She armes the brest with constant patience Against the bitter throwes of dolours darts: She solaceth with rules of sapience 135 The gentle minds, in midst of worldlie smarts: When he is sad, shee seeks to make him merie, And doth refresh his sprights when they be werie. But he that is of reasons skill bereft, And wants the staffe of wisedome him to stay, 140 Is like a ship in midst of tempest left Withouten helme or pilot her to sway: Full sad and dreadfull is that ships event; So is the man that wants intendiment*. [* _Intendiment_, understanding.] Whie then doo foolish men so much despize 145 The precious store of this celestiall riches? Why doo they banish us, that patronize The name of learning? Most unhappie wretches! The which lie drowned in deep wretchednes, Yet doo not see their owne unhappines. 150 My part it is and my professed skill The stage with tragick buskin to adorne, And fill the scene with plaint and outcries shrill Of wretched persons, to misfortune borne: But none more tragick matter I can finde 155 Than this, of men depriv’d of sense and minde. For all mans life me seemes a tragedy, Full of sad sights and sore catastrophees; First comming to the world with weeping eye, Where all his dayes, like dolorous trophees, 160 Are heapt with spoyles of fortune and of feare, And he at last laid forth on balefull beare. So all with rufull spectacles is fild, Fit for Megera or Persephone; But I that in true tragedies am skild, 165 The flowre of wit, finde nought to busie me: Therefore I mourne, and pitifully mone, Because that mourning matter I have none. Then gan she wofully to waile, and wring Her wretched hands in lamentable wise; 170 And all her sisters, thereto answering, Threw forth lowd shrieks and drerie dolefull cries. So rested she: and then the next in rew Began her grievous plaint, as doth ensew. THALIA. Where be the sweete delights of learnings treasure, 175 That wont with comick sock to beautefie The painted theaters, and fill with pleasure The listners eyes, and eares with melodie, In which I late was wont to raine as queene, And maske in mirth with graces well beseene? 180 O, all is gone! and all that goodly glee, Which wont to be the glorie of gay wits, Is layd abed, and no where now to see; And in her roome unseemly Sorrow sits, With hollow browes and greisly countenaunce 185 Marring my ioyous gentle dalliaunce. And him beside sits ugly Barbarisme, And brutish Ignorance, ycrept of late Out of dredd darknes of the deep abysme, Where being bredd, he light and heaven does hate: They in the mindes of men now tyrannize, 191 And the faire scene with rudenes foule disguize.