To EDWARDE PASTON Esquier.
The dier, loe, in smoke, and heate doth toile,
Mennes fickle mindes to please, with sundrie hues:
And though hee learne newe collours still to boile,
Yet variing men, woulde faine some newer choose:
And seeke for that, which arte can not devise,
When that the ould, mighte verie well suffise.
And some of them, here brieflie to recite,
And to declare, with whome they best agree:
For mourners, blacke. for the religious, white.
Which is a signe, of conscience pure, and free.
The greene, agrees with them in hope that live:
And eeke to youthe, this colour wee do give.
The yelowe next, unto the covetous wighte.
And unto those, whome jelousie doth fret.
The man refus'd, in Taunye doth delite.
The collour Redde, let martiall captaines get.
And little boies, whome shamefaitnes did grace,
The Romaines deck'd, in Scarlet like their face.
The marriners, the Blewe becometh well.
Bicause it showes the colour of the sea:
And Prophettes, that of thinges devine foretell,
The men content, like Violet arraie.
And laste, the poore and meaner sorte provide,
The medley, graye, and russet, never dy'de.
Loe here, a fewe of colours plaine expreste,
And eeke the men, with whome they best agree:
Yet everie one, doth thinke his hewe the beste,
And what one likes, an other lothes to see:
For Nature thoughe ten thousande colours have,
Yet unto man, more varriing mindes she gave.
Nowe straungers, who their countries still commende,
And make us muse, with colours they recite:
Maye thinke our lande, small choise of hues doth lende.
Bycause so fewe, of manie I doe write.
Yet let them knowe, my Aucthor these presentes,
Inoughe for those, whome reason still contentes.
But saye wee lacke, their herbes, their wormes, their flies,
And want the meanes: their gallant hues to frame.
Yet Englande, hath her store of orient dies,
And eeke therein, a DYER most of fame,
Who, alwaies hathe so fine, and freshe, a hewe,
That in their landes, the like is not to vewe.