honour and his prayse
and wt my mouthe furthe wyll I spred his Fame
and when this wretched erthly masse decaies
my Soule in blysse shall magnyfy his name

finis



* These verses were not discovered until 1986, when they turned up in an auction in London. The manuscript was acquired by McMaster University in Ontario, Canada [McMaster University Library, MS 93, ff. 7r-11v]. For a detailed discussion of the manuscript as well as exhaustive notes and glosses on the text, please see 'Sacvyles Olde Age' a Newly Discovered Poem by Thomas Sackville, by Rivkah Zim and M. B. Parkes. The Review of English Studies, Vol. 40, No. 157 (Feb., 1989), pp. 1-25.






Text source:
Zim, Rivkah, and M. B. Parkes. 'Sacvyles Olde Age' a Newly Discovered Poem by Thomas Sackville.
The Review of English Studies, Vol. 40, No. 157 (Feb., 1989), pp. 15-20.



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