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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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A briefe discourse, of the discommodities of quarelling written at the request of his especiall friend and kinseman, maister Robert Cudden of Grayes In.
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
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A briefe discourse, of the discommodities of quarelling written at the request of his especiall friend and kinseman, maister Robert Cudden of Grayes In.

As manhood is a vertue great, where wisedome rules the sword,
As great a vice it is to brall, for euery trifling word,
The rayling speach, the fearelesse othes, the standers by affright,
When quarellers like curtall curres, do barke before they bite,
But if their brauling turne to blowes, his count comes very scant,
For sixe pence strife, to buy a sword, and buckler if he want,
A reckning worsse to catch a licke, but worst the losse of life,
One of which euils, lightly haunt, the man which liues in strife,
Who so is hurt doth feele the smart, who hurtes in feare doth liue,
His foe to seeke a sharpe reuenge, some desperate stroke will giue,
If lucklesse blowe should pierce the hart, the one to death giues place,
The other liues in slender hope, to haue the princes grace.
Though suite of friendes, his pardon gets, appeale doth pinch his pursse,
But gnawing of the conscience guilt, then all will grieue him worsse,
What greater spite then spoyled limmes, with houghed legs to limp,
Or with a wood, or yron hand, the maimed arme to ympe.
This mone he findes at straungers handes, a colde amends in fayth,
A proper man, as one shall see, see what mishap he hath,
But they that know his bralles, doth say, no force, it skilleth not,
His hassard hap, hath hit the white, at which his follie shot,
His friends do count, by this mischaunce, how he doth nothing loose,
Who else would kyll, or sure be kilde, a sorrie choice to choose.
But (ah) good couse, at this my verse, the reader smyle I see,

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Who sayes, behold how far from words, his deeds doe disagree,
If halfe this reason rulde his rage, his rashnesse had not caught,
A maimed hand (which true I graunt) nor tryall had me taught,
The goodnesse halfe of such a lym, which by the lesse I finde,
But sith mishap would haue it so, this shewes an honest mynde,
To warne his friends the vice to shun, whose proofe bewrayes the woe,
If late repentance wrought him helpe, he would no more do so.