The Pastime of Pleasure: An Allegorical Poem

The vyle carkes set upon a fyre

Doth often haunte the syne of lechery,

Fulfyllyng the foule carnall desyre:

Thus erth with erth is corrupt mervaylously,

And erth on erth wyll nothing purify,

Till erth to erth be nere subverted,

For erth with erth is so perverted.

O mortall folke! you may beholde and se

Howe I lye here, sometime a myghty knyght;

The end of joye and all prosperite

Is deth at last, through his course and myght;

After the day there cometh the derke night;

For though the day be never so longe,

At last the belles ringeth to evensonge.

And my selfe called La Graunde Amoure,

Seking adventure in the worldly glory,

For to attayne the riches and honour,

Did thinke full lytle that I should here lye,

Tyll deth dyde marke me full ryght pryvely.

Lo what I am! and wherto you must!

Lyke as I am so shall you be all dust.

Than in your mynde inwardly despyse

The bryttle worlde, so full of doublenes,

With the vyle flesshe, and ryght sone aryse

Out of your slepe of mortall hevynes;

Subdue the devill with grace and mekenes,

That after your lyfe frayle and transitory,

You may than live in joye perdurably.

And as Remembraunce myne epytaphy set

Over my grave, in came dame Fame,

With brennyng tongues, without any let,

Sayeng that she would spreade about my name

To live in honoure without any shame:

Though that deade were my erthly body,

Yet my renowne shoulde raigne eternally.

The power, estate, and royall dignitie

Of dame Fame in every region

Is for to spreade by hye aucthoritie

The noble dedes of many a champion,

As they are worthy in mine opinion;

For thoughe his body be dead and mortall,

His fame shall endure and be memoriall.

Did not Graunde Amoure with his royall dedes

Winne La Bell Pucell the most fayre lady?

And of hye honour attayned the medes,

In the demeanyng him so worthely,

Sleyng the great terrible giauntes ugly,

And also the fyry monster vyolent,

Of the seven metalles made by enchauntment.

About the worlde in every nacion,

That evermore he shall abyde alyve,

Of his great actes to make relacion,

In bokes many I shall of him contrive,

From one to other I shall his name so drive,

That evermore, without extinguyshment,

In burnyng tongues he shall be permanent.

Unto this day reygneth the hye renowne

Of the worthy Hector, prynce victorious:

About is spredde in every region and towne

His noble actes and courage chyvalrous,

In full many bokes ryght delicious,

Unto the reders howe lyst to geve audience,

To here reporte of his great excellence.

And in lyke wyse duke Josue the gente,

Whiche was ryght strong and fyerce in battayle,

Whose noble feates hyghe and excellent

I have caused, wyth diligente travayle,

To abyde in bokes without ony fayle:

Who lyst his story for to se or here,

In the Byble it doth right well appere.

Also the noble and hardy feates of warre

Of Judas Machabeus I about have cast,

In every nacion for to reygne aferre;

Thoughe that his life out of this worlde be past,

His fame shal prospere and shall never wast;

Thus, wyth my power, of every worthy

I spred his dedes in tonges of memory.

Dyd not kyng Davyd a lyons jawe tere

In his tendre youth, he so hardy was?

The lyons cruelte myght nothinge him fere;

And after that he slewe great Golyas.

All in his time he dyd in honoure pas,

And I, dame Fame, wythout any doute,

Have spredde his name in all the worlde aboute.

Also kinge Alexander, the noble conquerour,

Whose great power in all the worlde was knowen,

Of me, dame Fame, he wanne the honoure,

As I my trompe after his death have blowen;

Whose sounde aloude can not be overthrowen.

Thus in flamynge tonges all aboute I flye

Throughe the worlde wyth my winges swyftly.

And of the worthy Sezar Julyus,

All about wyth golden beames bryght,

His name shall dure and be full gloryous;

In all the worlde wyth ardaunt tongues lyght

His fame shall reigne, he hath it wonne by ryght,

For to abyde and ever to augment

Wythouten lette or yet ympediment.

Also yet Arthur, the good kinge of Brittayne,

Wyth all his knightes of the rounde table,

I nowe, dame Fame, shall make to remayne

Their worthy actes highe and honourable,

Perpetually for to be commendable;

In ryall bokes and jestes hystoryall,

Theyr fame is knowen right hyghe tryumphall.

And than Charles the great kynge of Fraunce,

Wyth all his noble douseperes also,

As Rowland, and Olyver, of hys alyaunce,

With all the resydue and many other mo,

Theyr fame encreaseth rennyng to and fro;

The hardy dedes did them magnyfy,

Unto me, Fame, their names to notyfy.

And Godfrey of Boleine, of hardy courage,

That of the paynyms wanne the vyctory,

His worthy actes did their strength aswage,

Whose fame renowmed is ful openly

About the worlde reygnynge so ryally,

In flamynge tongues to be intellygyble,

His most his actes so moche invyncible.

And in like wise without abatement,

I shall cause for to be memoriall

The famus actes so hyghe benevolent

Of Graunde Amoure, my knight in speciall;

His name shall dure and be eternall;

For though his body be wrapt in claye,

Yet his good fame shall remayne alway.

And ryght anone she called Remembraunce,

Commaundyng her ryght truely for to wryte

Both of myne actes and my governaunce,

Which than ryght sone began to endite

Of my feates of armes in a short respite,

Whose goodly stories in tongues severall

About were sent for to be perpetuall.

And thus I, Fame, am ever magnified

When earth in earth hath tane his estate;

Thus after death I am all glorified.

What is he nowe that can my power abate?

Infinite I am, nothing can me mate;

The spryng of honour and of famous clarkes,

My selfe I am to renowne their workes.

And as dame Fame was in laudation,

Into the temple with marveilous lykenes

Sodainly came Time in breviacion,

Whose similitude I shall anone expresse;

Aged he was, with a bearde doubtles,

Of swalowes feaders his wynges were long,

His body federed; he was hye and strong.

In his left hande he had an horology,

And in his ryght hande a fyre brennyng,

A swerde about hym gyrte full surely,

His legges armed clerely shynyng;

And on his noddle darkely flamyng

Was set Saturne, pale as any ledde,

And Jupiter amiddes his foreheade.

In the mouthe Mars; and in his ryght wynge

Was splendent Phebus with his golden beames;

And in his breast there was replendishyng

The shinyng Venus, with depured streames,

That all about did cast her fyry leames;

In his left wynge Mercury; and above his waste

Was horned Dyane, her opposition past.

My name, quod he, is in division;

As tyme was, tyme is, and the tyme future:

I marveyle muche of the presumption

Of the dame Fame so puttyng in ure

Thy great prayse, saiyng it shall endure

For to be infinite evermore in prease,

Seyng that I shall al thy honoure cease.

Shall not I, Tyme, destroye both sea and lande?

The sunne and mone, and the starres all,

By very reason thou shalt understande,

At last shall lese their course in generall.

On tyme past it vayleth not to call:

Nowe by this horologe it doth well appeare,

That my last name dothe evermore drawe neare.

In my ryght hande the great fire so fervent

Shall burne the tyme, and also minyshe

The fatall tongues, for it is accident

Unto me, Time, all thinges to peryshe,

When my laste ende I shall accomplyshe;

And thus in vaine thou hast thy laboure spent,

When by me, Tyme, thou shalt be so brent.

In eternitie, before the creation

Of aungell and man, all thyng was visible

In Goddes syght, as due probation

Of his Godheade, whiche is intellygyble,

To whome nothyng can be impossible.

For in my selfe a hye and sufficient

Before all thynges he was refulgent.

Unto whome onely is apparaunce

Of my last ende, as myne originall

Was in his syght without doubtaunce;

For onely of hym it is especiall,

The hye power and godheade in finall,

The future tence to knowe directly,

Unto whome it appeareth openly.

I am the lodestarre to dame Eternitie;

When man of earth hath his creation,

After the minute of his nativitie,

He taketh then his operacion

Upon me, Tyme, at every season.

In the same houre the worlde was create,

Originally I toke myne estate.

Coulde the nyne worthies so victorious,

Do all their actes without tyme or space?

Tyme is a thyng both gay and glorious,

When it passeth with vertue and grace.

Man in this worlde hath a dwellyng place,

Eyther hell or heaven, wythout lesynge,

Alway he getteth in his tyme spendynge.

Withouten tyme is no erthly thynge,

Nature, fortune, or yet dame Sapyence,

Hardines, clergy, or yet lernynge,

Past, future, or yet in presence;

Wherfore I am of more hye preeminence,

As cause of fame, honoure, and clergy,

They can nothynge wythout hym magnyfy.

Do not I, Tyme, cause nature to augment?

Do not I, Tyme, cause nature to decay?

Do not I, Tyme, cause man to be presente?

Do not I, Tyme, take his lyfe away?

Do not I, Tyme, cause death take his say?

Do not I, Tyme, passe his youth and age?

Do not I, Tyme, every thynge asswage?

In tyme Troye the cyte was edyfied;

By tyme also was the destruccyon;

Nothinge without tyme can be fortified;

No erthly joye nor tribulacion,

Wythout time, is for to suffre passyon;

The tyme of erthe was our dystruccyon,

And the time of erthe was our redempcion.

Adam of erthe, sone of virginite,

And Eve by God of Adam create,

These two the worlde dampned in certaynete,

By disobedience so foule and vycyate;

And all other than frome them generate,

Tyll peace and mercy made right to enclyne

Out of the Lyon to enter the Vyrgyne.

Lyke as the worlde was distroyed totally

By the virgins sone, so it semed well

A virgins sone to redeme it pyteously,

Whose hye Godheed in the chosen vessell

Forty wekes naturally did dwell.

Nature wekes naturally dyd good of kynde,

In the vyrgyn he dyd suche nature fynde.

Thus wythout nature nature wonderly

In a vyrgyn pure openly hath wrought;

To the God of nature nothynge truely

Impossyble is, for he made of nought

Nature fyrst; whyche naturynge hath tought

Naturately right naturate to make;

Why may not he than the pure nature take

By his Godheed of the vyrgin Mary?

His elect mother and arke of testament,

Of holy chyrche the blessyd lumynary,

After the byrthe of her sone excellent,

Virgyn she was, yet alway permanent,

Dysnullynge the sectes of false idolatry,

And castynge downe the fatall heresy.

Thus whan I, Tyme, in every nacyon

Reygne in rest and also in peace;

And Octavyan, in hys dominacyon,

Throughe the worlde and the peopled preace

Letters had sent, his honoure to encreace;

Of all the numbre for to be certayne

For to abey hym as theyr soverayne:

In whose tyme God toke his nativitie,

For to redeme us with his precious bloud,

From the devils bonde of great iniquitie:

His hart was perst hangyng on the rode;

Was not this tyme unto man ryght good?

Shall not I, Tyme, evermore abyde,

Tyll that in Libra at the dreadfull tyde

Of the daye of dome then in the balaunce,

Almyghty God shall be just and egall

To every persone withouten doubtaunce,

Eche as they dyd deserve in generall,

Some to have joye, and some payne eternall,

Then I am past, I may no longer be,

And after me is dame Eternitie.

And thus, as Tyme made his conclusion,

Eternitie, in a fayre white vesture

To the temple came, with whole affection,

And on her head a diademe ryght pure,

With thre crownes of precious treasure;

Eternitie, she sayde, I am nowe doubtles,

Of heaven quene and of hell empresse.

First God made heaven his propre habitacle,

Though that his power be in every place,

In eterne heaven is his tabernacle;

Time is there in no maner of case;

Time renneth alway his ende to embrace;

Nowe I my selfe shall have no endyng,

And my maker had no begynnyng.

In heaven and hell I am continually

Withouten ende to be inextinguissible,

As evermore to reygne full royally,

Of every thyng I am invincible:

Man of my power shall be intelligible.

When the soule shall ryse against the body,

To have judgement to live eternally

In heaven or hell as he doth deserve:

Who that loveth God above every thyng

All his commaundementes he will then observe,

And spende his tyme in vertuous livyng;

Idlenes will evermore be escheuyng;

Eternall joye he shall then attayne,

After his laboure and his busy payne.

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 of mutabilitie;

Set not your mynde upon worldly wealth,

But evermore regarde your soules health.

When earth in earth hath tane his corrupt taste,

Then to repent it is for you to late;

When you save tyme, spende it nothing in waste;

Tyme past with vertue must enter the gate

Of joye and blysse, with myne hye estate,

Without tyme for to be everlastyng,

Whiche God graunt us at our last endyng.

Nowe, blessed lady of the health eternall,

The quene of comfort and of heavenly glory,

Praye to thy swete sonne whiche is infinall,

To geve me grace to wynne the victory

Of the devill, the worlde, and of my body,

And that I may my selfe well apply

Thy sonne and the to laude and magnifie.

Unto all Poetes I do me excuse,

If that I offende for lacke of science;

This lyttle boke yet do ye not refuse,

Though it be devoyde of famous eloquence;

Adde or detra by your hye sapience;

And pardon me of my hye enterpryse,

Whiche of late this fable dyd fayne and devise.

Go, little boke! I praye God the save

From misse metryng by wrong impression;

And who that ever list the for to have,

That he perceyve well thyne intencion,

For to be grounded without presumption,

As for to eschue the synne of ydlenes;

To make suche bokes I apply my busines.

Besechyng God for to geve me grace

Bokes to compyle of moral vertue;

Of my maister Lidgate to folowe the trace,

His noble fame for laude and renue,

Whiche in his lyfe the slouthe did eschue;

Makyng great bokes to be in memory,

On whose soule I pray God have mercy.