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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. XXIII.
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CANT. XXIII.

D. B. A French man.
As flaming flakes, too closely pent,
With smothering smoke, in narrow vault,
Each hole doth trie, to get a vent,
And force by forces, fierce assault,
With ratling rage, doth rumbling raue,
Till flame and smoke free passage haue.


So I (my deare) haue smothered long,
Within my hart a sparkling flame,
Whose rebell rage is grown so strong,
That hope is past to quell the same,
Except the stone, that strake the fire,
With water quench this hote desire.
The glauncing speare, that made the wound,
Which ranckling thus, hath bred my paine,
Must pearcing slide with fresh rebound,
And wound, with wound, recure againe.
That flooting eye that pearst my hart,
Must yeeld to salue my curelesse smart.
I striu'd, but striu'd against the streame,
To daunt the qualmes of fond desire,
The more their course I did restraine,
More strong and strong they did retire,
Bare need doth force me now to runne,
To seeke my helpe, where hurt begunne.
Thy present state wants present aid,
A quicke redresse my griefe requires,
Let not the meanes be long delaid,
That yeelds vs both our harts desires,
If you will ease my pensiue hart,
I'le find a salue to heale your smart.
I am no common gameling mate,
That list to bowle in euery plaine,
But (wench) consider both our state,
The time is now, for both to gaine,
From daungerous bands I set you free,
If you wil yeeld to comfort mee.