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 Rocke of Regard |  |
The complaint of the Lorde Alberto and Vdislao, the two Hungarian barons, that vnaduisedly wagered their land, to winne the vertuous Ladie Barbara to wantonnesse: Who hauing the foyle (besides the losse of their liuings) for their slaunderous opinions, were condemned to perpetuall exile.
Come
gallants come, by both our falles take heede,
With our fonde faults, you most infected are,
You worke more wrong, in slaunder then in deede,
And yet in deede, your flatterie worketh scare.
Learne, learne, by vs, too lauish speach to spare,
Large offers though, faire Ladies ofte intice,
Thinke there be dames, that will not vaile to vice.
With our fonde faults, you most infected are,
You worke more wrong, in slaunder then in deede,
And yet in deede, your flatterie worketh scare.
Learne, learne, by vs, too lauish speach to spare,
Large offers though, faire Ladies ofte intice,
Thinke there be dames, that will not vaile to vice.
First mende your owne, ere others faults you blame,
See that your life, before you teach you trie,
Plucke out the beame, that blindes your sighte with shame,
So may you finde a moate in others eye,
What yet you note, reproue not openly,
Obserue this course, heare, see, and say the best,
For lauish words, procureth much vnrest.
See that your life, before you teach you trie,
Plucke out the beame, that blindes your sighte with shame,
So may you finde a moate in others eye,
What yet you note, reproue not openly,
Obserue this course, heare, see, and say the best,
For lauish words, procureth much vnrest.
Had we but wayde, that halfe experience shewes,
We might haue liu'd, in honour as of yore,
The want we waile and warne you by our woes,
The least of which, your hearts would much abhorre,
For what may be, then this a mischiefe more,
Once lustie Lords, nowe prisd at lowest rate,
And free men borne, to liue in banisht state.
We might haue liu'd, in honour as of yore,
The want we waile and warne you by our woes,
The least of which, your hearts would much abhorre,
For what may be, then this a mischiefe more,
Once lustie Lords, nowe prisd at lowest rate,
And free men borne, to liue in banisht state.
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What noble mynde, whose hands could weapons vse?
Would brooke his handes, should eyther reele or spinne,
To feede on crustes, what foole would not refuse?
Whose coursest fare, a messe of meate hath bin,
In this distresse, perforce we liued in,
Too hard a plague, say you for fault so small,
We thinke not so, that haue indurd the thrall.
Would brooke his handes, should eyther reele or spinne,
To feede on crustes, what foole would not refuse?
Whose coursest fare, a messe of meate hath bin,
In this distresse, perforce we liued in,
Too hard a plague, say you for fault so small,
We thinke not so, that haue indurd the thrall.
For who at full, may value honest fame?
Whose wound so deepe, as his that slaunders carud?
Our slaundrous thoughts, suspected euery dame,
Our slaundrous toungs, sayd all from vertue swaru'd,
For which exile, we worthily desaru'd,
She vsde vs well (whose praise we sought to spoyle)
In huswiues trades, for meate to make vs moyle.
Whose wound so deepe, as his that slaunders carud?
Our slaundrous thoughts, suspected euery dame,
Our slaundrous toungs, sayd all from vertue swaru'd,
For which exile, we worthily desaru'd,
She vsde vs well (whose praise we sought to spoyle)
In huswiues trades, for meate to make vs moyle.
Our lande we lost, by lawe and wager both,
He wonne it well, that ventured for the same,
But worse then these (the which to shewe I loth)
Our follies leaue, a memorie of shame,
Unto vs both, a corsiue to our name,
Well what is paste, too late we call againe,
Sufficeth nowe, we warne with proofe of paine.
He wonne it well, that ventured for the same,
But worse then these (the which to shewe I loth)
Our follies leaue, a memorie of shame,
Unto vs both, a corsiue to our name,
Well what is paste, too late we call againe,
Sufficeth nowe, we warne with proofe of paine.
And knowe ye first, what raisd this slaundrous thought,
Forsooth our liues, in loytring daliance spent,
We other doomde, by faults that they had wrought,
And ioynd with this, their spoyles, by fonde consent,
Which yealded bound, vnto our louing bent,
Did make vs thinke, at euery wanton whoope,
To lures of loue, a Ladie faire would stoope.
Forsooth our liues, in loytring daliance spent,
We other doomde, by faults that they had wrought,
And ioynd with this, their spoyles, by fonde consent,
Which yealded bound, vnto our louing bent,
Did make vs thinke, at euery wanton whoope,
To lures of loue, a Ladie faire would stoope.
What yet we thought, our toungs did sore recoyle,
In slaundring them, our liues for to accuse,
For who so vaunts,, of any louing spoyle,
Confesseth howe, him selfe he doth abuse,
The greatest vice, that worthy mynds may vse.
Deseruing wel, their worth, who should not praise,
Deseruing ill, much lesse a thousand wayes,
In slaundring them, our liues for to accuse,
For who so vaunts,, of any louing spoyle,
Confesseth howe, him selfe he doth abuse,
The greatest vice, that worthy mynds may vse.
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Deseruing ill, much lesse a thousand wayes,
Oh stay we here, what meaneth our aduise?
When we God wot, so much of counsell neede?
And how againe, shall we vnhappie rise?
Alberto speake, what way shall we proceede?
And art thou mute? Vdislaoes hart doth bleede,
Oh (men forlorne) how wretched is our state?
Whome heauen and earth, oppresse with heapes of hate.
When we God wot, so much of counsell neede?
And how againe, shall we vnhappie rise?
Alberto speake, what way shall we proceede?
And art thou mute? Vdislaoes hart doth bleede,
Oh (men forlorne) how wretched is our state?
Whome heauen and earth, oppresse with heapes of hate.
Who will esteeme, our manhoods and our might?
By Ladies force, to carde, to spinne, and reele,
Where so we liue, all women will vs spight,
And cause they haue, with such disdaine to deale,
Yet plagues ynow, we else in penance feele,
O slaunder thou, on vs these haste brought,
Foule fall the cause, thou harboredst in our thought.
By Ladies force, to carde, to spinne, and reele,
Where so we liue, all women will vs spight,
And cause they haue, with such disdaine to deale,
Yet plagues ynow, we else in penance feele,
O slaunder thou, on vs these haste brought,
Foule fall the cause, thou harboredst in our thought.
Had wretched we, for treason banisht bin,
Some would haue ru'de, our miserie and mone,
But slaundrous speach, is such a hatefull sinne,
As slaunders falls, lamented are of none,
In bookes of shame, their faults are rolld alone,
Their names are scornd, their presence ten times more,
All filthy vice, that all men thus abhore.
Some would haue ru'de, our miserie and mone,
But slaundrous speach, is such a hatefull sinne,
As slaunders falls, lamented are of none,
In bookes of shame, their faults are rolld alone,
Their names are scornd, their presence ten times more,
All filthy vice, that all men thus abhore.
This resteth then, for vs vnhappie men,
To leade our liues, in houltes and vncouth woods,
A hollowe caue, to make our homely den,
To foyle hunger, with apples, hawes, and buds,
For nobles borne, God wot, but sorrie foodes,
There we, poore we, must rue our harmes alone,
Or monsters make, companions in our mone.
To leade our liues, in houltes and vncouth woods,
A hollowe caue, to make our homely den,
To foyle hunger, with apples, hawes, and buds,
For nobles borne, God wot, but sorrie foodes,
There we, poore we, must rue our harmes alone,
Or monsters make, companions in our mone.
O friendly death, our worldly farewell giue,
From hated fleshe, our loathed life diuorce,
Spare them good death, the which in pleasure liue,
And vse at once, on vs thy matchlesse force,
To thee alone, our woes sues for remorce,
When all is done, our helpe remaines in thee,
Then strike with speede, our sorrowes for to free.
From hated fleshe, our loathed life diuorce,
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And vse at once, on vs thy matchlesse force,
To thee alone, our woes sues for remorce,
When all is done, our helpe remaines in thee,
Then strike with speede, our sorrowes for to free.
| The Rocke of Regard | |