Abell Emet in commendation of Willobies Auisa.
To
Willoby, you worthy Dames yeeld worthy prayse,
Whose siluer pype so sweetly sounds your strange delayes,
Whose lofty style, with golden winges remountes your fame,
The glory of your Princely sex, the spotles name:
O happy wench, who so she be if any be,
That thus deserud thus to be praisd by Willobie,
Shall I beleeue, I must beleeue, such one there is,
Well hast thou said, long maist thou say, such on there is,
If one there be, I can beleeue there are no more,
This wicked age, this sinfull tyme breeds no such store:
Such siluer myntes, such golden mines who could refuse?
Such offers made and not receu'd, I greatly muse.
Such deepe deceit in frendly shewes, such tempting fittes,
To still withstand, doth passe the reach of womens wittes:
You Country maides, Pean nimphes reioyse and sing,
To see from you a chast, a new Diana spring:
At whose report you must not frett, you may not frowne,
But rather stryue by due desert for like renowne,
Her constant faith in hot assaye hath wonne the game,
Whose praise shall liue, when she is dead with lasting fame:
If my conceit from strangers mouth may credit get,
A brauer Theame, more sweetly pend, was neuer yet.
Abell Emet.
In praise of Willobie his Auisa, Hexameton to the Author.
In
Lauine Land though Liuie bost,
There hath beene seene a Constant dame:
Though Rome lament that she haue lost
The Gareland of her rarest fame,
Yet now we see, that here is found,
As great a Faith in English ground.
Though Collatine haue deerely bought,
To high renowne, a lasting life,
And found, that most in vaine haue sought,
To haue a Faire, and Constant wife,
Yet Tarquyne pluckt his glistering grape,
And Shake-speare, paints poore Lucrece rape.
Though Susan shine in faithfull praise,
As twinckling Starres in Christall skie,
Penelop's fame though Greekes do raise,
Of faithfullwiues to make vp three,
To thinke the Truth, and say no lesse,
Our Auisa shall make a messe.
This number knits so sure a knot,
Time doubtes, that she shall adde no more,
Vnconstant Nature, hath begot,
Of Fleting Feemes, such fickle store,
Two thousand yeares, haue scarcely seene,
Such as the worst of these haue beene.
Then Aui-Susan ioyne in one,
Let Lucres-Auis be thy name,
This English Eagle sores alone,
And farre surmounts all others fame,
Where high or low, where great or small,
This Brytan Bird out-flies them all.
Were these three happie, that haue found,
Braue Poets to depaint their praise?
Of Rurall Pipe, with sweetest sound,
That haue beene heard these many daies,
Sweete wylloby his AVIS blest,
That makes her mount aboue the rest.
Contraria Contrarijs: Vigilantius: Dormitanus.
