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. XLII.
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 | Willobie His Avisa |  |
CANT. XLII.
D. H. to chast Auisa perpetuall constancy.
This
is inough: now I haue done,
I thinke indeed you do not faine,
As others haue, that haue beene wonne
In shorter space, with lesser paine,
And sith you will not yeeld in deed
To these my wordes, yet take good heed.
I thinke indeed you do not faine,
As others haue, that haue beene wonne
In shorter space, with lesser paine,
And sith you will not yeeld in deed
To these my wordes, yet take good heed.
My former loue was onely lust,
As you in deed did truly say,
And they, such loue that rashly trust,
Do plant the plot of swift decay:
But they whom Grace doth make so wise,
To high renowne, will surely ryse.
As you in deed did truly say,
And they, such loue that rashly trust,
Do plant the plot of swift decay:
But they whom Grace doth make so wise,
To high renowne, will surely ryse.
If you had had a waxye hart,
That would haue melt at hot desyre,
Or chaffye thoughtes that could haue start,
And yeeld to burne at euery fyre,
What ere I did, or sayd before,
I should haue thought you but a whore.
That would haue melt at hot desyre,
Or chaffye thoughtes that could haue start,
And yeeld to burne at euery fyre,
What ere I did, or sayd before,
I should haue thought you but a whore.
Though saylers loue the common Port,
As safest harbour where to rest,
Yet wise men seeke the strongest fort,
And paper castells most detest:
Men cannot loue such as they know,
Will yeeld at sight of euery blow.
As safest harbour where to rest,
Yet wise men seeke the strongest fort,
And paper castells most detest:
Men cannot loue such as they know,
Will yeeld at sight of euery blow.
40
But now my loue by vertue bound,
No stormie blastes can make it quaile,
Your constant mind a frend hath found,
Whose honest loue shall neuer faile,
A faithfull frend in honest loue,
Whom lewd affections shall not moue.
No stormie blastes can make it quaile,
Your constant mind a frend hath found,
Whose honest loue shall neuer faile,
A faithfull frend in honest loue,
Whom lewd affections shall not moue.
If you this wanton fault forgiue,
No time in me shall euer find
Such lewd attemptes, while I do liue,
Now that I know your constant mynd,
My pen doth write, my hart hath swore,
My tounge such speech shall vse no more.
No time in me shall euer find
Such lewd attemptes, while I do liue,
Now that I know your constant mynd,
My pen doth write, my hart hath swore,
My tounge such speech shall vse no more.
A thousand tymes I loue no more,
Then if I had my purpose wonne,
Of common loue I make no store,
But leaue it there where I begunne,
What oddes there is, now you may proue,
Twixt wicked lust and honest loue.
Then if I had my purpose wonne,
Of common loue I make no store,
But leaue it there where I begunne,
What oddes there is, now you may proue,
Twixt wicked lust and honest loue.
Now grant I pray this last request,
That fraudlesse hart doth frendly send,
That if my fayth deserue it best,
Accept me for your honest frend:
And if I seeke your spoile, or shame,
Then raze me out, and blot my name.
That fraudlesse hart doth frendly send,
That if my fayth deserue it best,
Accept me for your honest frend:
And if I seeke your spoile, or shame,
Then raze me out, and blot my name.
And if I shall this fauour find,
Then weare this ring, though you be loth,
As token of my simple mynd,
And perfect band of faithfull oath:
The posye is, No frend to faith
That will remaine, till both our death.
Then weare this ring, though you be loth,
As token of my simple mynd,
And perfect band of faithfull oath:
The posye is, No frend to faith
That will remaine, till both our death.
Esteeme not this a painted bait,
Or golden ball cast to deceaue:
If I do meane such lewd desait,
Let God my soule in tormentes leaue:
I say no more, but thus I end,
In honest loue your faithful frend.
Or golden ball cast to deceaue:
If I do meane such lewd desait,
Let God my soule in tormentes leaue:
I say no more, but thus I end,
In honest loue your faithful frend.
D. H.
| Willobie His Avisa | |