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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. LXXIII.
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CANT. LXXIII.

H. W.
My tongue, my hand, my ready hart,
That spake, that felt, that freely thought,
My loue, thy limbes, my inward smart,
Haue all performed what they ought,
These all do loue you yet, and shall,
And when I change, let vengeance fall.
Shall I repent, I euer saw
That face, that so can frowne on mee?
How can I wish, when fancies draw
Mine eies to wish, and looke for thee?
Then though you do denie my right,
Yet bar me not from wished sight.

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And yet I craue, I know not what,
Perchance my presence breeds your paine,
And if I were perswaded that,
I would in absence still remaine,
You shall not feele the smallest griefe,
Although it were to saue my life,
Ah woe is me, the case so stands,
That sencelesse papers plead my wo,
They can not weepe, nor wring their hands,
But say perhaps, that I did so,
And though these lines for mercie craue,
Who can on papers pittie haue?
O that my griefes, my sighs, my teares,
Might plainely muster in your vew,
Then paine, not pen, then faith, not feares,
Should vouch my vowes, and writings trew,
This wishing shewes a wofull want,
Of that which you by right should grant.
Now fare thou well, whose wel-fare brings
Such lothsome feare, and ill to me.
Yet heere thy friend this farwell sings,
Though heauie word a farwell be.
Against all hope, if I hope still,
Blame but abundance of good will.

Grand Amore, grand Dolore,
Inopem me copia fecit. H. W.