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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. XLVIII.

H. W.
The whole to sicke good counsell giue,
Which they themselues cannot performe,
Your wordes do promise sweet reliefe,
To saue my ship from drowning storme:
But hope is past, and health is spent,
For why my mynd is Mal-content.
The flowring hearbes, the pleasant spring,
That deckes the fieldes with vernant hew,
The harmelesse birdes, that sweetly sing,

To dispaire of good successe in the beginning of any action, is alwayes a secret & most certaine forewarning of ill successe, that indeed doth often follow.


My hidden griefes, do still renew:
The ioyes that others long to see,
Is it that most tormenteth mee.
I greatly doubt, though March be past,
Where I shall see that wished May,
That can recure that balefull blast,
Whose cold dispaire wrought my decay:
My hopelesse cloudes, that neuer cleere,
Presage great sorrowes very neere.


I mirth did once, and musicke loue,
Which both as now, I greatly hate:
What vncouth sprite my hart doth moue,
To loath the thing, I lou'd so late?
My greatest ease in deepest mone,
Is when I walke my selfe alone.
Where thinking on my hopelesse hap,
My trickling teares, like riuers flow,
Yet fancy lulles me in her lap,
And telles me, lyfe from death shall grow:
Thus flattering hope makes me belieue;
My griefe in tyme shall feele relieue.
Good fortune helpes the ventering wight,
That hard attempts dare vndertake:
But they that shun the doubtful fight,
As coward drudges, doth forsake:
Come what there will, I meane to try,
Wher winne, or lose, I can but dye.