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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]
  

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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.

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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.