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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The contemptuous louer finding no grace where hee
faithfully fauoureth, acknowledgeth his former scorne, vsed toward loue, to be the onely
cause of his miseries.
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 | The Rocke of Regard |  |
The contemptuous louer finding no grace where hee faithfully fauoureth, acknowledgeth his former scorne, vsed toward loue, to be the onely cause of his miseries.
In
bondage as I liue, attacht with Cupids mace,
Exilde from ioy, bereft of blisse, past hope of future grace,
My selfe is iudge, I do deserue,
Without reliefe in paine to sterue.
Exilde from ioy, bereft of blisse, past hope of future grace,
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Without reliefe in paine to sterue.
I smilde when I was free, at those which fettred ware,
But I (God wott) with beauties baite, was caught in Cupids snare,
When least I thought of such a woe,
My choise, in chaunge, was sleating soe.
But I (God wott) with beauties baite, was caught in Cupids snare,
When least I thought of such a woe,
My choise, in chaunge, was sleating soe.
But now with soaking sighes, to one I sue for grace,
Whose presence when I do approch, the straight doth shunne the place.
My sight, my sighes, my teares nor truth,
Her stoanie heart can moue to ruth.
Whose presence when I do approch, the straight doth shunne the place.
My sight, my sighes, my teares nor truth,
Her stoanie heart can moue to ruth.
Yet loue, that liues by hope, a fresh enforsed mee to proue,
With pen to pleade, what bashfull tongue, dismayed was to moue.
But loe in vaine to her I write,
For loue my guerdon, is despight.
With pen to pleade, what bashfull tongue, dismayed was to moue.
But loe in vaine to her I write,
For loue my guerdon, is despight.
I serue a froward saint, a Tigers whelpe I froe,
Shee smiles to see mee wade in smart, her wish my wretched woe.
And yet in truth shee blamelesse is,
My onely fault inforceth this.
Shee smiles to see mee wade in smart, her wish my wretched woe.
And yet in truth shee blamelesse is,
My onely fault inforceth this.
She is but instrument, my selfe, the very cause,
Why I consume wt cureles griefe, for scorning Cupids lawes,
Wherefore (sith loue is sworne my foe)
Diuorce mee death, from lingring woe.
Why I consume wt cureles griefe, for scorning Cupids lawes,
Wherefore (sith loue is sworne my foe)
Diuorce mee death, from lingring woe.
And then for others heede, this sillie boune I craue,
That I vppon my timelesse tombe, this Epitaphe may haue.
The thing, that causde mee here to lie,
Was scorning loue at libertie.
That I vppon my timelesse tombe, this Epitaphe may haue.
The thing, that causde mee here to lie,
Was scorning loue at libertie.
| The Rocke of Regard | |