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] |
 |
 | Willobie His Avisa |  |
CANT. LXVII.
H. W.
I will not wish, I cannot vow,
Thy hurt, thy griefe, though thou disdaine,
Though thou refuse, I know not how,
To quite my loue with loue againe:
Since I haue swore to be thy frend,
As I began, so will I end.
Thy hurt, thy griefe, though thou disdaine,
Though thou refuse, I know not how,
To quite my loue with loue againe:
Since I haue swore to be thy frend,
As I began, so will I end.
Sweare thou my death, worke thou my woe,
Conspire with greefe to stop my breath,
Yet still thy frend, & not thy foe
I will remayne vntill my death:
Choose whome thou wilt, I will resigne,
If loue, or faith, be like to mine.
Conspire with greefe to stop my breath,
Yet still thy frend, & not thy foe
I will remayne vntill my death:
Choose whome thou wilt, I will resigne,
If loue, or faith, be like to mine.
But while I wretch too long haue lent
My wandering eyes to gase on thee.
I haue both tyme, & trauell spent
In vaine, in vaine: and now I see,
They do but frutelesse paine procure,
To haggard kytes that cast the lure.
My wandering eyes to gase on thee.
I haue both tyme, & trauell spent
In vaine, in vaine: and now I see,
They do but frutelesse paine procure,
To haggard kytes that cast the lure.
When I am dead, yet thou mayst boast,
Thou hadst a frend, a faithfull frend,
That liuing liu'd to loue thee most,
And lou'd thee still vnto his end:
Though thou vnworthy, with disdaine
Did'st force him liue, and dye in paine.
Thou hadst a frend, a faithfull frend,
That liuing liu'd to loue thee most,
And lou'd thee still vnto his end:
Though thou vnworthy, with disdaine
Did'st force him liue, and dye in paine.
Now may I sing, now sigh, and say,
Farewell my lyfe, farewell my ioy,
Now mourne by night, now weepe by day,
Loue, too much loue breedes myne annoy:
What can I wish, what should I craue,
Sith that is gon, that I should haue.
Farewell my lyfe, farewell my ioy,
Now mourne by night, now weepe by day,
Loue, too much loue breedes myne annoy:
What can I wish, what should I craue,
Sith that is gon, that I should haue.
Though hope be turned to dispaire,
Yet giue my tongue leaue to lament,
Beleeue me now, my hart doth sweare,
My lucklesse loue was truly ment:
Thou art too proud, I say no more,
Too stout, and wo is me therefore.
Yet giue my tongue leaue to lament,
Beleeue me now, my hart doth sweare,
My lucklesse loue was truly ment:
Thou art too proud, I say no more,
Too stout, and wo is me therefore.
Felice chipuo.
| Willobie His Avisa | |