Willobie His Avisa Or The true Picture of a modest Maid, and of a chast and constant wife. In Hexamiter verse. The like argument wherof, was neuer heretofore published [by Henry Willoby] |
Willobie His Avisa | ||
CANT. VIII.
NOB.
Alas the feare, alas the fall,
And what's the fall, that you so feare?
To tosse good fortunes golden ball,
And gaine the goale I prize so deare,
I doubt least these your needlesse feares,
Will bar good hap, from witlesse yeares.
And what's the fall, that you so feare?
To tosse good fortunes golden ball,
And gaine the goale I prize so deare,
I doubt least these your needlesse feares,
Will bar good hap, from witlesse yeares.
Thy age experience wants I see,
And lacking tryall art afraid,
Least ventring farre to credit me,
Our secret dealings might be wrayd;
What then doth not my mightie name,
Suffice to sheeld thy fact from shame?
And lacking tryall art afraid,
Least ventring farre to credit me,
Our secret dealings might be wrayd;
What then doth not my mightie name,
Suffice to sheeld thy fact from shame?
Who dares to stirre, who dares to speake,
Who dares our dealings to reproue?
Though some suspect, yet none will creake,
Or once controll thy worthy loue;
My might will stand for thy defence,
And quite thee cleare from great offence.
Who dares our dealings to reproue?
Though some suspect, yet none will creake,
Or once controll thy worthy loue;
My might will stand for thy defence,
And quite thee cleare from great offence.
Who sees our face, knowes not our facts,
Though we our sport in secret vse,
Thy cheekes will not bewray thy acts,
But rather blushing make excuse:
If thou wilt yeeld, here is my faith,
I'le keepe it secret till thy death.
Though we our sport in secret vse,
Thy cheekes will not bewray thy acts,
But rather blushing make excuse:
If thou wilt yeeld, here is my faith,
I'le keepe it secret till thy death.
To seeme as chast, let that suffice,
Although indeed thou be not so,
Thus deale our women that are wise,
And let thy godly Doctors go,
Still faine as though thou godly art,
It is inough, who knowes thy hart?
Although indeed thou be not so,
Thus deale our women that are wise,
And let thy godly Doctors go,
Still faine as though thou godly art,
It is inough, who knowes thy hart?
Let not the idle vulgar voice,
Of fained credit witch thee so,
To force thee leaue this happie choise,
And flying pleasure liue in woe;
If thou refuse, assure thy mind,
The like of this shalt neuer find.
Of fained credit witch thee so,
To force thee leaue this happie choise,
And flying pleasure liue in woe;
If thou refuse, assure thy mind,
The like of this shalt neuer find.
Willobie His Avisa | ||