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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| XXVIII. | CANT. XXVIII |
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 | Willobie His Avisa |  |
CANT. XXVIII
AVISA.
My hap is hard, and ouer bad,
To be misdeemd of euery man;
That thinke me quickly to be had,
That see me pleasant now and than:
Yet would I not be much a greiu'd,
If you alone were thus deceiu'd.
To be misdeemd of euery man;
That thinke me quickly to be had,
That see me pleasant now and than:
Yet would I not be much a greiu'd,
If you alone were thus deceiu'd.
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But you alone are not deceiu'd,
With tising baytes of pleasant view,
But many others haue belieu'd,
And tride the same, as well as you,
But they repent their folly past,
And so will you, I hope at last.
With tising baytes of pleasant view,
But many others haue belieu'd,
And tride the same, as well as you,
But they repent their folly past,
And so will you, I hope at last.
You seeme, as though you lately came
From London, from some bawdie sell,
Where you haue met some wanton dame,
That knowes the trickes of whoores so well,
Know you some wiues, vse more then one?
Go backe to them, for here are none.
From London, from some bawdie sell,
Where you haue met some wanton dame,
That knowes the trickes of whoores so well,
Know you some wiues, vse more then one?
Go backe to them, for here are none.
For here are none, that list to chuse,
A nouell chance, where old remaine,
My choice is past, and I refuse,
While this doth last, to chuse againe,
While one doth liue, I will no more,
Although I begge from dore to dore.
A nouell chance, where old remaine,
My choice is past, and I refuse,
While this doth last, to chuse againe,
While one doth liue, I will no more,
Although I begge from dore to dore.
Bestow your farmes among your frinds,
Your fortie pounds can not prouoke,
The setled hart, whom vertue binds,
To trust the traines of hidden hooke,
The labor's lost that you indure,
To gorged Hauke, to cast the lure.
Your fortie pounds can not prouoke,
The setled hart, whom vertue binds,
To trust the traines of hidden hooke,
The labor's lost that you indure,
To gorged Hauke, to cast the lure.
If lust had led me to the spoyle,
And wicked will, to wanton change,
Your betters that haue had the foyle,
Had caus'd me long ere this to range,
But they haue left, for they did see,
How far they were mistake of mee.
And wicked will, to wanton change,
Your betters that haue had the foyle,
Had caus'd me long ere this to range,
But they haue left, for they did see,
How far they were mistake of mee.
| Willobie His Avisa | |