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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. XLIX.
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CANT. XLIX.

H. W. the first assault.

Pardon (sweet wench) my fancies fault,
If I offend to shew my smart,
Your face hath made such fierce assault,
And battred so my fencelesse hart:
That of my foe, my lyfe to saue,
For grace I am constraind to craue.

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The raging Lyon neuer rendes
The yeelding pray, that prostrate lyes,
No valiant captayne euer bendes
His force against surrendering cryes:
Here I surrender roome and right,
And yeeld the fort at captaines sight.
You are the chieftaine, that haue layd
This heauie siege to strengthlesse fort,
And fancy that my will betrayd,
Hath lent dispaire his strongest port:
Your glauncing eyes as Cannon shot,
Haue pearst my hart, and freedome got.
When first I saw that frendly face,
Though neuer seene before that day,
That wit, that talke, that sober grace,
In secret hart thus did I say:
God prosper this, for this is she,
That ioy or woe must bring to me.
A thousand fewtures I haue seene,
For Trauelers change, & choyse shall see,
In Fraunce, in Flaunders, & in Spaine,
Yet none, nor none could conquere mee:
Till now I sawe this face of thyne,
That makes my wittes are none of myne.
I often said, yet there is one,
But where, or what I could not tell,
Whose sight my sence would ouercome,
I feard it still, I knew it well,
And now I know you are the She,
That was ordaind to vanquish me.