This is something I wrote last year:
A couple of days ago I came across a Tudor poet unknown to me; it seems he is unknown in general because although there are many sonnets and other verses by him, and translations from Italian which he made, nothing apart from his date of birth, 1540, and death, 1610, seems to be known.
I did come across a dedication he made in a book he had translated:
An Historical Treatise of the Travels of Noah into Europe: Containing the first inhabitation and peopling thereof.
As also a breefe recapitulation of the Kings, Governors and Rulers commanding in the same, even until the first building of Troy by Dardanus.
Done into English by Richard Lynche, Gent.
Tempo ‘e figlisaola di verita.
Printed by Adam Islip.
To the Worshipful my very good friend Master Peter Manwood Naïve
Sir, being wholly unfurnished of any other means to testify my gratefulness for your many kindnesses towards me, and thinking it unfit that they so long should sleep obscured or publicly unacknowledged, I judge it irequisite be dedication of these few lines unto you (disabled by fortune for any other fashion) to let you know how much I desire to be found thankful to an assured friend. The matter handled, chalengeth no great worth, the manner in the dressing of itself, and yet my endeavours to deserve the continuation of your love, not to be rejected: as time shall beget a more opportune occasion, my industry shall not slack to apprehend the fame, from which (it may be) may be produced a better shaped issue: till when and ever I rest
Yours in all sincere affection and fidelity assured
A sonnet by Richard:
What sugared terms, what all-persuading art”
What sugared terms, what all-persuading art,
What sweet mellifluous words, what wounding looks
Love used for his admittance to my heart!
Such eloquence was never read in books.
He promised pleasure, rest, and endless joy,
Fruition of the fairest she alive.
His pleasure, pain; rest, trouble; joy, annoy,
Have I since found, which me of bliss deprive.
The Trojan horse thus have I now let in,
Wherein enclosed these arméd men were placed
Bright eyes, fair cheeks, sweet lips, and milk-white skin;
These foes my life have overthrown and razed.
Fair outward shows prove inwardly the worst,
Love looketh fair, but lovers are accurst.