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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
 

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Verses of complaint, deuised for a well meaning louer, to moue his maistresse to pitie.
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
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Verses of complaint, deuised for a well meaning louer, to moue his maistresse to pitie.

Now cease good Lady cease, to weaue my further woe,
Where scorne hath worne my ioyes to eb, let pitie force them flowe.
To you, I sue and serue, to you I waile and weepe,
For you my restlesse eyes doth watch, when other men do sleepe.

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To you my sighes I send, which makes my heart to bleede,
For you my teares, like Tiber streames, from dazeled eyes proceede:
No wealth I do enioy, but that I wish you part,
No griefe doth gaule, your daintie minde, but I do ease your smart.
To rowle in bagges of golde, in choise I would detest,
In faith for to inioy your loue, and harbour where you rest,
If you I might inioy, I now forworne with woe,
To former ioyes would be restorde, in spite of him sayes noe,
No torment then should vexe, or nippe my heauie hart,
All gulfes of griefe, shall soone be damde, which drownes my ioyes in smart,
Of age, I should triumphe, and death I would defie,
And fortunes force I could withstand, for all her crueltie.
In you to saue or spill, in you to make or marre,
In you it restes to end my woes, or cause my further care.
Twixt life and death I stand, twixt hope and deepe despaire,
Till louing lines for pyning woe, returnes a luckie share.