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A gorgious Gallery, of gallant Inuentions

Garnished and decked with diuers dayntie deuises, right delicate and delightfull, to recreate eche modest minde withall. First framed and fashioned in sundrie formes, by diuers worthy workemen of late dayes: and now, ioyned together and builded up: By T. P. [i.e. Thomas Procter]

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The Lady beloued, assureth her Louer to bee his owne, and not to change, while life doth last.
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
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The Lady beloued, assureth her Louer to bee his owne, and not to change, while life doth last.

Deare hart as earst I was, so will I stil remayne,
Till I am dead, and more if more may bee:
Howsoeuer loue do yeeld mee ioy or payne,
Or Fortune lyst to smyle or frowne on mee
No chaunging chaunce my fast fayth may constrayne,
No more then Waues, or beating of the Sea
May stir the stedfast rocke, that will not ply,
For fayre nor fowle one inche, no more will I.
A file or knife of lead, shall sooner carue
The Diamant vnto what forme you will:
Ere Fortunes dynte, compell mee for to swarue,
Or the ire of Loue, to breake my constant will,


Yee sooner shall, the law of nature starue,
When Ryuers take their course agaynst the hill,
Ere sodayne hap, for better or for worse,
Disturne my thoughts, to take a better course.
With hartes consent, my loue you doo possesse,
A surer holde may chaunce, then many weene:
The fayth by othe, that subiectes doo confesse,
To their new prince, is seldome stronger seene:
No fyrmer state than that, which loue doth sure expresse,
Of Kinge, ne Keyser hitherto hath been:
So that you neede not fortifie your hould,
With Towre or Ditch, least others win it should.
For though you set, no Souldiers for defence,
For all assaults, this one may yet suffise:
It is not goods can alter my pretence,
No gentle hart, yeeldes to so vile a prise.
Though crowne and septier, few would dispise.
Not beauty meete, to moue a wauering minde,
Yet more then yours, I wot not where to finde.
And feare you not, what forme my hart once tooke,
Least any new print, shall the same deface:
So deepe therin, ingraued is your looke,
As neuer may bee wyped from that place:
My hart like Waxe, so lightly did not brooke,
More then one stroke, ere Cupid brought to passe
One splint of skale, therof to take away,
The best reserued, your Image to pourtray.
That like as what stone, it selfe best desendeth,
And hardiest is with toole to bee graue:
Doth sooner breake in peeces, then it bendeth,
To looze the stampe, afore my hand it gaue:
Euen so the nature, of my hart contendeth,
As hard is this, as any stone you haue:


Though forse do breake it, vnto peeces small,
Those peeces somewhat, you resemble shall.
FINIS.