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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. LXIII.

H. W. prosecuteth his sute.

Will not your laughty stomacke stoupe?
Will not this selfe conceite come downe?
As haggard louing mirthlesse coupe,
At friendly lure doth checke and frowne?
Blame not in this the Faulkners skill,
But blame the Hawkes vnbridled will.
Your sharp replies, your frowning cheare,
To absent lines, and present vew,
Doth aie redouble trembling feare,
And griping griefes do still renew,
Your face to me my sole reliefe,
My sight to you your onely griefe.


O lucklesse wretch, what hap had I,
To plant my loue in such a soile?
What furie makes me thus relie
On her that seekes my vtter spoile?
O Gods of loue what signe is this,
That in the first, I first should mis?
And can you thus increase my woe,
And will you thus prolong my paine?
Canst kill the hart that loues thee so,
Canst quit my loue with foule disdaine?
And if thou canst, woe worth the place,
Where first I saw that flattering face.
And shall my folly proue it trew,
That hastie pleasure doubleth paine,
Shall griefe rebound, where ioye grew?
Of faithfull hart is this the gaine?
Me thinks for all your graue aduise,
(For giue my thought) you are not wise.
Would God I could restraine my loue,
Sith you to loue me can not yeeld,
But I alas can not remoue
My fancie, though I die in feeld;
My life doth on your loue depend,
My loue and life at once must end.