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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[Fowle fall thee false suspect, so thriue thou ielous thought] |
 | The Rocke of Regard |  |
83
[Fowle fall thee false suspect, so thriue thou ielous thought]
Fowle
fall thee false suspect, so thriue thou ielous thought,
Woe worth you both, you reard the hate, that all my harme hath wrought:
You did enuie my hap, when late I liu'de in ioy,
You slaunder forg'd, you mou'd mistrust, you made my souereigne coy.
Shee wronged saunce offence, good reason hath to hate,
But you no cause of filthie strife, twixt friends to set debate,
But sith my heart did yeeld such motions to beleeue,
Both heart, head, and euery veine, with fretting thoughtes to greeue:
First loue renue thy force, my ioyes for to consume,
And when desire hath blowen the cooles, till all my fancies fume:
Then conscience guilt, detect my follies day and houre,
And base desert exile remorse, see dreade, my sweete thou soure,
Disdaine, persuade my minde, my Ladies passing loue
Is chaungd to scorne, from scorne to hate, from hate reuenge to proue.
Tormenting passions eake, abate my pride in showe,
Then scaulding sighes present my state, vnto my friendly foe:
Which when shee once hath seene, with wrecke of my delight,
Despaire, end me dole with death, in my sweete mistresse sight,
But least shee beare the blame, of this my bloudy hand,
I craue vpon my timelesse tumbe, this Epitaphe may stand.
Woe worth you both, you reard the hate, that all my harme hath wrought:
You did enuie my hap, when late I liu'de in ioy,
You slaunder forg'd, you mou'd mistrust, you made my souereigne coy.
Shee wronged saunce offence, good reason hath to hate,
But you no cause of filthie strife, twixt friends to set debate,
But sith my heart did yeeld such motions to beleeue,
Both heart, head, and euery veine, with fretting thoughtes to greeue:
First loue renue thy force, my ioyes for to consume,
And when desire hath blowen the cooles, till all my fancies fume:
Then conscience guilt, detect my follies day and houre,
And base desert exile remorse, see dreade, my sweete thou soure,
Disdaine, persuade my minde, my Ladies passing loue
Is chaungd to scorne, from scorne to hate, from hate reuenge to proue.
Tormenting passions eake, abate my pride in showe,
Then scaulding sighes present my state, vnto my friendly foe:
Which when shee once hath seene, with wrecke of my delight,
Despaire, end me dole with death, in my sweete mistresse sight,
But least shee beare the blame, of this my bloudy hand,
I craue vpon my timelesse tumbe, this Epitaphe may stand.
Loe heare doth lie his corps,
Himselfe for woe who slue,
That Ielous thoughts, his Lady blamde,
She euer liuing true.
Himselfe for woe who slue,
That Ielous thoughts, his Lady blamde,
She euer liuing true.
| The Rocke of Regard | |