The Rocke of Regard diuided into foure parts. The first, the Castle of delight: Wherein is reported, the wretched end of wanton and dissolute liuing. The second, the Garden of Vnthriftinesse: Wherein are many sweete flowers, (or rather fancies) of honest loue. The thirde, the Arbour of Vertue: Wherein slaunder is highly punished, and vertuous Ladies and Gentlewomen, worthily commended. The fourth, the Ortchard of Repentance: Wherein are discoursed, the miseries that followe dicing, the mischiefes of quareling, the fall of prodigalitie: and the souden ouerthrowe of foure notable cousners, with diuers other morall, natural, & tragical discourses: documents and admonitions being all the inuention, collection and translation of George Whetstons |
 |
|
|
|
The louer neither greatly fauoured, nor openly
refused, compareth the wretchednesse of his estate, vnto the paines of hell.
|
|
|
|
 | The Rocke of Regard |  |
The louer neither greatly fauoured, nor openly refused, compareth the wretchednesse of his estate, vnto the paines of hell.
Full
fearefull is the talke of Tantals griefe,
Who hungersterues in seas of deintie fare,
Which failes to eb, when he should find reliefe,
And flowes againe, his hope with woes to ware,
And how in vaine poore Sisyphus doth mone,
To mountaine top, who stil doth roll the stone.
Who hungersterues in seas of deintie fare,
83
And flowes againe, his hope with woes to ware,
And how in vaine poore Sisyphus doth mone,
To mountaine top, who stil doth roll the stone.
And reaching thus, the point of all his paine,
For ioy he leapes, downe falles his fruites of toyle,
Straight backe he runnes, to fetch the stone againe,
A new he rolles, but reapes his former foyle,
These be their plagues, which light in sathans trap,
To wish and want to hope, and haue no hap.
For ioy he leapes, downe falles his fruites of toyle,
Straight backe he runnes, to fetch the stone againe,
A new he rolles, but reapes his former foyle,
These be their plagues, which light in sathans trap,
To wish and want to hope, and haue no hap.
If then it be, a hell, in doubt to liue,
My selfe by proofe, can blase thereof the paine,
Who findeth grace, where scorn but late did grieue,
And fead with hope, with hate is steru'd againe,
For all his suite, who can no answere knowe,
If his sweete maistresse, loues him yea, or no.
My selfe by proofe, can blase thereof the paine,
Who findeth grace, where scorn but late did grieue,
And fead with hope, with hate is steru'd againe,
For all his suite, who can no answere knowe,
If his sweete maistresse, loues him yea, or no.
If secrete yea, this Item would but giue,
I loue in hart, where most in shewe I hate,
To free suspect, thus straungely do I liue,
To plight my fayth, where scorne doth faine debate,
Unto my smart, it were a sweete reliefe,
Then should my lute, sound notes of ioy, not griefe.
I loue in hart, where most in shewe I hate,
To free suspect, thus straungely do I liue,
To plight my fayth, where scorne doth faine debate,
Unto my smart, it were a sweete reliefe,
Then should my lute, sound notes of ioy, not griefe.
Then would I laugh, to see my Lady pout,
And smyle when most, she wroūg her mouth awry,
A signe of fayth, should seeme each thwarting flout,
And iealous feare, farre from my hart should fly,
Although in armes, my foe did her imbrace,
If once she fleard, with fancie on my face.
And smyle when most, she wroūg her mouth awry,
A signe of fayth, should seeme each thwarting flout,
And iealous feare, farre from my hart should fly,
Although in armes, my foe did her imbrace,
If once she fleard, with fancie on my face.
If open no, would will my suites to cease,
I know the worst, and so adieu to smart,
A hastie death, my sorrowes could appease,
Or languor would soone pierce my pyning hart,
Thus death were worsse, how so my fortune fell,
But nowe aliue, I feele the paines of hell.
I know the worst, and so adieu to smart,
A hastie death, my sorrowes could appease,
Or languor would soone pierce my pyning hart,
84
But nowe aliue, I feele the paines of hell.
By gleames of grace, I reape a hote reliefe,
With storms of scorne, I freese againe with feare,
Thus flouds of ioy, do fall to eb with griefe,
And doubtfull hope, desired hap doth weare,
In fauour most, I moue her still to loue,
Soft she replyes, I must your patience proue.
With storms of scorne, I freese againe with feare,
Thus flouds of ioy, do fall to eb with griefe,
And doubtfull hope, desired hap doth weare,
In fauour most, I moue her still to loue,
Soft she replyes, I must your patience proue.
I feare to say, be plaine with yea, or no,
Least in her pettes, no, please her peeuish thought,
And scorne with all, my ioyes do ouerthrowe,
So forward haste, wt backward speed were bought,
Thus am I forst, to daunce attendance still,
God graunt for al, in fiue I get good will.
Least in her pettes, no, please her peeuish thought,
And scorne with all, my ioyes do ouerthrowe,
So forward haste, wt backward speed were bought,
Thus am I forst, to daunce attendance still,
God graunt for al, in fiue I get good will.
| The Rocke of Regard | |