Willobie His Avisa :: :: University of Virginia Library

Willobie His Avisa

Or The true Picture of a modest Maid, and of a chast and constant wife. In Hexamiter verse. The like argument wherof, was neuer heretofore published [by Henry Willoby]

Willoughby, Henry (1574?-1596?)

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Abell Emet in commendation of Willobies Auisa.

In praise of Willobie his Auisa, Hexameton to the Author.

WILLOBIE HIS AVISA,

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The first triall of Avisa, before she was married, by a Noble man: vnder which is represented a warning to all young maids of euery degree, that they beware of the alluring intisements of great men.

II.

III.

IV.

VI.

VII.

VIII.

IX.

XI.

XII.

XIII.

THE SECOND TEMPTATION of Avisa, after her marriage by Ruffians, Roysters, young Gentlemen, and lustie Captaines, which all shee quickly cuts off.

XIIII.

XV.

XVI.

XVII.

XVIII.

XIX.

XX.

XXI.

XXII.

The third trial; wherin are expressed the long passionate, and constant affections of the close and wary sutor, which by signes, by sighes, by letters, by priuie messengers, by Iewels, Rings, Golde, diuers gifts, and by a long continued course of courtesie, at length preuaileth with many both maides and wiues, if they be not garded wounderfully with a better spirite then their owne, which all are here finely daunted, and mildly ouer throwne, by the constant aunsweres, and chast replies of Auisa.

XXIII.

XXIIII.

XXV.

XXVI.

XXVII.

XXVIII.

XXIX.

XXX.

T. B. Being somewhat grieued with this aunswere, after long absence and silence, at length writeth, as followeth.

XXXI.

CANT. XXXI,

XXXII.

CANT. XXXII.

XXXIII.

CANT XXXIII.

DYDIMVS HARCO. ANGLO-GERMANVS.

XXXIIII.

XXXV.

XXXVI.

XXXVII.

XXXVIII.

XXXIX.

After long absence, D H. happening to come in on a tyme sodenly to her house, and finding her all alone amongst her maides that were spinning, sayd nothing, but going home wrate these verses following, which he called his Dum habui, and sent them vnto her.

XL.

XLI.

XLII.

XLIII.

XLIIII.

XLV.

XLVI.

XLVII.

XLVIII.

XLIX.

LI.

LII.

LIII.

LIIII.

LV.

LVI.

LVII.

LVIII.

LXI.

LXII.

LXIII.

LXIIII.

LXV.

LXVI.

LXVII.

LXVIII.

LXIX.

LXX.

LXXI.

LXXII.

LXXIII.

LXXIIII.

The Authors conclusion.

The resolution of a chast and a constant wife, that minds to continue faithfull vnto her husband.

The praise of a contented mind.

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The first triall of Avisa, before she was married, by a Noble man: vnder which is represented a warning to all young maids of euery degree, that they beware of the alluring intisements of great men.

CANT. II.

NOB.

Now is the time, if thou be wise,
Thou happie maide, if thou canst see,
Thy happiest time, take good aduise,
Good fortune laughs, be rulde by me:
Be rulde by me, and her's my faith,
No Golde shall want thee till thy death.

Thou knowest my power, thou seest my might,
Thou knowest I can maintaine thee well,
And helpe thy friends vnto their right;
Thou shalt with me for euer dwell,
My secret friend thou shalt remaine,
And all shall turne to thy great gaine.

Thou seest thy parents meane estate,
That barres the hope of greater chance;
And if thou proue not wise too late,
Thou maist thy selfe, and thine aduance:
Repulse not fondly this good hap,
That now lies offred in thy lap.

Abandon feare that bars consent,
Repel the shame that feares a blot,
Let wisdome way what faith is ment,
That all may praise thy happie lot;
Thinke not I seeke thy liues disgrace;
For thou shalt haue a Ladies place.

Thou art the first my fancie chose,
I know thy friends will like it well:
This friendly fault to none disclose,
And what thou thinkst, blush not to tell,
Thou seest my loue, thou know'st my mind,
Now let me feele, what grace I find.

CANT. III.

AVISA

Your Honours place, your riper yeares,
Might better frame some grauer talkes:
Midst sunnie rayes, this cloud appeares;
Sweete Roses grow on prickly stalkes:
If I conceiue, what you request,
You aime at that I most detest.

My tender age that wants aduice,
And craues the aide of sager guides,
Should rather learne for to be wise,
To stay my steps from slipperie slides;
Then thus to sucke, then thus to tast
The poys'ned sap, that kils at last.

I wonder what your wisdome ment,
Thus to assault a silly maide:
Some simple wench, might chance consent,
By false resembling shewes betraide:
I haue by grace a natiue shield,
To lewd assaults that cannot yeeld,

I am too base to be your wife,
You choose me for your secret frend;
That is to lead a filthy life,
Whereon attends a fearefull end:
Though I be poore, I tell you plaine,
To be your whore, I flat disdaine.

Your high estate, your siluer shrines,
Repleate with wind and filthy stinke;
Your glittering gifts, your golden mynes,
May force some fooles perhaps to shrinke:
But I haue learnd that sweetest bayt,
Oft shrowds the hooke of most desayt.

What great good hap, what happie time,
Your proffer brings, let yeelding maids
Of former age, which thought to clime,
To highest tops of earthly aids,
Come backe a while, and let them tell,
Where wicked liues haue ended well.

Shores wife, a Princes secret frend,
Faire Rosomond, a Kings delight:
Yet both haue found a gastly end,
And fortunes friends, felt fortunes spight:
What greater ioyes, could fancie frame,
Yet now we see, their lasting shame.

If princely pallace haue no power,
To shade the shame of secret sinne,
If blacke reproch such names deuoure,
What gaine, or glory can they winne,
That tracing tracts of shamelesse trade,
A hate of God, and man are made?

This onely vertue must aduaunce
My meane estate to ioyfull blisse:
For she that swaies dame vertues launce,
Of happie state can neuer misse,
But they that hope to gaine by vice,
Shall surely proue too late vnwise.

The roote of woe is fond desire,
That neuer feeles her selfe content:
But wanton wing'd, will needes aspire,
To finde the thing, she may lament,
A courtly state, a Ladies place,
My former life will quite deface.

Such strange conceites may hap preuaile,
With such as loue such strong desayts,
But I am taught such qualmes to quaile,
And flee such sweete alluring bayts,
The witlesse Flie playes with the flame,
Till she be scorched with the same.

You long to know what grace you find,
In me, perchance, more then you would,
Except you quickly change your mind,
I find in you, lesse then I should,
Moue this no more, vse no reply,
I'le keepe mine honour till I die.

CANT. IIII.

NOB.

Alas, good soule, and will yee so?
You will be chast Diana's mate;
Till time haue woue the web of woe,
Then to repent wil be too late,
You shew your selfe so foole-precise,
That I can hardly thinke you wise,

You sprang belike from Noble stocke,
That stand so much vpon your fame,
You hope to stay vpon the rocke,
That will preserue a faultlesse name,
But while you hunt for needelesse praise,
You loose the Prime of sweetest daies.

A merry time, when countrie maides
Shall stand (forsooth) vpon their garde;
And dare controll the Courtiers deedes,
At honours gate that watch and warde;
When Milke maids shal their pleasures flie,
And on their credits must relie.

Ah silly wench, take not a pride,
Though thou my raging fancie moue,
Thy betters far, if they were try'd,
Would faine accept my proffered loue;
T'was for thy good, if thou hadst wist,
For I may haue whome ere I list.

But here thy folly may appeare,
Art thou preciser then a Queene:
Queene Ioane of Naples did not feare,

Cornelius Agrippa.

To quite mens loue, with loue againe:
And Messalina, t'is no newes,
Was dayly seene to haunt the stewes.

And Cleopatra, prince of Nile,
With more then one was wont to play:
And yet she keepes her glorious stile,
And fame that neuer shall decaie,
What need'st thou then to feare of shame,
When Queenes and Nobles vse the same?

CANT. V.

AVISA

Needs must the sheepe strake all awrie,
Whose sheepheards wander from their way:
Needes must the sickly patient die,
Whose Doctor seekes his liues decay:
Needs must the people well be taught,
Whose chiefest leaders all are naught.

Such lawlesse guides Gods people found,
When Moab maides allur'd their fall;
They sought no salue to cure this wound,
Till God commaunds, to hange them all;
For wicked life, a shamefull end
To wretched men, the Lord doth send.

Was earth consumde with wreakfull waues?
Did Sodom burne and after sinke?
What sinne is that, which vengaunce craues,
If wicked lust no sinne we thinke?
O blind conceites! O filthy breath!
That drawes vs headlong to our death.

If death be due to euery sinne,
How can I then be too precise?
Where pleasures end, if paine beginne,
What neede haue we, then to be wise?
They weaue indeed the web of woe,
That from the Lord doe yeeld to goe.

I will remember whence I came,
I hunt not for this worldly praise,
I long to keepe a blamelesse fame,
And constant hart gainst hard assaies:
If this be folly, want of skill,
I will remaine thus foolish still.

The blindfold rage of Heathen Queenes,
Or rather queanes that know not God,
Gods heauie iudgements tried since,
And felt the waight of angry rod;
God saue me from that Sodomes crie,
Whose deadly sting shall neuer die.

CANT. VI.

NOB.

Forgiue me wench, I did mistake,
I little thought, that you could preach,
All worldly ioyes, you must forsake:
For so your great Diuines doe teach,
But yet beware, be not too bold,
A yongling Saint, a Deuill old.

Well wanton well, thou art but yong,
This is the error of thy youth,
Thou wilt repent this faith ere long,
And see too late (perhaps) the truth;
And they that seeme so pure at first,
Are often found in proofe the worst.

Thy youth and beautie will not last,
For sicknes one, the other age
May captiue take, when both are past,
You may haue leasure to be sage,
The time will come, if these retire,
The worst will scorne that I desire.

Of chast renowme, you seeke the praise,
You build your hope aboue the ayre,
When wonders last not twentie daies,
What need you rusticke rumors feare?
Esteeme not words aboue thy wealth,
Which must procure thy credits health.

And yet in truth I can not see,
From whence such great discredit growes,
To liue in spight of euery eye,
And swim in silkes, and brauest shewes,
To take the choise of daintiest meate,
And see thy betters stand and waite.

These graue respects breede pleasures braue,
Thy youthly yeares for ioyes craue,
And fading credit hath his waue,
That none to thee doth shine so braue:
That smokie fame which likes thee best,
The wisest haue esteemed least.

CANT. VII.

AVISA

Well now I see, why Christ commends,
To louing mates the Serpents wit,
That stops his eares, and so defends
His hart, from luring sounds vnfit,
If you your madnes still bewraye,
I'le stop my eares, or goe my way.

Vlisses wise, yet dar'd not stay
The tising sound of Syrens song:
What fancie then doth me betray,
That thinke my selfe, so wise and strong;
That dare to heare, what you dare speake,
And hope for strength, when you beweake?

My wisdome is the liuing Lord,
That giues me grace which nature wants,
That holds my seate from waies abhord,
And in my hart good motions plants:
With him I dare to bide the field,
Striue while you list, I can not yeeld.

Fond fauour failes, the time will passe,
All earthly pleasures haue their end,
We see not that, which sometime was,
Nor that which future times will send:
You say the truth, remember this,
And then confesse, you stray amisse.

The shorter time, the greater care,
Are pleasures vaine? the lesse delight,
Are daungers nye? why then beware,
From base affections take your flight,
Thinke God a reckning will require,
And striue to quaile this bad desire.

To swim in silkes, and braue aray,
Is that you thinke which women loue,
That leads poore maides so oft astray,
That are not garded from aboue?
But this I know, that know not all,
Such wicked pride, will haue a fall.

CANT. VIII.

NOB.

Alas the feare, alas the fall,
And what's the fall, that you so feare?
To tosse good fortunes golden ball,
And gaine the goale I prize so deare,
I doubt least these your needlesse feares,
Will bar good hap, from witlesse yeares.

Thy age experience wants I see,
And lacking tryall art afraid,
Least ventring farre to credit me,
Our secret dealings might be wrayd;
What then doth not my mightie name,
Suffice to sheeld thy fact from shame?

Who dares to stirre, who dares to speake,
Who dares our dealings to reproue?
Though some suspect, yet none will creake,
Or once controll thy worthy loue;
My might will stand for thy defence,
And quite thee cleare from great offence.

Who sees our face, knowes not our facts,
Though we our sport in secret vse,
Thy cheekes will not bewray thy acts,
But rather blushing make excuse:
If thou wilt yeeld, here is my faith,
I'le keepe it secret till thy death.

To seeme as chast, let that suffice,
Although indeed thou be not so,
Thus deale our women that are wise,
And let thy godly Doctors go,
Still faine as though thou godly art,
It is inough, who knowes thy hart?

Let not the idle vulgar voice,
Of fained credit witch thee so,
To force thee leaue this happie choise,
And flying pleasure liue in woe;
If thou refuse, assure thy mind,
The like of this shalt neuer find.

CANT. IX.

AVISA.

Let that word stand, let that be true,
I doe refuse and so doe still,
God shield me from your cursed crew,
That thus are led by beastly will,
It grieues my hart, that I doe find
In Noble bloud so base a mind.

On worldly feare, you thinke I stand,
Or fame that may my shame resound,
No Sir, I feare his mightie hand,
That will both you and me confound,
His feare it is that makes me stay
My wandring steps from wicked way.

Who dares, say you, our facts vnfold?
Eu'n he that can mightie Kings tame,
And he that Princes hath controld,
He dares prouide a mightie shame,
What fence haue you for to withstand
His firie plagues, and heuie hand?

Though Samson queld the Lyons rage,
Though Solomon, a mightie King,
Yet when to sinne their harts they gage,
On both doth God confusion bring,
How can you then his wrath auoid,
That you and yours be not destroid?

He sees our facts, he viewes our deeds,
Although we sinne in secret place,
A guiltie conscience alwaies bleeds:
My faults will shew vpon my face,
My cheekes will blush, when I doe sin;
Let all men know, when I begin.

To seeme as chast, and not to be,
To beare a shew, and yet to faine,
Is this the loue, you beare to me,
To damne my soule in lasting paine?
If this the best you haue to say,
Pray giue me leaue, to goe my way.

CANT. X.

NOB.

Well then I see, you haue decreed,
And this decree must light on mee:
Vnhappie Lillie loues a weed,
That giues no sent, that yeelds no glee,
Thou art the first I euer tride,
Shall I at first be thus denide?

My haplesse hap, fell much awrie,
To fix my fancies prime delight,
In haggard Hauke that mounts so hie,
That checkes the lure, and Fawkners sight;
But sore you hie, or flie you low,
Stoupe needs you must, before you goe.

Your modest speech is not amisse,
Your maidens blush becomes you well;
Now will I see how sweete you kisse,
And so my purpose farder tell,
Your coye lookes and trickes are vaine,
I will no nay, and that is plaine.

Thou must perforce be well content,
To let me win thee with thy will;
Thy chiefest friends haue giu'n consent,
And therefore thinke, it is not ill,
Abandon all thy fond delay;
And marke this well, that I shall say.

My house, my hart, my land my life,
My credit to thy care I giue:
And if thou list to be a wife,
In shew of honest fame to liue;
I'le fit thee one, shall beare the cloke,
And be a chimnie for the smoke.

But say the word, it shall be don,
And what thou list, or what thou craue,
What so be lost, what euer won,
Shall nothing want, that thou wilt haue,
Thou shalt haue all, what wilt thou more,
Which neuer woman had before.

Here's fortie Angels to begin;
A little pledge of great goodwill,
To buy thee lace, to buy a pin;
I will be carefull of thee still:
If youth be quaild, if I be old,
I can supply that with my gold.

Silke gownes and veluet shalt thou haue,
With hoods and cauls, fit for thy head;
Of goldsmithes worke a border braue,
A chaine of golde ten double spread;
And all the rest shall answere this,
My purse shall see that nothing misse.

Two wayting maides, attendant still,
Two seruing men, foure geldings prest,
Go where you list, ride where you will,
No iealous thought shal me molest;
Two hundreth pounds I doe intend,
To giue thee yearely for to spend.

Of this I will assurance make,
To some good friend, whom thou wilt chuse
That this in trust from me shall take,
While thou dost liue, vnto thy vse;
A thousand markes, to thee giue I,
And all my Iewels when I die.

This will I doe, what euer chance,
I'le shortly send, and fetch thee hence;
Thy chiefest friends I will aduance,
And leaue them cause of no offence,
For all this same, I onely craue
But thy good-will, that let me haue.

A modest maide is loth to say,
In open words, she doth consent,
Till gentle force doe breake the stay,
Come on mine owne, and be content,
Possesse me of my loues desire,
And let me tast that I require.

CANT. XI.

AVISA.

Hand off my Lord, this will not serue,
Your wisdome wanders much awrie,
From reasons rule thus farre to swarue,
I'le neuer yeeld, I'le rather die,
Except you leaue, and so depart,
This knife shall sticke within your hart.

Is this the loue, your franticke fit
Did so pretend in glosing shew?
Are these your waies, is this your wit,
To tice and force poore maidens so?
You striue in vaine, by raging lust,
To gaine consent, or make me trust.

For who can trust your flattering stile,
Your painted words, your braue pretence,
When you will striue, by trayned will
To force consent to lewd offence,
Then thus to yeeld by chaunted charmes,
I'le rather die within your armes.

Your golden Angels I repell,
Your lawlesse lust I here defie
These Angels are the posts of hell,
That often lead poore soules awrie,
Shame on them all, your eyes shall see,
These Angels haue no power of me.

Your gownes of silke, your golden chaines,
Your men, your maides, your hundreth pounds,
Are nothing else but diuelish traines,
That fill fond eares with tickling sounds,
A bladder full of traiterous wind,
And fardest off from filthy mind.

Well, sith your meaning now is plaine,
And lust would giue no longer leaue,
To faithlesse hart, to lie and faine,
Which might perchance in time deceiue,
By Iesus Christ I doe protest,
I'le neuer graunt that you request.

CANT. XII.

NOB. Furens.

Thou beggers brat, thou dunghill mate,
Thou clownish spawne, thou country gill,
My loue is turnd to wreakefull hate,
Go hang, and keepe thy credit still,
Gad where thou list, aright or wrong,
I hope to see thee begge, erre long.

Was this great offer well refus'd,
Or was this proffer all too base?
Am I fit man to be abus'd,
With such disgrace, by flattering gase?
On thee or thine, as I am man,
I will reuenge this if I can.

Thou think'st thy selfe a pearelesse peice,
And peeuish pride that doth possesse
Thy hart; perswades that thou art wise,
When God doth know ther's nothing lesse,
T'was not thy beautie that did moue
This fond affect, but blinded loue.

I hope to see some countrie clowne,
Possessor of that fleering face,
When need shall force thy pride come downe,
I'le laugh to see thy foolish case,
For thou that think'st thy selfe so braue,
Wilt take at last some paltrie knaue,

Thou selfewill gig that dost detest
My faithfull loue, looke to thy fame,
If thou offend, I doe protest,
I'le bring thee out to open shame,
For sith thou fayn'st thy selfe so pure,
Looke to thy leapes that they be sure.

I was thy friend, but now thy foe,
Thou hadst my hart, but now my hate,
Refusing wealth, God send thee woe,
Repentance now will come too late,
That tongue that did protest my faith,
Shall waile thy pride, and wish thy death.

CANT. XIII.

AVISA.

Yea so I thought, this is the end
Of wandring lust, resembling loue,
Wa'st loue or lust, that did intend
Such friendlesse force, as you did moue?
Though you may vaunt of happier fate,
I am content with my estate.

I rather chuse a quiet mind,
A conscience cleare from bloudy sinnes,
Then short delights, and therein find
That gnawing worme, that neuer linnes,
Your bitter speeches please me more,
Then all your wealth, and all your store.

I loue to liue deuoid of crime,
Although I begge, although I pine,
These fading ioyes for little time,
Imbrace who list, I here resine,
How poore I goe, how meane I fare,
If God be pleas'd, I doe not care.

I rather beare your raging ire,
Although you sweare reuengment deepe,
Then yeeld for gaine to lewd desire,
That you might laugh, when I should weepe,
Your lust would like but for a space,
But who could salue my foule disgrace?

Mine eares haue heard your taunting words,
Of yeelding fooles by you betraid,
Amongst your mates at open bords,
Know'st such a wife? know'st such a maid?
Then must you laugh, then must you winke,
And leaue the rest for them to thinke.

Nay yet welfare the happie life,
That need not blush at euery view:
Although I be a poore mans wife,
Yet then I'le laugh as well as you,
Then laugh as long, as you thinke best,
My fact shall frame you no such iest.

If I doe hap to leape aside,
I must not come to you for aide,
Alas now that you be denide,
You thinke to make me sore afraide;
Nay watch your worst, I doe not care,
If I offend, pray doe not spare.

You were my friend, you were but dust,
The Lord is he, whome I doe loue,
He hath my hart, in him I trust,
And he doth gard me from aboue,
I waie not death, I feare not hell,
This is enough, and so farewell.