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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. LIII.
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CANT. LIII.

H. W.
If feare and sorrow sharpe the wit,
And tip the tongue with sweeter grace,
Then will & style, must finely fit,
To paint my griefe, and waile my case:
Sith my true loue is counted lust,
And hope is rackt in spitefull dust.

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The cause that made me loue so soone,
And feedes my mind with inward smart,
Springs not from Starres, nor yet the Moone,
But closly lies in secret hart:
And if you aske, I can not tell,
Nor why, nor how, this hap befell.
If birth or beautie could haue wrought,
In lustlesse hart this loues effect,
Some fairer farre my loue haue sought,
Whose louing lookes I did reiect.
If now I yeeld without assault,
Count this my fortune or my fault.
You are a wife, and you haue swore,
You will be true. Yet what of this?
Did neuer wife play false before,
Nor for her pleasure strike amis?
Will you alone be constant still,
When none are chast, nor euer will?
A man or woman first may chuse
The loue that they may after loth;
Wo can denie but such may vse
A second choice, to pleasure both?
No fault to change the old for new;
So to the second they be trew.
Your husband is a worthlesse thing,
That no way can content your mind,
That no way can that pleasure bring,
Your flowring yeares desire to find:
This I will count my chiefest blisse,
If I obtaine, that others misse.


Ther's nothing gotten to be coye,
The purer stampe you must detest,
Now is your time of greatest ioye,
Then loue the friend that loues you best,
This I will count my chiefest blisse,
If I obtaine that others misse.