WILLOBIE HIS AVISA. OR. The true Picture of a modest Maid, and of a chaste and constant wife.  
In Hexamiter verse. The like argument whereof, was never heretofore published.  
Read the preface to the Reader before you enter farther.  A virtuous woman is the crown of her husband, but she that maketh him ashamed, is as corruption in his bones. Proverb. 12. 4. 
Imprinted at London by john Windet. 1594.   

To all the constant Ladies & Gentlewomen of England that fear God.  
PArdon me (sweet Ladies,) if at this present, I deprive you of a just Apology in defence of your constant Chastities, deserved of many of you, and long sithence promised by myself, to some of you: and pardon me the sooner, for that I have long expected that the same should have been performed by some of yourselves, which I know are well able, if you were but so wellwilling to write in your own praise, as many men in these days (whose tongues are tipped with poison) are too ready and over willing, to speak and write to your disgrace. This occasion had been most fit, (publishing now the praise of a constant wife) if I had been but almost ready. But the future time may again reveal as fit a means hereafter for the performance of the same: if so it seem good to him that moderateth all. Concerning this book which I have presumed to dedicate to the safe protection of your accustomed courtesies; if ye ask me for the persons: I am altogether ignorant of them, and have set them down only as I find them named or deciphered in my author. For the truth of his action, if you inquire, I will more fully deliver my hereafter. Touching the substance of the matter itself, I think verily that the nature, words, gestures, promises, and very quintessence, as it were, is there lively described, of such lewd chapmen as use to entice silly maids, and assail the Chastity of honest women. And no doubt but some of you, that have been tried in the like case, (if ever you were tried,) shall in some one part or other acknowledge it to be true. If mine Author have found a Britain Lucretia, or an English Susanna, envy not at her praise (good Ladies) but rather endeavour to deserve the like. There may be as much done for any of you, as he hath done for his AVISA. Whatsoever is in me, I have vowed it wholly, to the exalting of the glory of your sweet sex, as time, occasion and ability shall permit. In the mean time I rest yours in all dutiful affection, and commend you all to his protection, under whose mercy we enjoy all.  
Your most affectionate, Hadrian Dorrell.   

To the gentle & courteous Reader.  
IT is not long sithence (gentle Reader) that my very good friend and chamber fellow M. Henry Willobie, a young man, and a scholar of very good hope, being desirous to see the fashions of other countries for a time, departed voluntarily to her majesties service. Who at his departure, chose me amongst the rest of his friends, unto whom he reposed so much trust, that he delivered me the key of his study, and the use of all his books till his return. Amongst which (perusing them at leisure,) I found many pretty & witty conceits, as I suppose of his own doing. One among the rest I fancied so much, that I have ventured so far upon his friendship, as to publish it without his consent. As I think it not necessary, to be over curious in an other man's labour, so yet something I must say for the better understanding of the whole matter. And therefore, first for the thing itself, whether it be altogether feigned, or in some part true, or altogether true; and yet in most part Poetically shadowed, you must give me leave to speak by conjecture, and not by knowledge. My conjecture is doubtful, and therefore I make you the judges. Concerning the name of AVISA, I think it to be a feigned name, like unto Ovid's Corinna; and there are two causes that make me thus to think. First, for that I never heard of any of that name that I remember; and next for that in a void paper rolled up in this book, I found this very name AVISA, written in great letters a pretty distance asunder, & under every letter a word beginning with the same letter, in this form. 
A. 
Amans.  V 
uxor.  I. 
inviolata.  S. 
semper.  A. 
amanda.    
That is in effect. A loving wife, that never violated her faith, is always to be beloved. Which makes me conjecture that he minding for his recreation to set out the Idea of a constant wife, (rather describing what good wives should do then registering what any hath done) devised a woman's name, that might fitly express this woman's nature whom he would aim at: desirous in this (as I conjecture) to imitate a far off, either Plato in his Common wealth, or More in his Utopia. This my surmise of his meaning, is confirmed also by the sight of other odd papers that I found, wherein he had, as I take it, out of Cornelius Agrippa, drawn the several dispositions of the Italian, the Spaniard, the French man, the Germane, and the English man, and how they are affected in love. The Italian dissembling his love, assaileth the woman beloved, with certain prepared wantonness: he praiseth her in written verses, and extolleth her to the Heavens.  
The Spaniard is unpatient in burning love, very mad with troubled lasciviousness, he runneth furiously, and with pitiful complaints, bewailing his fervent desire, doth call upon his Lady, and worshippeth her, but having obtained his purpose maketh her common to all men.  
The French man endeavoureth to serve, he seeketh to pleasure his woman with songs, and disports etc.  
The German & Englishman being nigher of nature, are inflamed by little and little, but being enamoured, they instantly require with art, and entice with gifts etc. Which several qualities are generally expressed by this Author in the two first trials or assaults made by the noble man, and the lusty Cavalieroes, Captains, or Cutters etc. Signifying by this generality that our noble men, gentlemen, captains, and lusty youths have of late learned the fashions of all these countries, how to solicit their cause, & court, their Ladies, & lovers, & this continueth from the second Canto, to the end of the two and twentieth.  
After this he comes to describe these natures again in particular examples more plainly, and beginneth first with the French man under the shadow of these Letters D. B. from the three and twentieth Canto unto the end of the three and thirtieth. Secondly the English man or German, under these Letters D. H. from the 34. Canto unto the end of the forty three. Lastly the Spaniard and Italian, who more furiously invadeth his love, & more pathetically endureth then all the rest, from the forty four Canto to the end of the book. It seems that in this last example the author names himself, and so describeth his own love, I know not, and I will not be curious.  
All these are so rightly described according to their nature, that it may seem the Author rather meant to show what suits might be made, and how they may be answered, then that there hath been any such thing indeed.  
These things of the one side lead me to think it altogether a feigned matter, both for the names and the substance, and a plain moral plot, secretly to insinuate, how honest maids & women in such temptations should stand upon their guard, considering the glory & praise that commends a spotless life, and the black ignominy, & foul contempt that waiteth upon a wicked and dissolute behaviour.  
Yet of the other side, when I do more deeply consider of it, & more narrowly weigh every particular part, I am driven to think that there is some thing of truth hidden under this shadow. The reasons that move me are these, First in the same paper where I found the name of AVISA written in great letters, as I said before, I found this also written with the Authors own hand, videlicet, Yet I would not have Auisa to be thought a politic fiction, nor a truthless invention, for it may be, that I have at least heard of one in the west of England, in whom the substance of all this hath been verified, and in many things the very words specified: which hath endured these and many more, and many greater assaults, yet, as I hear, she stands unspotted, and unconquered.  
Again, if we mark the exact descriptions of her birth, her country, the place of her abode; and such other circumstances, but especially the matter and manner of their talks and conferences, me thinks it a matter almost impossible that any man could invent all this without some ground or foundation to build on.  
This enforceth me to conjecture, that though the matter be handled poetically, yet there is some thing under these feigned names and shows that hath been done truly. Now judge you, for I can give no sentence in that I know not. If there be any such constant wife, (as I doubt not but there may be) I wish that there were more would spring from her ashes, and that all were such. Whether my Author knew, or heard of any such I cannot tell, but of mine own knowledge I dare to swear, that I know one. A. D. that either hath, or would, if occasion were so offered, endure these, and many greater temptations with a constant mind, and settled heart. And therefore here I must worthily reprehend the envious rage, both of Heathen Poets, and of some Christian and English writers, which so far debase the credit and strength of the whole sex, that they fear not with lying tongues wickedly to publish, that there are none at all that can continue constant, if they be tried. Hereof sprang these false accusing speeches of the old Poets. 
Ludunt formosae, casta est, quam nemo rogavit.  
Fair wenches love to play.  
And they are only chaste, whom no man doth assay.   
And again 
Rara avis in terris, nigroque simillima cygno,  
Foemina casta volat.  
Arare-seene bird that never flies, on earth ne yet in air,  
Like blackish Swan, a woman chaste; if she be young and fair.   
This false opinion bred those foul-mouthed speeches of Friar Mantuan, that upbraids all women with fleeting unconstancy. This made Ariosto and others to invent, and publish so many lewd and untrue tales of women's unfaithfulness. And this is the cause, that in this book ye shall so often find it objected against AVISA by all her suitors, that no woman of what degree so ever can be constant if she be much requested, but that the best will yield. But the best is, this common and coarse conceit is received but only among common, lewd, & careless men, who being wicked themselves, give sentence of all others, according to the lose and lawless humours wherewithal they feel their own straying and wandering affections to be infected. For they for sooth, because in divers and sundry places, (as they often wickedly boast) they may for an Angel and a great deal less have hired nags to ride at their pleasure, such as make a sinful gain of a filthy carcase; because in other countries, where stews and brothelhouses are winked at, they see oftentimes, the fairest and not the meanest flock to the fellowship of such filthy freedom, Think presently, that it is but a money matter, or a little entreaty, to overthrow the chastity of any woman whatsoever. But if all women were in deed such as the woman figured under the name of AVISA either is, or at least is supposed to be, they should quickly restore again their ancient credit and glory which a few wicked wantonness have thus generally obscured. In the twenty and seven Canto, I find how D. B. persuadeth with A. that it is little sin or no fault to love a friend besides her husband. Whereupon, enquiring more of the matter I have heard some of the occupation verify it for a truth: That among the best sort, they are accounted very honest women in some cities now, that love but one friend besides their husband, and that it is thought amongst them a thing almost lawful. If this be true, (as I hardly think it to be true, because wicked men fear not to report any untruths) but if it be true, I fear lest the ripeness of our sin cry to the Lord for vengeance against us, that tremble not at the remembrance of God's judgements, that hath bound a heavy curse & woe upon the back and conscience of them, That speak good of evil, and evil of good. that is, such as are grown to that point, that they are no longer ashamed of their sin, nor care for any honesty, but are become wilfully desperate in the performance of all kind of impiety.  
But I leave this to the godly preachers to dilate more amply. And to return to my purpose, although I must confess that of all sorts of people, there have been & will be still some loosely and lewdly given, yet this can be no excuse to lavish tongues, to condemn all generally. For, I dare to venture my hand, and my head upon this point, that, let the four moral virtues be in order set down. 

Prudence  
Fortitude  
Temperance  
justice   and let the holy scriptures be searched from the beginning to the end, & let all the ancient histories both ecclesiastical and profane be thoroughly examined, and there will be found women enough, that in the performance of all these virtues, have matched, if not over matched men of every age, which I dare myself, to verify in their behalfs upon the venture and losing of my credit, if I had time and leisure. Among infinite numbers to give you a taste of one or two: for wisdom, and justice, what say you to Placilla, wife to the Emperor Theodosius? She was wont every day in her own person, to visit the sick, the poor, and the maimed: And if at any time she saw the Emperor declining from justice to any hard course, she would bid him Remember himself, from whence he came, & 
Theodoret. eccles. hist. lib 5. cap. 17.  what he was, in what state he had been, and in what state he was now; which if he would do, he should never wax proud nor cruel, but rather humble, merciful and just.  
For temperance, how say you to the wife of one Pelagius, 
Theodor. ecc hist. li. 4. c. 10  of Laodicea, which being young herself, and married to a young and lusty man, was yet notwithstanding contented willingly, to forbear carnal pleasure, during her whole life. I bring not this woman's example, for any liking I have to her fact, being lawfully married, but rather, against the curious carpers at women's strength, to prove that some women have done that, which few men can do.  
For Fortitude and temperance both, I find, that in Antioch, 
Eusebius lib. 8. cap. 24.  there was a noble woman with her two daughters, rather than they would be deflowered, cast themselves all willingly into a great river, and so drowned themselves.  
And also, that in Rome there was a Senators wife, who when she heard, that there were messengers sent from Maxentius 
cap. 27. Lok for Blandina in Eusebius, ● rare example of constancy & fortitude.  the tyrant, to bring her unto him, perforce to be ravished of him; and seeing that her husband was not of ability and power to defend her, she used this policy. She requested that they would give her leave to put on some better apparel & to attire herself more decently: which being granted, and she gotten into a chamber by herself, she took a sword and pierced herself to the heart, rather than she would be counted the emperors whore.  
By this may be seen what might be said in this argument, but leaving this to some other time, or to some other better able; I return to my author.  
For the persons & matter, you have heard my conjecture, now for the manner of the composition, disposition, invention, and order of the verse, I must leave every man's sense to himself, for that which pleaseth me, may not fancy others. But to speak my judgement, the invention, the argument, and the disposition, is not common, nor, (that I know) ever handled of any man before in this order. For the composition and order of the verse: Although he fly not aloft with the wings of Astrophil, nor dare to compare with the Arcadian shepherd, or any way match with the dainty Fairy Queen; yet shall you find his words and phrases, neither Trivial nor absurd, but all the whole work for the verse, pleasant, without hardness, smooth without any roughness, sweet without tediousness, easy to be understood, without harrish absurdity: yielding a gracious harmony every where, to the delight of the Reader.  
I have christened it by the name of Willoby his Auisa: because I suppose it was his doing, being written with his own hand. How he will like my boldness, both in the publishing, and naming of it, I know not. For the encouraging and helping of maids and wives to hold an honest and conastnt course against all unhonest and lewd temptations, I have done that I have done. I have not added nor detracted any thing from the work itself, but have let it pass without altering any thing: Only in the end I have added to fill up some void paper certain fragments and ditties, as a resolution of a chaste and constant wife, to the tune of Fortune, and the praise of a contented mind, which I found wrapped altogether with this, and therefore knew not whether it did any way belong unto this or not.  
Thus leaving to trouble your patience with farther delays. I commit you to the good government of God's spirit.  
From my chamber in Oxford this first of October. Hadrian Dorrell.   

Abel Emet in commendation of Willobies Auisa.  
TO Willoby, you worthy Dames yield worthy praise,  
Whose silver pipe so sweetly sounds your strange delays,  
Whose lofty style, with golden wings remountes your same,  
The glory of your Princely sex, the spotless name:  
O happy wench, who so she be if any be,  
That thus deserved thus to be praised by Willobie,  
Shall I believe, I must believe, such one there is,  
Well hast thou said, long mayst thou say, such on there is,  
If one there be, I can believe there are no more,  
This wicked age, this sinful time breeds no such store:  
Such silver mints, such golden mines who could refuse?  
Such offers made and not received, I greatly muse.  
Such deep deceit in friendly shows, such tempting fits,  
To still withstand, doth pass the reach of women's wits:  
You Country maids, Pean nymphs rejoice and sing,  
To see from you a chaste, a new Diana spring:  
At whose report you must not fret, you may not frown,  
But rather strive by due desert for like renown,  
Her constant faith in hot assay hath won the game,  
Whose praise shall live, when she is dead with lasting fame:  
If my conceit from stranger's mouth may credit get,  
A braver Theme, more sweetly penned, was never yet.  Abel Emet.  

In praise of Willobie his Auisa, Hexameton to the Author.  

IN Lauine Land though Livy boast,  
There hath been seen a Constant dame:  
Though Rome lament that she have lost  
The Gareland of her rarest fame,  
Yet now we see, that here is found,  
As great a Faith in English ground.   

Though Collatine have dearly bought,  
To high renown, a lasting life,  
And found, that most in vain have sought,  
To have a Fair, and Constant wife,  
Yet Tarquyne plucked his glistering grape,  
And Shakespeare, paints poor Lucrece rape.   

Though Susan shine in faithful praise,  
As twinkling Stars in Crystal sky,  
Penelop's fame though Greeks' do raise,  
Of faithful wives to make up three,  
To think the Truth, and say no less,  
Our Auisa shall make a mess.   

This number knits so sure a knot,  
Time doubts, that she shall add no more,  
Unconstant Nature, hath begot,  
Of fleeting Feemes, such fickle store,  
Two thousand years, have scarcely seen,  
Such as the worst of these have been.   

Then Aui-Susan join in one,  
Let Lucres-Auis be thy name,  
This English Eagle sores alone,  
And far surmounts all others fame,  
Where high or low, where great or small,  
This Brytan Bird outflies them all.   

Were these three happy, that have found,  
Brave Poets to depaint their praise?  
Of Rural Pipe, with sweetest sound,  
That have been heard these many days,  
Sweet wylloby his AVIS blest,  
That makes her mount above the rest.   
Contraria Contrarijs: Vigilantius: Dormitanus.   

Faults escaped.  
Folio 8 b staff 2 ver 1 read bane for 3 wane Folly 18 a staff 1 ver 2. Soil staff 4 ve 6 foxly b staff 4 ver 2 and Folly 26 a staff 3 ver 4 fool Folly 27 a staff 3 ver 1 Greece b staff 1 ver 4 stray staff 2 ver 6 fond Folly 28 b staff 1 ver 1 die staff 3 ver 6 from.   

WILLOBIE HIS AVISA, OR The true picture of a modest Maid, and of a chaste and constant wife.  

CANT. I.  

LEt martial men, of Mars his praise,  
Sound warlike trump: let lust-led youth,  
Of wicked love, writ wanton lays;  
Let shepherds sing, their sheep coats ruth:  
The wiser sort, confess it plain,  
That these have spent good time in vain.   

My sleepy Muse that wakes but now,  
Nor now had waked if one had slept,  
To virtues praise hath passed her vow,  
To paint the Rose which grace hath kept,  
Of sweetest Rose, that still doth spring,  
Of virtues bird my Muse must sing.   

The bird that doth resemble right,  
The Turtles faith in constant love,  
The faith that first her promise plight;  
No change, nor chance could once remove:  
This have I tried; This dare I trust,  
And sing the truth, I will, I must.   

Afflicted Susan's spotless thought,  
Enticed by lust to sinful crime,  
To lasting fame her name hath brought,  
Whose praise encounters endless time:  
I sing of one whose beauties war,  
For trials pass Susanna's far.   

The wandering Greekes renowned mate,  
That still withstood such hot assays,  
Of raging lust whose doubtful state,  
Sought strong refuge, from strange delays,  
For fierce assaults and trials rare,  
With this my Nymph may not compare.   

Hot trials try where Gold be pure,  
The Diamond daunts the sharpest edge,  
Light chaff, fierce flames may not endure,  
All quickly leap the lowly hedge,  
The object of my Muse hath passed  
Both force and flame, yet stands she fast.   

Though Egle-eyde this bird appear,  
Not blushed at beams of Phoebus' rays:  
Though falcon winged to pierce the air,  
Whose high-pla'st heart no fear dismays:  
Yet sprang she not from eagles nest,  
But Turtle-bred, loves Turtle best.   

At wester side of Albion's Isle,  
Where Austin pitched his Monkish tent,  
Where Shepherds sing, where Muses smile,  
The graces met with one consent,  
To frame each one in sundry part,  
Some cunning work to show their art.   

First Venus framed a luring eye,  
A sweet aspect, and comely grace;  
There did the Rose and Lillie lie,  
That bravely decked a smiling face,  
Here Cupid's mother bend her will,  
In this to show her utmost skill.   

Then Pallas gave a reaching head,  
With deep conceits, and passing wit,  
A settled mind, not fancieled,  
Abhorring Cupid's frantic fit,  
With modest looks, and blushing cheeks,  
A filled tongue which none mislikes.   

Diana decked the remnant parts  
With fewture brave, that nothing lack,  
A quiver full of piercing Darts,  
She gave her hanging at her back;  
And in her hand a Golden shaft,  
To conquer Cupid's creeping craft.   

This done they come to take the view,  
Of novel work, of peerless frame;  
Amongst them three, contention grew,  
But yet Diana gave the name,  
Auisa shall she called be,  
The chief attendant still on me.   

When juno viewed her luring grace,  
Old juno blushed to see a new,  
She feared least jove would like this face,  
And so perhaps might play untrue,  
They all admired so sweet a sight,  
They all envied so rare a wight.   

When juno came to give her wealth, 
Beauty without riches, is as a fair picture without life.   
(Which wanting beauty, wants her life)  
She cried, this face needs not my pelf,  
Great riches sow the seeds of strife:  
I doubt not, some Olympian power  
Will fill her lap, with Golden shower.   

This jealous juno faintly said, 
jealousy breeds envy: Both together breed frenzy yet neither of them both can prevail against wandering fancy.   
As half misdeeming wanton jove,  
But chaste Diana took the maid,  
Such new-bred qualms quite to remove:  
O jealous envy, filthy beast,  
For envy juno gave her least.   

In lieu of Iun'os' Golden part,  
Diana gave her double grace;  
A chaste desire, a constant heart, 
A strange bait.   
Disdain of love in fawning face,  
A face, and eye, that should entice  
A smile, that should deceive the wise.   

A sober tongue that should allure,  
And draw great numbers to the field;  
A flinty heart, that should endure  
All fierce assaults, and never yield,  
And seeming oft as though she would;  
Yet farthest off when that she should.   

Can filthy sink yield wholesome air,  
Or virtue from a vice proceed?  
Can envious heart, or jealous fear  
Repel the things that are decreed?  
By envy though she lost her thrift,  
She got by grace a better gift.   

Not far from thence there lies a vale,  
A rosy vale in pleasant plain;  
The Nymphs frequent this happy dale,  
Old Helicon revives again;  
Here Muses sing, here satires play,  
Here mirth resounds both night and day.   

At East of this, a Castle stands,  
By ancient shepherds built of old,  
And lately was in shepherds hands,  
Though now by brothers bought and sold,  
At west side springs a Crystal well;  
There doth this chaste Auisa dwell.   

And there she dwells in public eye,  
Shut up from none that list to see;  
She answers all that list to try,  
Both high and low of each degree:  
But few that come, but feel her dart,  
And try her well ere they depart.   

They tried her hard in hope to gain,  
Her mild behaviour breeds their hope,  
Their hope assures them to obtain,  
Till having run their witless scope;  
They find their vice by virtue crossed,  
Their foolish words, and labour lost.   

This strange effect, that all should crave,  
Yet none obtain their wrong desire,  
A secret gift, that nature gave,  
To feel the frost, amidst the fire:  
Blame not this Diane's Nymph too much,  
Sith God by nature made her such.   

Let all the graces now be glad,  
That framed a grace that past them all,  
Let juno be no longer sad;  
Her wanton jove hath had a fall;  
Ten years have tried this constant dame,  
And yet she holds a spotless fame.   

Along this plain there lies a down,  
Where shepherds feed their frisking flock;  
Her Sire the Mayor of the town,  
A lovely shout of ancient stock,  
Full twenty years she lived a maid,  
And never was by man betrayed.   

At length by Juno's great request,  
Diana loath, yet gave her leave,  
Of flowering years, to spend the rest  
In wedlock band; but yet receive, 
A good gift.   
Quod she, this gift; Thou virgin pure,  
chaste wife in wedlock shalt endure.   

O happy man that shall enjoy  
A blessing of so rare a price;  
That frees the heart from such annoy;  
As often doth torment the wise,  
A loving wife unto her death,  
With full assurance of her faith.   

When flying fame began to tell,  
How beauties wonder was returned,  
From country hills, in town to dwell,  
With special gifts and grace adorned,  
Of suitors store there might you see;  
And some were men, of high degree.   

But wisdom willed her choose her mate,  
If that she loved a happy life,  
That might be equal to her state,  
To crop the sprigs of future strife;  
Where rich in grace, where sound in health,  
Most men do wed, but for the wealth.   

Though jealous juno had denied  
This happy wench, great store of pelf:  
Yet is she now in wedlock tied,  
To one that loves her as himself,  
So thus they live, and thus they love;  
And God doth bless them from above.   

This rare seen bird, this Phoenix sage  
Yields matter to my drowsy pen,  
The mirror of this sinful age,  
That gives us beasts in shapes of men,  
Such beasts as still continue sin,  
Where age doth leave, there youths begin.   

Our English soil, to Sodoms' sink  
Excessive sin transformed of late,  
Of foul deceit the loathsome link,  
Hath worn all faith clean out of date,  
The greatest sins 'mongst greatest sort,  
Are counted now but for a sport.   

Old Asues grandam is restored;  
Her grovie Caves are new refined:  
The monster Idol is adored 
2. Chro. 15. 16   
By lusty dames of Macha's kind:  
They may not let this worship fall,  
Although they lose their honours all.   

Our Moab Cozbies cast no fear,  
To let in view of every eye,  
Their gainelesse games they hold so dear, 
Numer. 25. 6.   
They follow must, although they die.  
For why? the sword that Phineas wore,  
Is broken now, and cuts no more.   

My tender Muse, that never tried  
Her jointed wings till present time,  
At first the peerless bird espied,  
That mounts aloft, devoid of crime;  
Though high she sore, yet will I try,  
Where I her passage can descry.   

Her high conceits, her constant mind;  
Her sober talk, her stout denies;  
Her chaste advise, here shall you find;  
Her fierce assaults, her mild replies,  
Her daily fight with great and small,  
Yet constant virtue conquers all.   

The first that says to pluck the Rose,  
That scarce appeared without the bud,  
With Gorgeous shows of Golden gloze,  
To sow the seeds that were not good:  
Suppose it were some noble man  
That tried her thus, and thus began.     

The first trial of AVISA, before she was married, by a Noble man: under which is represented a warning to all young maids of every degree, that they beware of the alluring enticements of great men.  

CANT. II.  
NOB.  

NOw is the time, if thou be wise,  
Thou happy maid, if thou canst see,  
Thy happiest time, take good advise,  
Good fortune laughs, be ruled by me:  
Be ruled by me, and here's my faith,  
No Gold shall want thee till thy death.   

Thou knowest my power, thou seest my might,  
Thou knowest I can maintain thee well,  
And help thy friends unto their right;  
Thou shalt with me for ever dwell,  
My secret friend thou shalt remain,  
And all shall turn to thy great gain.   

Thou seest thy parents mean estate,  
That bars the hope of greater chance;  
And if thou prove not wise too late,  
Thou mayst thyself, and thine advance:  
Repulse not fond this good hap,  
That now lies offered in thy lap.   

Abandon fear that bars consent,  
Repel the shame that fears a blot,  
Let wisdom way what faith is meant,  
That all may praise thy happy lot;  
Think not I seek thy lives disgrace;  
For thou shalt have a Lady's place.   

Thou art the first my fancy chose,  
I know thy friends will like it well:  
This friendly fault to none disclose,  
And what thou thinkest, blush not to tell,  
Thou seest my love, thou knowst my mind,  
Now let me feel, what grace I find.    

CANT. III.  
AVISA  

YOur Honour's place, your riper years,  
Might better frame some graver talks:  
Midst sunny rays, this cloud appears;  
Sweet Roses grow on prickly stalks:  
If I conceive, what you request,  
You aim at that I most detest.   

My tender age that wants advice,  
And craves the aid of sager guides,  
Should rather learn for to be wise,  
To stay my steps from slippery slides;  
Then thus to suck, than thus to taste  
The poisoned sap, that kills at last.   

I wonder what your wisdom meant,  
Thus to assault a silly maid:  
Some simple wench, might chance consent,  
By false resembling shows betrayed:  
I have by grace a native shield,  
To lewd assaults that cannot yield,   

I am too base to be your wife,  
You choose me for your secret friend;  
That is to lead a filthy life,  
Whereon attends a fearful end:  
Though I be poor, I tell you plain,  
To be your whore, I flat disdain.   

Your high estate, your silver shrines,  
Replete with wind and filthy stink;  
Your glittering gifts, your golden mines,  
May force some fools perhaps to shrink:  
But I have learned that sweetest bait,  
Oft shrouds the hook of most desayt.   

What great good hap, what happy time,  
Your proffer brings, let yielding maids  
Of former age, which thought to climb,  
To highest tops of earthly aids,  
Come back a while, and let them tell,  
Where wicked lives have ended well.   

Shore's wife, a Princes secret friend,  
Fair Rosamond, a King's delight:  
Yet both have found a ghastly end,  
And fortunes friends, felt fortunes spite:  
What greater joys, could fancy frame,  
Yet now we see, their lasting shame.   

If princely palace have no power,  
To shade the shame of secret sin,  
If black reproach such names devour,  
What gain, or glory can they win,  
That tracing tracts of shameless trade,  
A hate of God, and man are made?   

This only virtue must advance  
My mean estate to joyful bliss:  
For she that sways dame virtues lance,  
Of happy state can never miss,  
But they that hope to gain by vice,  
Shall surely prove too late unwise.   

The root of woe is fond desire,  
That never feels herself content:  
But wanton winged, will needs aspire,  
To find the thing, she may lament,  
A courtly state, a Lady's place,  
My former life will quite deface.   

Such strange conceits may hap prevail,  
With such as love such strong desayts,  
But I am taught such qualms to quail,  
And flee such sweet alluring baits,  
The witless Fly plays with the flame,  
Till she be scorched with the same.   

You long to know what grace you find,  
In me, perchance, more than you would,  
Except you quickly change your mind,  
I find in you, less than I should,  
Move this no more, use no reply,  
I'll keep mine honour till I die.    

CANT. FOUR  
NOB.  

ALas, good soul, and will ye so?  
You will be chaste Diana's mate;  
Till time have wove the web of woe,  
Then to repent will be too late,  
You show yourself so foole-precise,  
That I can hardly think you wise,   

You sprang belike from Noble stock,  
That stand so much upon your fame,  
You hope to stay upon the rock,  
That will preserve a faultless name,  
But while you hunt for needless praise,  
You lose the Prime of sweetest days.   

A merry time, when country maids  
Shall stand (forsooth) upon their guard;  
And dare control the Courtier's deeds,  
At honour's gate that watch and ward;  
When Milk maids shall their pleasures fly,  
And on their credits must rely.   

Ah silly wench, take not a pride,  
Though thou my raging fancy move,  
Thy betters far, if they were tried,  
Would feign accept my proffered love;  
'Twas for thy good, if thou hadst witted,  
For I may have whom ere I list.   

But here thy folly may appear,  
Art thou preciser than a Queen:  
Queen joane of Naples did not fear,  
To quite men's love, with love again: 
Cornelius Agrippa.   
And Messalina, 'tis no news,  
Was daily seen to haunt the stews.   

And Cleopatra, prince of Nile,  
With more than one was wont to play:  
And yet she keeps her glorious style,  
And fame that never shall decay,  
What needest thou then to fear of shame,  
When Queens and Nobles use the same?    

CANT. V  
AVISA  

NEeds must the sheep struck all awry,  
Whose shepherds wander from their way:  
Needs must the sickly patient die,  
Whose Doctor seeks his lives decay:  
Needs must the people well be taught,  
Whose chiefest leaders all are nought.   

Such lawless guides God's people found,  
When Moab maids allured their fall;  
They sought no salve to cure this wound,  
Till God commands, to hang them all;  
For wicked life, a shameful end  
To wretched men, the Lord doth send.   

Was earth consumed with wreakful waves?  
Did Sodom burn and after sink?  
What sin is that, which vengeance craves,  
If wicked lust no sin we think?  
O blind conceits! O filthy breath!  
That draws us headlong to our death.   

If death be due to every sin,  
How can I then be too precise?  
Where pleasures end, if pain begin,  
What need have we, then to be wise?  
They weave indeed the web of woe,  
That from the Lord do yield to go.   

I will remember whence I came,  
I hunt not for this worldly praise,  
I long to keep a blameless fame,  
And constant heart 'gainst hard assays:  
If this be folly, want of skill,  
I will remain thus foolish still.   

The blindfold rage of Heathen Queens,  
Or rather queans that know not God,  
God's heavy judgements tried since,  
And felt the weight of angry rod;  
God save me from that Sodomes' cry,  
Whose deadly sting shall never die.    

CANT. VI  
NOB.  

Forgive me wench, I did mistake,  
I little thought, that you could preach,  
All worldly joys, you must forsake:  
For so your great Divines do teach,  
But yet beware, be not too bold,  
A youngling Saint, a Devil old.   

Well wanton well, thou art but young,  
This is the error of thy youth,  
Thou wilt repent this faith ere long,  
And see too late (perhaps) the truth;  
And they that seem so pure at first,  
Are often found in proof the worst.   

Thy youth and beauty will not last,  
For sickness one, the other age  
May captive take, when both are past,  
You may have leisure to be sage,  
The time will come, if these retire,  
The worst will scorn that I desire.   

Of chaste renown, you seek the praise,  
You build your hope above the air,  
When wonders last not twenty days,  
What need you rustic rumours fear?  
Esteem not words above thy wealth,  
Which must procure thy credit's health.   

And yet in truth I can not see,  
From whence such great discredit grows,  
To live in spite of every eye,  
And swim in silks, and bravest shows,  
To take the choice of daintiest meat,  
And see thy betters stand and wait.   

These grave respects breed pleasures brave,  
Thy youthly years for joys crave,  
And fading credit hath his wave,  
That none to thee doth shine so brave:  
That smoky fame which likes thee best,  
The wisest have esteemed least.    

CANT. VII.  
AVISA  

WEll now I see, why Christ commends,  
To loving mates the Serpent's wit,  
That stops his ears, and so defends  
His heart, from luring sounds unfit,  
If you your madness still bewray,  
I'll stop my ears, or go my way.   

Ulysses wise, yet dared not stay  
The tising sound of Siren's song:  
What fancy then doth me betray,  
That think myself, so wise and strong;  
That dare to hear, what you dare speak,  
And hope for strength, when you beweake?   

My wisdom is the living Lord,  
That gives me grace which nature wants,  
That holds my seat from ways abhorred,  
And in my heart good motions plants:  
With him I dare to bide the field,  
Strive while you list, I can not yield.   

Fond favour fails, the time will pass,  
All earthly pleasures have their end,  
We see not that, which sometime was,  
Nor that which future times will send:  
You say the truth, remember this,  
And then confess, you stray amiss.   

The shorter time, the greater care,  
Are pleasures vain? the less delight,  
Are dangers nigh? why then beware,  
From base affections take your flight,  
Think God a reckoning will require,  
And strive to quail this bad desire.   

To swim in silks, and brave array,  
Is that you think which women love,  
That leads poor maids so oft astray,  
That are not guarded from above?  
But this I know, that know not all,  
Such wicked pride, will have a fall.    

CANT. VIII.  
NOB.  

ALas the fear, alas the fall,  
And what's the fall, that you so fear?  
To toss good fortunes golden ball,  
And gain the goal I prise so dear,  
I doubt lest these your needless fears,  
Will bar good hap, from witless years.   

Thy age experience wants I see,  
And lacking trial art afraid,  
Lest venturing far to credit me,  
Our secret dealings might be wrayd;  
What then doth not my mighty name,  
Suffice to shield thy fact from shame?   

Who dares to stir, who dares to speak,  
Who dares our dealings to reprove?  
Though some suspect, yet none will creak,  
Or once control thy worthy love;  
My might will stand for thy defence,  
And quite thee clear from great offence.   

Who sees our face, knows not our facts,  
Though we our sport in secret use,  
Thy cheeks will not bewray thy acts,  
But rather blushing make excuse:  
If thou wilt yield, here is my faith,  
I'll keep it secret till thy death.   

To seem as chaste, let that suffice,  
Although indeed thou be not so,  
Thus deal our women that are wise,  
And let thy godly Doctors go,  
Still feign as though thou godly art,  
It is enough, who knows thy heart?   

Let not the idle vulgar voice,  
Of feigned credit witch thee so,  
To force thee leave this happy choice,  
And flying pleasure live in woe;  
If thou refuse, assure thy mind,  
The like of this shalt never find.    

CANT. IX.  
AVISA.  

LEt that word stand, let that be true,  
I do refuse and so do still,  
God shield me from your cursed crew,  
That thus are led by beastly will,  
It grieves my heart, that I do find  
In Noble blood so base a mind.   

On worldly fear, you think I stand,  
Or fame that may my shame resound,  
No Sir, I fear his mighty hand,  
That will both you and me confound,  
His fear it is that makes me stay  
My wandering steps from wicked way.   

Who dares, say you, our facts unfold?  
Even he that can mighty Kings tame,  
And he that Princes hath controlled,  
He dares provide a mighty shame,  
What fence have you for to withstand  
His fiery plagues, and heavy hand?   

Though Samson quelled the lions rage,  
Though Solomon, a mighty King,  
Yet when to sin their hearts they gauge,  
On both doth God confusion bring,  
How can you then his wrath avoid,  
That you and yours be not destroyed?   

He sees our facts, he views our deeds,  
Although we sin in secret place,  
A guilty conscience always bleeds:  
My faults will show upon my face,  
My cheeks will blush, when I do sin;  
Let all men know, when I begin.   

To seem as chaste, and not to be,  
To bear a show, and yet to feign,  
Is this the love, you bear to me,  
To damn my soul in lasting pain?  
If this the best you have to say,  
Pray give me leave, to go my way.    

CANT. X.  
NOB.  

WEll then I see, you have decreed,  
And this decree must light on me:  
Unhappy Lily loves a weed,  
That gives no scent, that yields no glee,  
Thou art the first I ever tried,  
Shall I at first be thus denied?   

My hapless hap, fell much awry,  
To fix my fancies prime delight,  
In haggard Hawk that mounts so high,  
That checks the lure, and Fawkners' sight;  
But sore you hie, or fly you low,  
Stoop needs you must, before you go.   

Your modest speech is not amiss,  
Your maiden's blush becomes you well;  
Now will I see how sweet you kiss,  
And so my purpose farther tell;  
Your coy looks and tricks are vain,  
I will no nay, and that is plain.   

Thou must perforce be well content,  
To let me win thee with thy will;  
Thy chiefest friends have given consent,  
And therefore think, it is not ill,  
Abandon all thy fond delay;  
And mark this well, that I shall say.   

My house, my heart, my land my life,  
My credit to thy care I give:  
And if thou list to be a wife,  
In show of honest fame to live;  
I'll fit thee one, shall bear the cloak,  
And be a chimney for the smoke.   

But say the word, it shall be done,  
And what thou list, or what thou crave,  
What so be lost, what ever won,  
Shall nothing want, that thou wilt have,  
Thou shalt have all, what wilt thou more,  
Which never woman had before.   

Here's forty Angels to begin;  
A little pledge of great good will,  
To buy thee lace, to buy a pin;  
I will be careful of thee still:  
If youth be quailed, if I be old,  
I can supply that with my gold.   

Silk gowns and velvet shalt thou have,  
With hoods and cawls, fit for thy head;  
Of goldsmiths work a border brave,  
A chain of gold ten double spread;  
And all the rest shall answer this,  
My purse shall see that nothing miss.   

Two waiting maids, attendant still,  
Two serving men, four geldings priest,  
Go where you list, ride where you will,  
No jealous thought shall me molest;  
Two hundredth pounds I do intend,  
To give thee yearly for to spend.   

Of this I will assurance make,  
To some good friend, whom thou wilt choose  
That this in trust from me shall take,  
While thou dost live, unto thy use;  
A thousand marks, to thee give I,  
And all my jewels when I die.   

This will I do, what ever chance,  
I'll shortly send, and fetch thee hence;  
Thy chiefest friends I will advance,  
And leave them cause of no offence,  
For all this same, I only crave  
But thy goodwill, that let me have.   

A modest maid is loath to say,  
In open words, she doth consent,  
Till gentle force do break the stay,  
Come on mine own, and be content,  
Possess me of my loves desire,  
And let me taste that I require.    

CANT. XI.  
AVISA.  

HAnd off my Lord, this will not serve,  
Your wisdom wanders much awry,  
From reason's rule thus far to serve,  
I'll never yield, I'll rather die,  
Except you leave, and so departed,  
This knife shall stick within your heart.   

Is this the love, your frantic fit  
Did so pretend in glozing show?  
Are these your ways, is this your wit,  
To 'tice and force poor maidens so?  
You strive in vain, by raging lust,  
To gain consent, or make me trust.   

For who can trust your flattering style,  
Your painted words, your brave pretence,  
When you will strive, by trained will  
To force consent to lewd offence,  
Then thus to yield by chanted charms,  
I'll rather die within your arms.   

Your golden Angels I repel,  
Your lawless lust I here defy  
These Angels are the posts of hell,  
That often lead poor souls awry,  
Shame on them all, your eyes shall see,  
These Angels have no power of me.   

Your gowns of silk, your golden chains,  
Your men, your maids, your hundredth pounds,  
Are nothing else but devilish trains,  
That fill fond ears with tickling sounds,  
A bladder full of traitorous wind,  
And farthest off from filthy mind.   

Well, sith your meaning now is plain,  
And lust would give no longer leave,  
To faithless heart, to lie and feign,  
Which might perchance in time deceive,  
By jesus Christ I do protest,  
I'll never grant that you request.    

CANT. XII.  
NOB. Furens.  

THou beggars brat, thou dunghill mate,  
Thou clownish spawn, thou country gill,  
My love is turned to wreakful hate,  
Go hang, and keep thy credit still,  
Gad where thou list, aright or wrong,  
I hope to see thee beg, err long.   

Was this great offer well refused,  
Or was this proffer all too base?  
Am I fit man to be abused,  
With such disgrace, by flattering gaze?  
On thee or thine, as I am man,  
I will revenge this if I can.   

Thou thinkest thyself a peerless piece,  
And peevish pride that doth possess  
Thy heart; persuades that thou art wise,  
When God doth know there's nothing less,  
'Twas not thy beauty that did move  
This fond affect, but blinded love.   

I hope to see some country clown,  
Possessor of that fleering face,  
When need shall force thy pride come down,  
I'll laugh to see thy foolish case,  
For thou that thinkest thyself so brave,  
Wilt take at last some paltry knave,   

Thou self-will gig that dost detest  
My faithful love, look to thy fame,  
If thou offend, I do protest,  
I'll bring thee out to open shame,  
For sith thou fayn'st thyself so pure,  
Look to thy leaps that they be sure.   

I was thy friend, but now thy foe,  
Thou hadst my heart, but now my hate,  
Refusing wealth, God send thee woe,  
Repentance now will come too late,  
That tongue that did protest my faith,  
Shall wail thy pride, and wish thy death.    

CANT. XIII.  
AVISA.  

YEa so I thought, this is the end  
Of wandering lust, resembling love,  
Was't love or lust, that did intend  
Such friendless force, as you did move?  
Though you may vaunt of happier fate,  
I am content with my estate.   

I rather choose a quiet mind,  
A conscience clear from bloody sins,  
Then short delights, and therein find  
That gnawing worm, that never lins,  
Your bitter speeches please me more,  
Then all your wealth, and all your store.   

I love to live devoid of crime,  
Although I beg, although I pine,  
These fading joys for little time,  
Embrace who list, I here resine,  
How poor I go, how mean I far,  
If God be pleased, I do not care.   

I rather be are your ragingire,  
Although you swear revengement deep,  
Then yield for gain to lewd desire,  
That you might laugh, when I should weep,  
Your lust would like but for a space,  
But who could salve my foul disgrace?   

Mine ears have heard your taunting words,  
Of yielding fools by you betrayed,  
Amongst your mates at open boards,  
knowst such a wife? knowst such a maid?  
Then must you laugh, then must you wink,  
And leave the rest for them to think.   

Nay yet welfare the happy life,  
That need not blush at every view:  
Although I be a poor man's wife,  
Yet then I'll laugh as well as you,  
Then laugh as long, as you think best,  
My fact shall frame you no such jest.   

If I do hap to leap aside,  
I must not come to you for aid,  
Alas now that you be denied,  
You think to make me sore afraid;  
Nay watch your worst, I do not care,  
If I offend, pray do not spare.   

You were my friend, you were but dust,  
The Lord is he, whom I do love,  
He hath my heart, in him I trust,  
And he doth guard me from above,  
I way not death, I fear not hell,  
This is enough, and so farewell.     

THE SECOND TEMPtation of AVISA, after her marriage by Ruffians, Roisters, young Gentlemen, and lusty Captains, which all she quickly cuts off.  

CANT. XIIII.  
CAVEILEIRO.  

COme lusty wench, I like thy looks,  
And such a pleasant look I love,  
Thine eyes are like to baited hooks,  
That force the hungry fish to move,  
Where nature granteth such a face,  
I need not doubt to purchase grace.   

I doubt not but thy inward thought,  
Doth yield as fast as doth thine eye;  
A love in me hath fancy wrought,  
Which work you can not well deny;  
From love you can not me refrain,  
I seek but this, love me again.   

And so thou dost, I know it well,  
I knew it by thy side-cast glance,  
Can heart from outward look rebel?  
Which yesternight I spied by chance;  
Thy love (sweet heart) shall not be lost,  
How dear a price so ever it cost.   

Ask what thou wilt, thou knowst my mind,  
Appoint the place, and I will come,  
Appoint the time, and thou shalt find,  
Thou canst not far so well at home,  
Few words suffice, where hearts consent,  
I hope thou knowst, and art content.   

Though I á stranger seem as yet,  
And seldom seen, before this day,  
Assure thyself that thou mayst get,  
More knacks by me, than I will say,  
Such store of wealth as I will bring,  
Shall make thee leap, shall make thee sing,   

I must be gone, use no delay,  
At six or seven the chance may rise,  
Old gamesters know their vantage play,  
And when 'tis best to cast the dice,  
Leave open your point, take up your man,  
And mine shall quickly enter than.    

CANT. XV,  
AVISA.  

WHat now? what news? new wars in hand?  
More trumpets blown of fond conceits?  
More banners spread of folly's band?  
New Captains coining new deceits?  
Ah woe is me, new camps are placed,  
Whereas I thought all dangers past.   

O wretched soul, what face have I,  
That can not look, but some misdeame?  
What spirit doth lurk within mine eye,  
That kendles thoughts so much unclean?  
O luckless fewture never blest,  
That sow'st the seeds of such unrest.   

What wandering fits are these that move  
Your heart, enraged with every glance;  
That judge a woman strait in love,  
That wields her eye aside by chance,  
If this your hope, by fancy wrought,  
You hope on that, I never thought.   

If nature give me such a look,  
Which seems at first unchaste or ill,  
Yet shall it prove no baited hook,  
To draw your lust to wanton will,  
My face and will do not agree,  
Which you in time (perhaps) may see.   

If smiling cheer and friendly words,  
If pleasant talk such thoughts procure,  
Yet know my heart, no will affords,  
To scratching kites, to cast the lure,  
If mild behaviour thus offend,  
I will assay this fault to mend.   

You plant your hope upon the sand,  
That build on women's words, or smiles;  
For when you think yourself to stand  
In greatest grace, they prove but wiles,  
When fixed you think on surest ground,  
Then farthest off they will be found.    

CANT. XVI,  
AVISA.  

YOu speak of love, you talk of cost,  
Is't filthy love your worship means?  
Assure yourself your labour's lost;  
Bestow your cost among your queans,  
You left not here, nor here shall find,  
Such mates as match your beastly mind.   

You must again to Coleman hedge,  
For there be some that look for gain,  
They will bestow the French man's badge,  
In lieu of all your cost and pain,  
But Sir, it is against my use,  
For gain to make my house a stews.   

What have you seen, what have I done,  
That you should judge my mind so light,  
That I so quickly might be won,  
Of one that came but yesternight?  
Of one I witted not whence he came,  
Nor what he is, nor what's his name?   

Though face do friendly smile on all,  
Yet judge me not to be so kind,  
To come at every Falconers call,  
Or wave aloft with every wind,  
And you that venture thus to try,  
Shall find how far you shoot awry.   

And if your face might be your judge,  
Your wannie cheeks, your shaggy locks,  
Would rather move my mind to grudge,  
To fear the piles, or else the pocks:  
If you be moved, to make amends,  
Pray keep your knacks for other friends.   

You may be walking when you list,  
Look there's the door, and there's the way,  
I hope you have your market mist,  
Your game is lost, for lack of play,  
The point is close, no chance can fall,  
That enters there, or ever shall.    

CANT. XVII.  
CAVALIERO.  

GOds woe: I think you do but jest,  
You can not thus delude my hope:  
But yet perhaps you think it best, 
●right Cavaliero.   
At first to give but little scope:  
At first assault you must retire,  
And then be forsed to yield desire.   

You think, that I would judge you bad,  
If you should yield at first assay,  
And you may think me worse than mad,  
If on repulse send me away,  
You think you do your credit wrong,  
Except you keep your suitors long.   

But I that know the wont guise,  
Of such as live in such a place,  
Old dame experience makes me wise,  
To know your meaning by your face,  
For most of them, that seem so chaste,  
Deny at first, and take at last.   

This painted sh, may please some fool,  
That can not see the rusty knife:  
But I have been too long at schools,  
To think you of so pure a life,  
The time and place will not permit,  
That you can long, here spotless sit.   

And therefore wench, be not so strange,  
To grant me that, which others have,  
I know that women love to change,  
'tis but deceit, to seem so grave,  
I never have that woman tried,  
Of whom as yet I was denied.   

Your godly zeal doth breed my trust,  
Your anger makes me hope the more;  
For they are often found the worst,  
That of their conscience make such store,  
In vain to blush, or look aside,  
A flat repulse, I can not bide.    

CANT. XVIII.  
AVISA.  

THou wicked wretch, what dost not think  
There is a God that doth behold  
This sinful ways, this Sodoms' sink?  
O wretched earth that art so bold,  
To jest at God, and at his word,  
Look for his just revenging sword.   

Saint Paul commands us not to eat,  
With him that leads a wicked life; 
●. Cor. 5.   
Or shall be found to lie in wait,  
To seek to spoil his neighbour's wife,  
Such wicked soul's God doth forsake, 
Revela. 12.   
And dings them down to fiery lake.   

A brainsick youth was stricken blind, 
A young man was stricken blind for looking dishonestly upon a godly woman. The Locrenses use to put out both the eyes of the adulterers. The law julia in Rome put adulterers to the sword. The Arabians do the like.   
That sent his greedy eye to view,  
A godly wench, with godless mind,  
That pain might spring, whence pleasures grew,  
Remember friend, forget not this,  
And see you look no more amiss.   

O julia flower of thy time,  
Where is thy law, where is thy word,  
That did condemn the wedlock crime,  
To present death, with bloody sword?  
The shining of this piercing edge,  
Would daunt the force of filthy rage.   

Though shameless Callets may be found;  
That oil themselves in common field;  
And can carire the whores rebound,  
To strain at first, and after yield:  
Yet here are none of Creseds kind,  
In whom you shall such fleeting find.   

The time and place may not condemn,  
The mind to vice that doth not sway,  
But they that virtue do condemn,  
By time and place, are led astray,  
This place doth hold on at this time,  
That will not yield to bloody crime.   

You think that others have possessed  
The place that you so lewdly crave,  
Wherein you plainly have confessed,  
Yourself to be a jealous knave,  
The rose unblusht hath yet no stain,  
Nor ever shall, while I remain.    

CANT. XIX.  
CAVALIERO.  

ME thinks I hear a sober Fox,  
Stand preaching to the gaggling Geese;  
And shows them out a painted box,  
And bids them all beware of cheese,  
Your painted box, and goodly preach,  
I see doth hold a boxly reach.   

Perchance you be no common card,  
But love the dainty diamonds place,  
The ten, the knave, may be your guard,  
Yet only you, are still the ace,  
Contented close in pack to lie,  
But open dealing you defy.   

Well I confess, I did offend,  
To rush so headlong to the mark;  
Yet give me leave this fault to mend,  
And crave your pardon in the dark,  
Your credit's fame I will not spill,  
But come as secret as you will.   

Nay here's my hand, my faith I give,  
My tongue my fact shall not reveal,  
To earthly creature while I live;  
Because you love a secret deal,  
And where I come, I still will say,  
She would not yield, but said me nay.   

So shall your credit greater grow,  
By my report a passing praise  
And they that scant your name do know,  
Your fame on high, and high shall raise,  
So shall you gain that you desire,  
By granting that, which I require.   

To plant a siege, and yet departed,  
Before the town be yielded quite,  
It kills a martial manly heart,  
That can not brook such high despite,  
Then say you yea, or say you no,  
I'll scale your walls, before I go.    

CANT. XX.  
AVISA.  

A Fine device, and well contrived,  
Brave Gold upon a bitter pill;  
No marvel well though you have thrived,  
That so can deck, that so can dill;  
Your quaintish quirks can want no mate;  
But here I wis, you come too late.   

It's ill to halt before the lame,  
Or watch the bird that can not sleep,  
Your new found tricks are out of frame,  
The fox will laugh, when Asses weep;  
Swear what you list, say what you will,  
Before you spoke, I knew your skill.   

Your secret dealing will not hold,  
To force me try, or make me trust  
Your blind devices are too old,  
Your broken blade hath got the rust,  
You need not lie, but truly say,  
She would not yield to wanton play.   

Your tongue shall spare to spread my fame,  
I list not buy too dear a sound,  
Your greatest praise would breed but shame,  
Report of me, as you have found,  
Though you be loath to blow retreat,  
This mount's too strong for you to get.   

The wisest Captain now and then,  
When that he feels his foe too strong;  
Retires betime to save his men,  
That grow but weak, if siege belong;  
From this assault you may retire,  
You shall not reach, that you require.   

I hate to feed you with delays,  
As others do, that mean to yield,  
You spend in vain your strong assays,  
To win the town, or gain the field;  
No Captain did, nor ever shall,  
Set ladder here, to scale the wall.    

CANT XXI.  
CAVALIERO.  

HAd I known this when I began,  
You would have used me as you say,  
I would have take you napping than,  
And give you leave to say me nay,  
I little thought to find you so:  
I never dreamt, you would say no.   

Such self like wench I never met,  
Great cause have I thus hard to crave it,  
If ever man have had it yet,  
I sworn have, that I will have it,  
If thou didst never give consent;  
I must perforce, be then content.   

If thou wilt swear, that thou hast known,  
In carnal act, no other man:  
But only one, and he thine own,  
Since man and wife you first began,  
I'll leave my suit, and swear it true,  
Thy like in deed, I never knew.    

CANT. XXII.  
AVISA.  

I Told you first what you should find,  
Although you thought I did but jest,  
And self affection made you blind,  
To seek the thing, I most detest;  
Besides his host, who takes the pain,  
To reckon first, must count again.   

Your rash swore oath you must repent,  
You must beware of headlong vows;  
Excepting him, whom free consent,  
By wedlock words, hath made my spouse,  
From others yet I am as free,  
As they this night, that borens be.   

CAVALIERO.  
WEll give me then a cup of wine,  
As thou art his, would thou were mine.   

AVISA.  
Have t'ye good-luck, tell them that gave  
You this advice, what speed you have.    
Farewell.   

The third trial; wherein are expressed the long passionate, and constant affections of the close and wary suitor, which by signs, by sighs, by letters, by privy messengers, by jewels, Rings, Gold, divers gifts, and by a long continued course of courtesy, at length prevaileth with many both maids and wives, if they be not guarded wonderfully with a better spirit than their own, which all are here finely daunted, and mildly over thrown, by the constant answers, and chaste replies of Auisa.  

CANT. XXIII.  
D. B. A French man.  

AS flaming flakes, too closely penned,  
With smothering smoke, in narrow vault,  
Each hole doth try, to get a vent,  
And force by forces, fierce assault,  
With rattling rage, doth rumbling rave,  
Till flame and smoke free passage have.   

So I (my dear) have smothered long,  
Within my heart a sparkling flame,  
Whose rebel rage is grown so strong,  
That hope is past to quell the same,  
Except the stone, that struck the fire,  
With water quench this hot desire.   

The glancing spear, that made the wound,  
Which rankling thus, hath bred my pain,  
Must piercing slide with fresh rebound,  
And wound, with wound, recure again.  
That flooting eye that pierced my heart,  
Must yield to salve my cureless smart.   

I strived, but strived against the stream,  
To daunt the qualms of fond desire,  
The more their course I did restrain,  
More strong and strong they did retire,  
Bare need doth force me now to run,  
To seek my help, where hurt begun.   

Thy present state wants present aid,  
A quick redress my grief requires,  
Let not the means be long delayed,  
That yields us both our heart's desires,  
If you will ease my pensive heart,  
I'll find a salve to heal your smart.   

I am no common gameling mate,  
That list to bowl in every plain,  
But (wench) consider both our state,  
The time is now, for both to gain,  
From dangerous bands I set you free,  
If you will yield to comfort me.    

CANT. XXIIII.  
AVISA.  

YOur fiery flame, your secret smart,  
That inward frets with pining grief,  
Your hollow sighs, your heavy heart,  
Me thinks might quickly find relief,  
If once the certain cause were known,  
From whence these hard effects have grown.   

It little boots to show your sore,  
To her that wants all Physic skill,  
But tell it them, that have in store,  
Such oils as creeping cankers kill,  
I would be glad, to do my best,  
If I had skill, to give you rest.   

Take heed, let not your grief remain,  
Till helps do fail, and hope be past,  
For such as first refused some pain,  
A double pain have felt at last,  
A little spark, not quenched be time,  
To hideous flames will quickly climb.   

If godly sorrow for your sin,  
Be chiefest cause, why you lament,  
If guilty conscience do begin,  
To draw you truly to repent,  
A joyful end must needs redound,  
To happy grief so seldom found.   

To strive all wicked lusts to quell,  
Which often sort to doleful end,  
I joy to hear you mean so well,  
And what you want, the Lord will send:  
But if you yield to wanton will,  
God will departed, and leave you still.   

Your pleasant aid with sweet supply,  
My present state, that might amend,  
If honest love be meant thereby,  
I shall be glad of such a friend,  
But if you love, as I suspect,  
Your love and you, I both reject.    

CANT. XXV.  
D. B. A French man.  

WHat you suspect, I can not tell,  
What I do mean, you may perceive,  
My works shall show, I wish you well,  
If well meant love you list receive,  
I have been long in secret mind,  
And would be still your secret friend.   

My love should breed you no disgrace,  
None should perceive our secret play,  
We would observe both time and place,  
That none our dealings should bewray,  
Be it my fortune, or my fault,  
Love makes me venture this assault.   

You mistress of my doubtful chance,  
You Prince of this my soul's desire,  
That lulls my fancy in a trance,  
The mark whereto my hopes aspire,  
You see the sore, whence springs my grief  
You wield the stern of my relief.   

The gravest men of former time,  
That lived with fame, and happy life,  
Have thought it none, or petty crime,  
To love a friend besides their wife,  
Then sith my wife you can not be,  
As dearest friend account of me.   

You talk of sin, and who doth live,  
Whose daily steps slide not awry?  
But too precise, doth deadly grieve,  
The heart that yields not yet to die,  
When age draws on, and youth is past,  
Then let us think of this at last.   

The Lord did love King David well,  
Although he had more wives than one:  
King Solomon that did excel,  
For wealth and wit, yet he alone;  
A thousand wives and friends possessed,  
Yet did he thrive, yet was he blest.    

CANT. XXVI.  
AVISA.  

O Mighty Lord, that guides the Sphere;  
Defend me by thy mighty will,  
From just reproach, from shame and fear,  
Of such as seek my soul to spill,  
Let not their counsel (Lord) prevail,  
To force my heart to yield or quail.   

How frames it with your sober looks,  
To shroud such bent of lewd conceits?  
What hope hath placed me in your books,  
That files me fit, for such deceits?  
I hope that time hath made you see,  
No cause that breeds these thoughts in me.   

Your fervent love is filthy lust,  
And therefore leave to talk of love,  
Your truth is treason under trust,  
A Kite in shape of hurtless Dove,  
You offer more than friendship would,  
To give us brass in steed of gold.   

Such secret friends to open foes,  
Do often change with every wind,  
Such wandering fits, where folly grows,  
Are certain signs of wavering mind,  
A fawning face, and faithless heart,  
In secret love, breeds open smart.   

No sin to break the wedlock faith?  
No sin to swim in Sodomes' sink?  
O sin the seed and sting of death!  
O sinful wretch that so doth think!  
Your gravest men with all their schools,  
That taught you thus, were heathen fools.   

Your lewd examples will not serve,  
To frame a virtue from a vice,  
When David and his Son did swerver,  
From lawful rule, though both were wise,  
Yet both were plagued, as you may see,  
With mighty plagues of each degree.    

CANT. XXVII.  
D. B. A French man.  

FRom whence proceeds this sudden change?  
From whence this quaint and coy speech?  
Where did you learn to look so strange?  
What Doctor taught you thus to preach?  
Into my heart it can not sink,  
That you do speak, as you do think.   

Your smiling face, and glancing eye,  
(That promise grace, and not despite)  
With these your words do not agree,  
That seem to shun your chief delight,  
But give me leave, I think it still,  
Your words do wander from your will,   

Of women now the greatest part,  
Whose place and age do so require,  
Do choose a friend, whose faithful heart,  
May quench the flame of secret fire,  
Now if your liking be not placed,  
I know you will choose one at last.   

Then choosing one, let me be he,  
If so our hidden fancies frame,  
Because you are the only she,  
That first enraged my fancy's flame,  
If first you grant me this good will,  
My heart is yours, and shall be still.   

I have a Farm that fell of late,  
Worth forty pounds, at yearly rent,  
That will I give to mend your state,  
And prove my love is truly meant,  
Let not my suit be flat denied,  
And what you want, shall be supplied.   

Our long acquaintance makes me bold;  
To show my grief, to ease my mind,  
For new found friends, change not the old,  
The like perhaps you shall not find,  
Be not too rash, take good advice;  
Your hap is good, if you be wise.    

CANT. XXVIII,  
AVIS A.  

MY hap is hard, and over bad,  
To be misdeemd of every man;  
That think me quickly to be had,  
That see me pleasant now and than:  
Yet would I not be much a grieved,  
If you alone were thus deceived.   

But you alone are not deceived,  
With tising baits of pleasant view,  
But many others have believed,  
And tried the same, as well as you,  
But they repent their folly past,  
And so will you, I hope at last.   

You seem, as though you lately came  
From London, from some bawdy sell,  
Where you have met some wanton dame,  
That knows the tricks of whores so well,  
Know you some wives, use more than one?  
Go back to them, for here are none.   

For here are none, that list to choose,  
A novel chance, where old remain,  
My choice is past, and I refuse,  
While this doth last, to choose again,  
While one doth live, I will no more,  
Although I beg from door to door.   

Bestow your farms among your friends,  
Your forty pounds can not provoke,  
The settled heart, whom virtue binds,  
To trust the trains of hidden hook,  
The labour's lost that you endure,  
To gorged Hawk, to cast the lure.   

If lust had led me to the spoil,  
And wicked will, to wanton change,  
Your betters that have had the soil,  
Had caused me long ere this to range,  
But they have left, for they did see,  
How far they were mistake of me.    

CANT. XXIX.  
D. B. A French man.  

MIstake indeed, if this be true,  
If youth can yield to favours foe;  
If wisdom spring, where fancy grew;  
But sure I think it is not so:  
Let faithful meaning purchase trust,  
That likes for love, and not for lust.   

Although you swear, you will not yield,  
Although my death you should intend,  
Yet will I not forsake the field,  
But still remain your constant friend,  
Say what you list, fly where you will,  
I am your thrall, to save or spill.   

You may command me out of sight,  
As one that shall no favour find,  
But though my body take his flight,  
Yet shall my heart remain behind,  
That shall your guilty conscience tell,  
You have not used his masterwell.   

His master's love he shall repeat,  
And watch his turn to purchase grace,  
His secret eye shall lie in wait;  
Where any other gain the place:  
When we each others can not see,  
My heart shall make you think of me.   

To force a fancy, where is none,  
'tis but in vain, it will not hold,  
But where it grows itself alone,  
A little favour makes it bold,  
Till fancy frame your free consent,  
I must perforce, be needs content.   

Though I depart with heavy cheer,  
As having lost, or left my heart,  
With one whose love, I held too dear,  
That now can smile, when others smart,  
Yet let your prisoner mercy see,  
Lest you in time a prisoner be.    

CANT. XXX.  
AVISA.  

IT makes me smile to see the bent,  
Of wandering minds with folly fed,  
How fine they feign, how fair they paint,  
To bring a loving soul to bed;  
They will be dead, except they have,  
What so (forsooth) their fancy crave.   

If you did seek, as you pretend,  
Not friendless lust, but friendly love,  
Your tongue and speeches would not lend,  
Such lawless actions, so to move,  
But you can wake, although you wink,  
And swear the thing, you never think.   

To wavering men that speak so fair, 
Catullus. Tum ●am nulla viro ●uranti foemina credat. Nulla viri ●eret, sermons esse fideles. Qui dum aliquid cupiens ●nimus praege●tit apisci, Nil metuunt iura●e, nihil promittere par●unt. Sed simul ac cupidae mentis satiata libido est, Dicta nihil metuere, nihil periuria curant.   
Let women never credit give,  
Although they weep, although they swore,  
Such feigned shows, let none believe;  
For they that think their words be true.  
Shall soon their hasty credit rue.   

When venturing lust doth make them dare,  
The simple wenches to betray,  
For present time they take no care,  
What they do swear, nor what they say,  
But having once obtained the lot,  
Their words and oaths are all forgot.   

Let roving Prince from Troy's sack,  
Whose fawning framed Queen Dido's fall,  
Teach women wit, that wisdom lack,  
Mistrust the most, beware of all,  
When self-will rules, where reason sat,  
Fond women oft repent too late.   

The wandering passions of the mind; 
Combat between reason and appetite. No constant love where unconstant affections rule. That love only constant that is grounded on virtue   
Where constant virtue bears no sway,  
Such frantic fickle changes find,  
That reason knows not where to stay,  
How boast you then of constant love,  
Where lust all virtue doth remove?     

T. B. Being somewhat grieved with this answer, after long absence and silence, at length writeth, as followeth.  

CANT. XXXI,  
D. B. To AVISA more pity.  

THere is a coal that burns the more,  
The more ye cast cold water near, 
Canol coal found in many places of England. Nympaus locu● Leonicus de varia Histor. fo● 98. By the Ionian Sea there is a place that burns continually, and the more water is cast into it, the more it flames.   
Like humour seeds my secret sore,  
Not quenched, but fed by cold despair,  
The more I feel, that you disdain,  
The faster doth my love remain.   

In grace they find a burning soil,  
That fumes in nature like the same,  
Cold water makes the hotter broil,  
The greater frost, the greater flame,  
So frames it with my love or lost,  
That fiercely fries amidst the frost.   

My heart inflamed with quenchless heat,  
Doth fretting fume in secret fire,  
These hellish torments are the meat,  
That daily feed this vain desire;  
Thus shall I groan in ghastly grief,  
Till you by mercy send relief.   

You first inflamed my brimstone thought,  
Your feigning favour witched mine eye,  
O luckless eye, that thus hast brought,  
Thy master's heart to strive awry,  
Now blame yourself, if I offend,  
The hurt you made, you must amend.   

With these my lines I sent a Ring,  
Lest you might think you were forgot,  
The posy means a pretty thing,  
That bids you, Do but dally not,  
Do so sweet heart, and do not stay,  
For dangers grow from sound delay.   

Five winter's Frosts have said to quell  
These flaming fits of firm desire,  
Five summers suns can not expel  
The cold despair, that feeds the fire,  
This time I hope, my truth doth try,  
Now yield in time, or else I die.  
Dudum beatus, D. B.    

CANT. XXXII.  
AVISA. To D. B. more wisdom and fear of God.  

THe Indian men have found a plant,  
Whose virtue, mad conceits doth quell, 
The root Basilius arras is good to deliver them that are possessed with evil spirits. josephus.   
This root (me thinks) you greatly want,  
This raging madness to repel,  
If rebel fancy work this spite,  
Request of God a better spirit.   

If you by folly did offend,  
By giving rains unto your lust,  
Let wisdom now these fancy's end,  
Sith thus untwined is all your trust,  
If wit to will, willneeds resign,  
Why should your fault be counted mine?   

Your Ring and letter that you sent,  
I both return from whence they came,  
As one that knows not what is meant,  
To send or write to me the same,  
You had your answer long before,  
So that you need to send no more.   

Your chosen posy seems to show,  
That all my deeds but dallings be,  
I never dallied that I know,  
And that I think, you partly see,  
I showed you first my meaning plain,  
The same is yet, and shall remain.   

Some say that Time doth purge the blood,  
And frantic humours brings to frame, 
Time purgeth choleric humours, and the blood   
I marvel time hath done no good,  
Your long hid griefs and qualms to tame?  
What secret hope doth yet remain,  
That makes these suits revive again?   

But did you will, and that in haste,  
Except you find some quick relief,  
I'll warrant you, your life at last,  
While foolish love is all your grief,  
As first I said, so say I still,  
I can not yield, nor ever will.  
Always the same, Auisa.    

CANT XXXIII.  
The 2. letter of D. B. to hard hearted AVISA farewell.  

I Find it true, that some have said, 
Difficile est diligere, & Sapere. Vulteius.   
It's hard to love, and to be wise,  
For wit is oft by love betrayed,  
And brought a sleep, by fond devise,  
Sith faith no favour can procure,  
My patience must, my pain endure.   

When women's wits have drawn the plot, 
Non si foeminium crebro caput igne refug das, Ingenii mutes prima metalla sui.   
And of their fancy laid the frame,  
Then that they hold, where good or not,  
No force can move them from the same:  
So you, because you first denied,  
Do think it shame, for that to slide.   

As faithful friendship moved my tongue,  
Your secret love, and favour crave;  
And as I never did you wrong,  
This last request so let me have;  
Let no man know what I did move,  
Let no man know, that I did love;   

That I will say, this is the worst,  
When this is said, than all is past,  
Thou proud Auisa, were the first,  
Thou hard Auisa, art the last,  
Though thou in sorrow make me dwell,  
Yet love will make me wish thee well.   

Writ not again, except you writ,  
This only gentle word, I will,  
This only word will bring delight,  
The rest will breed but sorrow still,  
God grant you gain that you desire,  
By keeping that, which I require.   

Yet will I listen now and then,  
To see the end, my mind will crave,  
Where you will yield to other men,  
The thing that I could never have.  
But what to me? where false or true,  
Where live or die, for aye Adieu.  
Fortuna ferenda. D. B.     

DYDIMUS HARCO. ANGLO-GERMANUS.  

CANT. XXXIIII.  
D. H.  

I Have to say, yet can not speak,  
The thing that I would gladly say,  
My heart is strong, though tongue be weak,  
Yet will I speak it, as I may.  
And if I speak not as I ought,  
Blame but the error of my thought,   

And if I think not as I should,  
Blame love that bade me so to think;  
And if I say not what I would,  
'tis modest shame, that makes me shrink,  
For sure their love is very small,  
That can at first express it all.   

Forgive my blush, if I do blush,  
You are the first I ever tried,  
And last whose conscience I will crush,  
If now at first I be denied,  
I must be plain then give me leave,  
I can not flatter nor deceive.   

You know that Merchants ride for gain,  
As chief foundations of their state,  
You see that we refuse no pain,  
To rise betime, and travel late,  
But far from home, this is the spite,  
We want sometimes our chief delight.   

I am no Saint, I must confess,  
But natured like to other men,  
My meaning you may quickly guess,  
I love a woman now and then,  
And yet it is my common use,  
To take advise, before I choose.   

I oft have seen the Western part,  
And therein many a pretty elf,  
But found not any in my heart,  
I like so well as of yourself;  
And if you like no worse of me,  
We may perhaps in time agree.    

CANT XXXV.  
AVISA.  

WHen first you did request to talk  
With me alone a little space,  
When first I did consent to walk  
With you alone within this place,  
From this your sage, and sober cheer,  
I thought some grave advise to hear.   

Some say that women's faces feign  
A modest show, from wanton heart;  
But give me leave, I see it plain,  
That men can play a double part,  
I could not dream, that I should find  
In lustless show, such lustful mind.   

You make as though you would not speak,  
As unacquainted yet with love,  
As though your mind you could not break,  
Nor how these secret matters move,  
You blush to speak, Alas the blush,  
Yet this is all not worth a rush.   

Such sly conceits are out of joint,  
So foul within, so fair without,  
Not worth in proof a threden point:  
But now to put you out of doubt,  
Your thought is far deceived of me,  
As you in time shall plainly see.   

If you had known my former life,  
With spotless fame that I have held,  
How first a maid, and then a wife,  
These youthly suits I have repelled,  
You would (I hope) correct your rate,  
That judge me thus a common mate.   

Whom you have seen, I do not care,  
Nor reck not what you did request,  
I am content this flout to bear,  
In that you say, you like me best,  
And if you wish that you agree,  
Correct your wrong conceit of me.    

CANT. XXXVI.  
D. H.  

THe limed bird, by fowlers train,  
Entrapped by view of pleasant bait,  
Would feign unwind himself again;  
But feels too late the hid desaite:  
So I have found the clasping lime,  
That will stick fast for longer tyme.   

There is a flood, whose rivers run, 
In Italy is a certain water that falleth into the River Anion, of colour white, and at first seems to be wonderful cold, but being a while in it, it heateth the body more extremely. Leonicus de va ria Histor.   
Like streams of Milk, and seems at first,  
Extremely cold, all heat to shun,  
But stay a while, and quench your thirst,  
Such vehement heat there will arise,  
As greater heat none may devise.   

These strange effects I find enrolled,  
Within this place, since my return,  
My first affections were but cold,  
But now I feel them fiercely burn,  
The more you make such strange retire,  
The more you draw my new desire.   

You think perchance I do but jest,  
Or I your secrets will bewray,  
Or having got that I request,  
With false AEneas steal away,  
If you suspect that I will range,  
Let God forsake me, when I change.   

I will not boast me of my wealth,  
You shall no Gold nor jewels want,  
You see I am in perfect health,  
And if you list to give your grant,  
A hundredth pounds shall be your hire,  
But only do that I require.   

And here's a Bracelet to begin,  
Worth twenty Angels to be sold,  
Besides the rest, this shall you win,  
And other things not to be told,  
And I will come but now and then,  
To void suspect, none shall know when.    

CANT. XXXVII.  
AVISA.  

WHy then your conscience doth declare  
A guilty mind that shuns the light,  
A spotless conscience need not fear,  
The tongues of men, nor yet the sight,  
Your secret slides do pass my skill,  
And plainly show your works are ill. 
In Plato his common wealth all women were common, contrary to the commandment of God. Exod. 20, 14. Levit 18. 20. 29.    

Your words command the lawless rite,  
Of Plato's laws that freedom gave,  
That men and women for delight,  
Might both in common freely have,  
Yet God doth threaten cruel death,  
To them that break their wedlock faith.   

The Bee bears honey in her mouth, 
Strange pleasure seems sweet at the beginning, but their end is as bitter worm wood Prover. 5. 3. 4. Prover. 6. 27. Non tanti emam paenitcre, Filthy heathen laws. In Cyprus, their maidens before the time of their marriage were set open to every man to gain their dowry. justine. The Babylonians had a custom, that if any were poor, they should procure their daughters and wives to get money with their bodies. Herodot. Formosae, pretio capiuntur avarae. Imitantur hamos Dona. Foemina prostituit seseque Munera donat. Femina se vendit quae data dona capit, Vulteius.   
Yet poisoned sting in hinder part,  
The spring is sweet where pleasure growth,  
The fall of leaf brings storming smart,  
Vain pleasure seems most sweet at first,  
And yet their end is still accursed.   

What bosom bears hot burning coals,  
And yet consumes not with the same?  
What feet tread fire with bared soles,  
And are not singed with the flame?  
Then stay my friend, make no such haste,  
To buy Repentance at the last.   

I am not of the Cyprian sort,  
Nor yet have learned the common use  
Of Babble dames, in filthy sport,  
For gain no comers to refuse,  
What storms or troubles ever grow,  
I list not seek my living so.   

Your gorgeous gifts, your golden hooks,  
Do move but fools to look aside,  
The wise will shun such crafty crooks,  
That have such false resemblance tried.  
But men are sure, that they will lift,  
That are content to take a gift.    

CANT. XXXVIII.  
D. H.  

NAy then farewell, if this be so,  
If you be of the purer stamp,  
'Gainst wind and tide I can not roe,  
I have no oil to feed that lamp,  
Be not too rash, deny not flat,  
For you refuse, you know not what.   

But rather take a farther day,  
For farther trial of my faith,  
And rather make some wise delay,  
To see and take some farther breath:  
He may too rashly be denied,  
Whose faithful heart was never tried.   

And though I be by jury cast,  
Yet let me live a while in hope,  
And though I be condemned at last,  
Yet let my fancy have some scope,  
And though the body fly away,  
Yet let me with the shadow play.   

Will you receive, if I do send  
A token of my secret love?  
And stay until you see the end  
Of these effects, that fancy move?  
Grant this, and this shall salve my sore,  
Although you never grant me more.   

And thus at first let this suffice,  
Inquire of me, and take the view  
Of mine estate, with good advise,  
And I will do the like by you;  
And as you like, so frame your love,  
But pass no promise till you prove.   

This have I said to show my bent,  
But no way spoken to offend,  
And though my love cannot relent,  
Yet passed errors will I mend,  
Keep close the Tenor of our talk,  
And say, we did for pleasure walk.    

CANT XXXIX.  
AVISA.  

THen juggling mates do most deceive,  
And most delude the dazzled sight,  
When up they turn their folded sleeve,  
With bared arms to work their slight,  
When sharpe-set Fox gins to preach,  
Let goslings keep without his reach.   

And will you have me set a day,  
To feed your hope with vain delays?  
Well, I will do as you do say,  
And posse you up with fainting stays,  
That day shall break my plighted faith,  
That draws my last and gasping breath.   

If you will hope, then hope in this,  
I'll never grant that you require:  
If this you hope, you shall not miss,  
But shall obtain your hopes desire,  
If other hope you do retain,  
Your labour's lost, your hope is vain.   

The child that plays with sharpened tools,  
Doth hurt himself for want of wit,  
And they may well be counted fools,  
That wrestle near a dangerous pit:  
Your lose desire doth hope for that,  
Which I must needs deny you flat.   

Send me no tokens of your lust,  
Such gifts I list not to receive,  
Such guiles shall never make me trust,  
Such broad-layde baits cannot deceive, 
The woman ●hat receiveth gifts of such suitors, selleth herself & her liberty.   
For they to yield do then prepare,  
That grant to take such proffered ware.   

If this be it you have to say,  
You know my mind which cannot change,  
I must be gone, I cannot stay,  
No fond delight can make me range,  
And for a farewell, this I swear,  
You get not that I hold so dear.     

After long absence, D H. happening to come in on a time sodenlyto her house, and finding her all alone amongst her maids that were spinning, said nothing, but going home wrote these verses following, which he called his Dum habui. and sent them unto her.  

CANT. XL.  
D. H. to AVISA. too constant.  

WHyl'st erst I had my liberty,  
To range the woods where fancy list,  
The cause of all my misery,  
By heedless hast my way I missed,  
Until I found within a plain,  
A Crystal Well, where Nymphs remain.   

As weary of this wild-goose race,  
That led askance, I know not where,  
I chose at length a shadow place.  
To take the cold and pleasant air,  
But from the brink of that same well,  
I saw my heaven, or else my hell.   

I saw a bird from joining grove,  
That soaring came with comely grace,  
The Lily and vermilion strove,  
In maidenlike and lovely face,  
With seemly arms in steed of wings,  
No claws, but fingers set with rings.   

And in her hand she held a dart,  
As being of Diana's train,  
O that's the cause of all my smart,  
And breeder of this endless pain,  
The thing I sought not, there I find,  
And lost the freedom of my mind.   

While on her eyes, my eyes did hang,  
From rolling eye there sprang a glance,  
And therewith heard a sudden clang,  
That struck me in a deadly trance.  
But waked I saw blind Cupid's craft,  
And in my heart the golden shaft.   

I sewd for grace, but she denied.  
Her lofty looks she cast awry,  
And when my folly she espied,  
She laughed to see my misery:  
Away she soars, and from my sight  
She smiling takes her parting flight.   

You are the bird that bred the bane,  
That swelleth thus in restless thought,  
You are the snare that thus have ta'en,  
And senses all to thraldom brought,  
You are the jailor that do keep  
Your friend in bands, and dungeon deep.   

Renowned chaste Penelope,  
With all her words could not redryve  
Her suitors, till she set a day,  
In which she would them answer give,  
When threedy spindle full was grown,  
Then would she choose one for her ow'n.   

They daily came to see the end,  
And every man doth hope to be  
The chosen man, to be her friend,  
But women's wiles here men may see,  
Her Spill was never fully spoon,  
For night undid that day had done.   

I hope the like you have decreed,  
That found you spinning but of late,  
Would God your Spill were full of thread,  
That might relieve my wretched state,  
I will forget the wrongs are passed,  
So you will choose me at the last.   

Choose one at length, I know you will,  
Let tried saith for ten years space,  
How ever that your spindle fill,  
With joy possess that empty place,  
And if you will, I do protest,  
My love shall far surmount the rest.   

These lines that hope for better speed,  
As loving spies are sent to see,  
Where you have spun up all your thread,  
And what good hap is left for me:  
Let there return, yet make him glad,  
Whom loves despair hath made so sad.  
D. H.    

CANT. XLI.  
Auisa her answer to D. H. a final resolution.  

IF I be of Diana's train,  
As true it is I must confess,  
I meruaite that you strive in vain,  
Where fruitless hope yields no redress:  
For they must needs continue sad  
That seek for that, will not be had.   

What servile folly doth possess  
Your base conceit, that can abide  
Such piteous plaints, and suits address,  
To them that do your suits deride?  
For I can hardly think them wise,  
That try again, repulsed thrice.   

No Helen's rape, nor Trojan war,  
My loving mate hath forsed away,  
No juno's wrath, to wander far,  
From loving bed can make him stray,  
Nor stay at all in foreign land,  
But here I have him still at hand.   

My sweet Ulysses never stays  
From his desired home so long,  
That I should need such rare delays  
To Shield me from intended wrong,  
My chief delights are always nigh,  
And in my bosom sweetly lie.   

The Spindle that you see me drive,  
Hath filled the spill so often trend,  
My hartis fixed, since I did give  
My wedlock faith to chosen friend,  
Then leave to sew, since that you see  
Your hap debars your hope from me.   

I use not oft to make reply  
To lines that yield such wanton store,  
Let this suffice, that I deny,  
And after this, look for no more,  
My choice is bound, by lawful band,  
My oath is past, and that shall stand.  
Always the same Auisa.    

CANT. XLII.  
D. H. to chaste Auisa perpetual constancy.  

THis is enough: now I have done,  
I think indeed you do not feign,  
As others have, that have been won  
In shorter space, with lesser pain,  
And sith you will not yield in deed  
To these my words, yet take good heed.   

My former love was only lust,  
As you in deed did truly say,  
And they, such love that rashly trust,  
Do plant the plot of swift decay:  
But they whom Grace doth make so wise,  
To high renown, will surely rise.   

If you had had a waxye heart, 
O violata, vale, vale o violata, placebas, Inuiolata noces nunc violata mihi, Vulteius.   
That would have melt at hot desire,  
Or chaffy thoughts that could have start,  
And yield to burn at every fire,  
What ere I did, or said before,  
I should have thought you but a whore.   

Though sailors love the common Port, 
Sic virgo dum intacta manet, tum chara suis, sed cum amisit polluto corpore storem. Nec pueris jucunda manet, nec chara puellis. Catullus.   
As safest harbour where to rest,  
Yet wise men seek the strongest fort,  
And paper castles most detest:  
Men cannot love such as they know,  
Will yield at sight of every blow.   

But now my love by virtue bound,  
No stormy blasts can make it quail,  
Your constant mind a friend hath found,  
Whose honest love shall never fail,  
A faithful friend in honest love,  
Whom lewd affections shall not move.   

If you this wanton fault forgive,  
No time in me shall ever find  
Such lewd attempts, while I do live,  
Now that I know your constant mind,  
My pen doth write, my heart hath sworn,  
My tongue such speech shall use no more.   

A thousand times I love no more,  
Then if I had my purpose won,  
Of common love I make no store,  
But leave it there where I begun,  
What odds there is, now you may prove,  
Twixt wicked lust and honest love.   

Now grant I pray this last request,  
That fraudless heart doth friendly send,  
That if my faith deserve it best,  
Accept me for your honest friend:  
And if I seek your spoil, or shame,  
Then raze me out, and blot my name.   

Andif I shall this favour find,  
Then wear this ring, though you be loath,  
As token of my simple mind,  
And perfect band of faithful oath:  
The posy is, No friend to faith  
That will remain, till both our death.   

Esteem not this a painted bait,  
Or golden ball cast to deceive:  
If I do mean such lewd desait,  
Let God my soul in torments leave:  
I say no more, but thus I end,  
In honest love your faithful friend.  
D. H.    

AVISA. to D. H.  
CANT, XLIII.  

YOu know that I have laid my rest,  
From which my mind shall never swerver,  
If all be true that you protest,  
Then shall you find, as you deserve:  
All hidden truth time will bewray,  
This is as much as I can say.  
Always the same Auisa.    

CANT. XLIIII.  
Henrico Willobego. Italo-Hispalensis.  
H. W. being suddenly infected with the contagion of a fantastical fit, at the first sight of A, pineth a while in secret grief, at length not able any longer to endure the burning heat of so fervent a humour, bewrayeth the secrecy of his disease unto his familiar friend W. S. who not long before had tried the courtesy of the like passion, and was now newly recovered of the like infection; yet finding his friend let blood in the same vain, he took pleasure for a time to see him bleed, & in steed of stopping the issue, he enlargeth the wound, with the sharp razor of a willing conceit, persuading him that he thought it a matter very easy to be compassed, & no doubt with pain, diligence & some cost in time to be obtained. Thus this miserable comforter comforting his friend with an impossibility, either for that he now would secretly laugh at his friends folly, that had given occasion not long before unto others to laugh at his own, or because he would see whether an other could play his part better than himself, & in viewing a far off the course of this loving Comedy, he determined to see whether it would sort to a happier end for this new actor, than it did for the old player. But at length this Comedy was like to have grown to a Tragedy, by the weak & feeble estate that H. W. was brought unto, by a desperate view of an impossibility of obtaining his purpose, till Time & Necessity, being his best Physicians brought him a plaster, if not to heal, yet in part to ease his malady. In all which discourse is lively represented the unrewly rage of unbridled fancy, having the rains to rove at liberty, with the divers & sundry changes of affections & temptations, which Will, set lose from Reason, can devise. etc.  

H. W.  

WHat sudden chance or change is this,  
That doth bereave my quiet rest?  
What surly cloud eclipsed my bliss,  
What spirit doth rage within my breast?  
Such fainty qualms I never found,  
Till first I saw this western ground.   

Can change of air complexions change,  
And strike the senses out of frame?  
Though this be true, yet this is strange,  
Sith I so lately hither came:  
And yet in body cannot find  
So great a change as in my mind.   

My lustless limbs do pine away,  
Because my heart is dead within,  
All lively heat I feel decay,  
And deadly cold his room doth win,  
My humours all are out of frame,  
I freeze amidst the burning flame.   

I have the fever Ethicke right,  
I burn within, consume without,  
And having melted all my might,  
Then follows death, without all doubt:  
O fearful fool, that know my grief,  
Yet sew and seek for no relief.   

I know the time, I know the place,  
Both when and where my eye did view  
That novel shape, that friendly face,  
That so doth make my heart to rue,  
O happy time if she incline,  
If not, O wourth these luckless eyen.   

I love the seat where she did sit,  
I kiss the grass, where she did tread,  
Me thinks I see that face as yet,  
And eye, that all these turmoils breed,  
I envy that this seat, this ground,  
Such friendly grace and favour found.   

I dreamt of late, God grant that dream  
Protend my good, that she did meet  
Me in this green by yonder stream,  
And smile did me friendly greet:  
Where wandering dreams be just or wrong,  
I mind to try ere it be long.   

But yonder comes my faithful friend,  
That like assaults hath often tried,  
On his advise I will depend,  
Where I shall win, or be denied,  
And look what counsel he shall give,  
That will I do, where die or live.     

CANT. XLV.  
W. S.  

WEll met, friend Harry, what's the cause  
You look so pale with Lented cheeks?  
Your wanny face & sharpened nose  
Show plain, your mind some thing mislikes,  
If you will tell me what it is,  
I'll help to mend what is amiss.   

What is she, man, that works thy woe,  
And thus thy tickling fancy move?  
Thy drowsy eyes, & sighs do shoe,  
This new disease proceeds of love,  
Tell what she is that witched thee so,  
I swear it shall no farther go.   

A heavy burden wearieth one,  
Which being parted then in twain,  
Seems very light, or rather none,  
And borens well with little pain:  
The smothered flame, too closely penned,  
Burns more extreme for want of vent.   

So sorrows shrined in secret breast,  
Attainte the heart with hotter rage,  
Then griefs that are to friends expressed,  
Whose comfort may some part assuage:  
If I a friend, whose faith is tried,  
Let this request not be denied.   

Excessive griefs good counsels want,  
And cloud the sense from sharp conceits;  
No reason rules, where sorrows plant,  
And folly feeds, where fury fretes,  
Tell what she is, and you shall see,  
What hope and help shall come from me.    

CANT. XLVI.  
H. W.  

SEest yonder house, where hangs the badge  
Of England's Saint, when captains cry  
Victorious land, to conquering rage,  
Lo, there my hopeless help doth ly:  
And there that friendly foe doth dwell,  
That makes my heart thus rage and swell,    

CANT. XLVII.  
W. S.  

WEll, say no more: I know thy grief,  
And face from whence these flames arise,  
It is not hard to find relief,  
If thou wilt follow good advise:  
She is no Saint, She is no Nun,  
I think in time she may be won.   

At first repulse you must not faint, 
〈◊〉 vetera to●.   
Nor fly the field though she deny  
You twice or thrice, yet manly bent,  
Again you must, and still reply:  
When time permits you not to talk,  
Then let your pen and fingers walk.   

Apply her still with divers things,  
(For gifts the wisest will deceive) 
●unera (cre● mihi) pla●nt homi●sque Deosque.   
Sometimes with gold, sometimes with rings,  
No time nor fit occasion leave,  
Though coy at first she seem and wield,  
These toys in time will make her yield.   

Look what she likes; that you must love,  
And what she hates, you must detest,  
Where good or bad, you must approve,  
The words and works that please her best:  
If she be godly, you must swear,  
That to offend you stand in fear.   

You must commend her loving face,  
For women joy in beauty's praise, 
Wicked wiles ●o deceive witless women.   
You must admire her sober grace,  
Her wisdom and her virtuous ways,  
Say, 'twas her wit & modest shoe,  
That made you like and love her so.   

You must be secret, constant, free,  
Your silent sighs & trickling tears,  
Let her in secret often see,  
Then wring her hand, as one that fears  
To speak, then wish she were your wife,  
And last desire her save your life.   

When she doth laugh, you must be glad,  
And watch occasions, time and place,  
When she doth frown, you must be sad,  
Let sighs & sobs request her grace:  
Swear that your love is trulyment,  
So she in time must needs relent.    

CANT. XLVIII.  
H. W.  

THe whole to sick good counsel give,  
Which they themselves cannot perform,  
Your words do promise sweet relief,  
To save my ship from drowning storm:  
But hope is past, and health is spent,  
For why my mind is Mal-content.   

The flowering herbs, the pleasant spring,  
That decks the fields with vernant hue,  
The harmless birds, thatsweetly sing, 
To despair of good success in the beginning of any action, is always a secret & most certain forewarning of ill success, that indeed doth often follow.   
My hidden griefs, do still renew:  
The joys that others long to see,  
Is it that most tormenteth me.   

I greatly doubt, though March be past,  
Where I shall see that wished May,  
That can recure that baleful blast,  
Whose cold despair wrought my decay:  
My hopeless clouds, that never clear,  
Presage great sorrows very near.   

I mirth did once, and music love,  
Which both as now, I greatly hate:  
What uncouth spirit my heart doth move,  
To loathe the thing, I loved so late?  
My greatest ease in deepest moan,  
Is when I walk myself alone.   

Where thinking on my hopeless hap,  
My trickling tears, like rivers flow,  
Yet fancy lulles me in her lap,  
And tells me, life from death shall grow:  
Thus flattering hope makes me believe;  
My grief in time shall feel relieve.   

Good fortune helps the venturing wight, 
Audaces fortuna juuat, timidosque repellit.   
That hard attempts dare undertake:  
But they that shun the doubtful fight,  
As coward drudges, doth forsake:  
Come what there will, I mean to try,  
Where win, or lose, I can but die.    

CANT. XLIX.  
H. W. the first assault.  

PArdon (sweet wench) my fancy's fault,  
If I offend to show my smart,  
Your face hath made such fierce assault,  
And battered so my fenceless heart:  
That of my foe, my life to save,  
For grace I am constrained to crave.   

The raging Lion never rends  
The yielding prey, that prostrate lies,  
No valiant captain ever bends  
His force against surrendering cries:  
Here I surrender room and right,  
And yield the fort at captains sight.   

You are the chieftain, that have laid  
This heavy siege to strengthless fort,  
And fancy that my will betrayed,  
Hath lent despair his strongest port:  
Your glancing eyes as Cannon shot,  
Have pierced my heart, and freedom got.   

When first I saw that friendly face,  
Though never seen before that day,  
That wit, that talk, that sober grace,  
In secret heart thus did I say:  
God prosper this, for this is she,  
That joy or woe must bring to me.   

A thousand fewtures I have seen,  
For travelers change, & choice shall see,  
In France, in Flaunders, & in Spain,  
Yet none, nor none could conquer me:  
Till now I saw this face of thine,  
That makes my wits are none of mine.   

I often said, yet there is one,  
But where, or what I could not tell,  
Whose sight my sense would overcome,  
I feared it still, I knew it well,  
And now I know you are the She,  
That was ordained to vanquish me.    

CANT. L.  
AVISA.  

WHat song is this that you do sing,  
What tale is this that you do tell,  
What news is this that you do bring,  
Or what you mean I know not well?  
If you will speak, pray speak it plain,  
Lest else perhaps you lose your pain.   

My mind surprised with household cares,  
Tends not dark riddles to untwine.  
My state surcharged with great affares,  
To Idle talk can lend no time;  
For if your speeches tend to love,  
Your tongue in vain such suits will move.   

In greenest grass the winding snake,  
With poisoned sting is soon found,  
A cowards tongue makes greatest crack,  
The emptiest cask yields greatest sound, 
Idleness the mother of all foolish wannesse. David being idle fell to strange lust. Quaeritur Aegisthus, quare sit factus Adulter.   
To hidden hurt, the bird to bring,  
The fouler doth most sweetly sing.   

If wandering rages have possessed  
Your roving mind at randame bend;  
If idle qualms from too much rest;  
Fond fancies to your lust have sent:  
Cut off the cause that breeds your smart,  
Then will your sickness soon departed.   

The restless mind that reason wants, 
In prompts causa est: Desidiosus erat. noblemans gentlemans. and Captains by idleness fall to all kind of vices.   
Is like the ship that lacks a stern,  
The heart beset with follies plants,  
At wisdoms lore repines to learn:  
Some seek and find what fancy list,  
But after wish that they had mist.   

Who loves to tread unknown paths,  
Doth often wander from his way,  
Who longs to lave in bravest baths,  
Doth wash by night, and waste by day:  
Take heed betime, beware the prise  
Of wicked lust, if you be wise.    

CANT. LI.  
H. W  

Unwonted syking breeds my love,  
And love the wellspring of my grief,  
This fancy fixed none can remove,  
None send redress, none give relief,  
But only you, whose only sight  
Hath forsed me to this pining plight.   

Love oft doth spring from due desert,  
As loving cause of true effect,  
But mine proceeds from wounded heart,  
As scholar to a novel sect:  
I bore that liking, few have boar,  
I love, that never loved before.   

I love, though doubtful of success,  
As blindmen grope to try the way;  
Yet still I love because I guess,  
You love, for love cannot denay,  
Except you spring of savage kind,  
Whom no deserts, nor love can bind.   

Of all the graces that excel,  
And virtues that are chiefly best,  
A constant love doth bear the bell,  
And makes his owner ever blest:  
How blame you then the faithful love,  
That hath his praise from God above.   

Can you withstand what fates ordain?  
Can you reprove dame Nature's frame?  
Where natures join, shall will disclaim?  
Acquit my love, bear they the blame,  
That snuff at faith, & look so coy,  
And count true love but for a toy.   

If fortune say it shall be so,  
Then though you like, yet shall you yield,  
Say what you list, you cannot go  
Unconquered thus from Cupid's field,  
That love that none could ever have,  
I give to you, and yours I crave,    

CANT. LII  
AVISA.  

WEll, you are bend I see, to try  
The utmost list of folly's race,  
Your fancy hath no power to fly  
The luring bait of flattering grace,  
The fish that leaps & never looks,  
finds death unwares in secret hooks.   

You say you love, yet show no cause,  
Of this your love, or rather lust,  
Or whence this new affection grows  
Which though untryde, yet we must trust,  
Dry reeds that quickly yield to burn,  
Soon out to flamelesse cinders turn.   

Such raging love in rangling mates,  
Is quickly found, and sooner lost;  
Such deep deceit in all estates,  
That spares no care, no pain nor cost:  
With flattering tongues, & golden gifts,  
To drive poor women to their shifts.   

Examine well, & you shall see  
Your truthless treason termed love,  
What cause have you to fancy me,  
That never yet had time to prove,  
What I have been, nor what I am,  
Where worthy love, or rather shame?   

This love that you to strangers bare,  
Is like to head strong horse and mule,  
That ful-fed eyes on every mare,  
Whose lust outleaps the lawful rule,  
For here is seen your constant love,  
Whom strange aspects so quickly move.   

Besides you know I am a wife,  
Not free, but bound by plighted oath,  
Can love remain, where filthy life  
Hath stained the soil, where virtue gro'th?  
Can love endure, where faith is fled?  
Can Roses spring, whose root is dead?   

True love is constant in her choice,  
But if I yield to choose again,  
Then may you say with open voice,  
This is her use, this is her vain,  
She yields to all, how can you than  
Love her that yields to every man?    

CANT. LIII.  
H. W.  

IF fear and sorrow sharp the wit,  
And tip the tongue with sweeter grace,  
Then will & style, must finely fit,  
To paint my grief, and wail my case:  
Sith my true love is counted lust,  
And hope is racked in spiteful dust.   

The cause that made me love so soon,  
And feeds my mind with inward smart,  
Springs not from Stars, nor yet the Moon,  
But closely lies in secret heart:  
And if you ask, I can not tell,  
Nor why, nor how, this hap befell.   

If birth or beauty could have wrought,  
In lustless heart this loves effect,  
Some fairer far my love have sought,  
Whose loving looks I did reject.  
If now I yield without assault,  
Count this my fortune or my fault.   

You are a wife, and you have sworn,  
You will be true. Yet what of this?  
Did never wife play false before,  
Nor for her pleasure strike amiss?  
Will you alone be constant still,  
When none are chaste, nor ever will?   

A man or woman first may choose  
The love that they may after loath;  
Woe can deny but such may use  
A second choice, to pleasure both?  
No fault to change the old for new;  
So to the second they be true.   

Your husband is a worthless thing,  
That no way can content your mind,  
That no way can that pleasure bring,  
Your flowering years desire to find:  
This I will count my chiefest bliss,  
If I obtain, that others miss.   

there's nothing gotten to be coy,  
The purer stamp you must detest,  
Now is your time of greatest joy,  
Then love the friend that loves you best,  
This I will count my chiefest bliss,  
If I obtain that others miss.    

CANT. liv.  
AVISA.  

THat others miss, you would obtain,  
And want of this doth make you sad,  
I sorrow that you take such pain,  
To seek for that, will not be had,  
Your filled skill the power doth want,  
Within this plot such trees to plant.   

Though some there be, that have done ill,  
And for their fancy broke their faith:  
Yet do not think that others will,  
That fear of shame more than of death:  
A spotless name is more to me,  
Then wealth, than friends, than life can be.   

Are all unconstant, all unsound?  
Will none perform their sworn vow?  
Yet shall you say, that you have found,  
A chaste, and constant wife I trow:  
And you shall see, when all is done,  
Where all will yield, and all be won.   

Though you have been at common school,  
And entered plaints in common place;  
Yet you will prove yourself a fool,  
To judge all women void of grace:  
I doubt not but you will be brought,  
Soon to repent this wicked thought.   

Your second change let them allow,  
That list mislike their primer choice,  
I loved him first, I love him now,  
To whom I gave my yielding voice,  
My faith and love, I will not give  
To mortal man, while he doth live.   

What love is this, that bids me hate,  
The man whom nature bids me love?  
What love is this, that sets debate,  
Twixt man and wife? but here I prove:  
Though smoothed words seem very kind,  
Yet all proceed from devilish mind.    

CANT. LV.  
H. W.  

FRom devilish mind? well wanton well,  
You think your strength is very sure,  
You think all women to excel,  
And all temptations to endure.  
These glorious brags show but your pride:  
For all will yield, if they be tried.   

You are (I hope) as others be,  
A woman, made of flesh and blood,  
Amongst them all, will you go free,  
When all are ill, will you be good?  
Assure yourself, I do not feign,  
Requite my love with love again.   

Let me be hanged if you be such,  
As you pretend in outward shoe:  
Yet I commend your wisdom much,  
Which moved me first to love you so:  
Where men no outward shows detect,  
Suspicious minds can nile suspect.   

But to the matter; tell me true,  
Where you your fancy can incline,  
To yield your love, for which I sue,  
As fortune hath entangled mine:  
For well I know, it's nothing good,  
To strive against the raging flood.   

What you mislike, I will amend,  
If years I want, why I will stay,  
My goods and life here I will spend,  
And help you still in what I may:  
For though I seem a headlong youth,  
Let time be trial of my truth.   

Your name by me shall not be cracked,  
But let this tongue from out my jaws,  
Be rend, and bones to pieces racked,  
If I your secrets do disclose,  
Take good advisement what you say,  
This is my good, or dismal day.    

CANT. LVI.  
AVISA.  

YEs, so I will, you may be bold,  
Nor will I use such strange delays;  
But that you shall be quickly told,  
How you shall frame your wandering ways:  
If you will follow mine advise,  
Doubt not but you shall soon be wise.   

To love, excepting honest love,  
I can not yield, assure your mind;  
Then leave this fruitless suit to move,  
Lest like to Sysyphus you find,  
With endless labour, gainelesse pain,  
To role the stone that turns again.   

You want no years, but rather wit,  
And due forecast in that you seek,  
To make your choice that best may fit,  
And this is most that I mislieke;  
If you be free, live where you list,  
But still beware of, Had I witted.   

Serve God, and call to him for grace,  
That he may stay your slippery slides,  
From treading out that sinful trace,  
That leads where endless sorrow bides,  
Thus shall you wisely guide your feet;  
Though youth and wisdom seldom meet.   

And if you find, you have no gift,  
To live a chaste and mateless life,  
Yet fear to use unlawful shift,  
But marry with some honest wife,  
With whom you may contented live,  
And wandering mind from folly drive.   

Fly present pleasure that doth bring  
Ensuing sorrow, pain and grief; 
Fuggi quel piacer present, che ti da dolour futuro.   
Of death beware the poisoned sting,  
That hatcheth horror sance relief,  
Take this of me, and in the end  
I shall be thought your chiefest friend.    

CANT. LVII.  
H. W.  

IF then the wellspring of my joy,  
A flood of woe, in fine become,  
If love engender loves annoy,  
Then farewell life, my glass is run:  
If you thus constant still remain;  
Then must I die, or live in pain.   

Thrice happy they, whose joined hearts,  
United wills have linked in one,  
Whose eyes discern the due deserts,  
The griping grief, and grievous groan,  
That faith doth breed in settled mind,  
As fancies are by fates inclined.   

And shall I role the restless stone?  
And must I prove the endless pain?  
In cureless care shall I alone,  
Consume with grief, that yields me gain?  
If so I curse these eyes of mine,  
That first beheld that face of thine.   

Your will must with my woe dispense,  
Your face the founder of my smart,  
That pleasant look framed this offence,  
These thrilling gripes that gall my heart,  
Sith you this wound, and hurt did give,  
You must consent to yield relieve.   

How can I cease, while fancy guides  
The restless rains of my desire?  
Can reason rule, where folly bides?  
Can wit enthralled to will retire?  
I little thought, I should have missed,  
I never feared of, Had I witted.   

Let old men pray, let settled heads  
enthrall their necks to wedlock band,  
Shrend golden gives, who ever weds  
With pleasant pain, shall take in hand:  
But I will be your faithful friend,  
If health by hope you yield to send.    

CANT. LVIII.  
AVISA.  

WHat filthy folly, raging lust,  
What beastly blindness fancy breeds?  
As though the Lord had not accursed,  
With vengeance due, the sinful deeds?  
Though vaine-led youth with pleasure swell,  
Yet mark these words that I shall tell.   

Who so with filthy pleasure burns;  
His sinful flesh with fiery flakes 
Gen. 38. 24 Whoremoungers burnt.   
Must be consumed; whose soul returns  
To endless pain in burning lakes.  
You seem by this, to wish me well,  
To teach me tread the path to hell.   

Call you this (Love) that bringeth sin,  
And sows the seeds of heavy cheer?  
If this be love, I pray begin,  
To hate the thing I love so dear;  
I love no love of such a rate,  
Nor fancy that, which God doth hate.   

But what saith he that long had tried  
Of harlots all the wanton slights;  
Beware lest that your heart be tied, 
Prover. 5. 3.   
To fond affects by wanton sights:  
Their wandering eyes, and wanton looks  
Catch fools as fish, with painted hooks.   

Their lips with oil and honey flow,  
Their tongues are fraught with flattering guile;  
Amidst these joys great sorrows grow;  
For pleasures flourish but a while,  
Their feet to death, their steps to hell,  
Do swiftly slide, that thus do mell.   

Then fly this dead and dreadful love,  
This sign of God's revenging ire;  
Let love of God such lust remove,  
And quench the flames of foul desire:  
If you will count me for your friend,  
You must both works and words amend.    

CANT LXI.  
With this bitter reply of Auisa, H. W. being somewhat daunted, yet not altogether without hope, went home to his house, and there secretly in a melancholic passion wrote these verses following.  

H. W. To AVISA my friendly foe.  

THe busy Gnat about the candle, hovering still doth fly, 
Sixaine,   
The slimy Fish about the bait, still wavering doth lie,  
The fearful Mouse about the trap doth often try his strength,  
Until both Gnat, and Fish and Mouse, be taken at the length,  
Even so unhappy I, do like my greatest bane,  
Unless you do with speed, release my mortal pain.   

The light foot heart desires the waters brook, 
Quatraine.   
The dog most sick the greenest grass doth crave.  
The wounded wight for surgeon still doth look,  
Until both heart, and dog, and wight their medicine have:  
But I with grief th'unhappiest of them all,  
Do still delight to be my enemy's thrall.  
Mine enemy I say, though yet my sweetest friend,  
If of my sorrows I may see some speedy wholesome end. 
Deuxaine.    
FINIS. Chi la dura, la Vince.    

CANT. LXII.  
AVISA. her reply to H. W.  

THe busy Gnat for want of wit,  
Doth singe his wings in burning flame,  
The Fish with bait will headlong flit,  
Till she be choked with the same;  
So you with Gnat and Fish will play,  
Till flame and food work your decay.   

The heedless Mouse, that tries the trap,  
In haste to reach her heart's desire,  
Doth quickly find such quaint mishap,  
That bars her strength from free retire,  
So you will never cease to crave,  
Till you have lost that now you have.   

The hart, the dog, the wounded wight,  
For water, grass, and Surgeon call,  
Their griefs and cures, are all but light,  
But your conceit surpassed them all;  
Except you change your wanton mind,  
You shall no ease, nor comfort find.  
Always the same Auisa.    

CANT. LXIII.  
H. W. prosecuteth his suit.  

WIll not your lofty stomach stoop?  
Will not this self conceit come down?  
As haggard loving mirthless coupe,  
At friendly lure doth check and frown?  
Blame not in this the Falconer's skill,  
But blame the Hawks unbridled will.   

Your sharp replies, your frowning cheer,  
To absent lines, and present view,  
Doth aye redouble trembling fear,  
And griping griefs do still renew,  
Your face to me my sole relief,  
My sight to you your only grief.   

O luckless wretch, what hap had I,  
To plant my love in such a soil?  
What fury makes me thus rely  
On her that seeks my utter spoil?  
O Gods of love what sign is this,  
That in the first, I first should miss?   

And can you thus increase my woe,  
And will you thus prolong my pain?  
Canst kill the heart that loves thee so,  
Canst quit my love with foul disdain?  
And if thou canst, woe worth the place,  
Where first I saw that flattering face.   

And shall my folly prove it true,  
That hasty pleasure doubleth pain,  
Shall grief rebound, where joy grew?  
Of faithful heart is this the gain?  
Me thinks for all your grave advise,  
(For give my thought) you are not wise.   

Would God I could restrain my love,  
Sith you to love me can not yield,  
But I alas can not remove  
My fancy, though I die in field;  
My life doth on your love depend,  
My love and life at once must end.    

CANT. LXIIII  
AVISA.  

WHat witless errors do possess  
The wretched minds of loving fools,  
That breathless run to such distress,  
That lively heat fond sorrow cools?  
They reek not where they stand or fall,  
Deny them love, take life and all.   

It seems a death to change their mind,  
Or alter once their foolish will,  
Such odd conceits they seek to find,  
As may their childish fancies fill,  
It makes me smile thus, now and then,  
To see the guise of foolish men.   

I can not stoop to wandering lure;  
My mind is one, and still the same;  
While breath, while life, while days endure,  
I will not yield to work my shame,  
Then if you strive and stir in vain,  
Blame but the fruits of idle brain.   

If I do sometimes look awry,  
As loath to see your blobered face,  
And loath to hear a young man cry,  
Correct for shame this childish race,  
And though you weep and wail to me,  
Yet let not all these follies see.   

Good Harry leave these raging toys,  
That thus from restless fancy flow,  
Unfit for men, not meet for boys,  
And let's a while talk wisely now;  
If that you love me as you say,  
Then cease such madness to bewray.   

If honest love could breed content,  
And frame a liking to your will,  
I would not stick to give consent,  
To like you so, and love you still,  
But while lust leads your love awry,  
Assure yourself, I will deny.    

CANT. LXV.  
H. W.  

ANd is it lust that wields my love?  
Or is it but your fond surmise?  
Will you condemn, before you prove?  
How can I think you to be wise?  
O faithful heart, yet thrice accursed,  
That art misdeemd thus at the first.   

If lust did rule my restless heart,  
If only lust did bear the sway,  
I quickly could assuage my smart,  
With choice, and change, for every day,  
You should not laugh to see me weep,  
If lust were it that struck so deep.   

And yet at first, before I knew,  
What vain it was that bled so sore,  
Where lust or love, to prove it true,  
I took a salve that still before  
Was wont to help, I chose me one,  
With whom I quenched my lust alone.   

Yet this (sweet heart) could not suffice,  
Nor any way content my mind, 
A bad argument to prove good love.   
I felt new qualms, and new arise,  
And stronger still, and strong I find,  
By this, I thus do plainly prove,  
It is not lust, but faithful love.   

And yet to prove my love more sure,  
And sith you will not false your faith,  
This pining plight I will endure,  
Till death do stop your husband's breath;  
To have me then if you will say,  
I will not marry, till that day.   

If you will give your full consent,  
When God shall take your husband's life,  
That then you will be well content,  
To be my spouse and loving wife,  
I will be joyful as before,  
And till that time, will crave no more.    

CANT, LXVI.  
AVISA.  

NO more; no more, too much of this,  
And is mine inch become an ell?  
If thus you writhe my words amiss,  
I must of force, bid you farewell,  
You show in this your loving bent,  
To catch at that, I never meant;   

I thought at first, (but this my though  
I must correct;) that simple love,  
In guilles' heart these fits had wrought.  
But I; too simple I, now prove,  
That under show of great good will,  
My heart's delight you seek to spill.   

He loves me well, that tills a trap,  
Of deep deceit, and deadly bane,  
In dreadful dangers thus to wrap  
His friend by baits of fleering train:  
Though flattering tongues can paint it brave  
Your words do show, what love you have.   

I must consent, and you will stay  
My husband's death. Obtaining this,  
You think I could not say you Nay:  
Nor of your other purpose miss,  
You are deceived, and you shall try,  
That I such faith, and friends defy.   

Such feigned, former, faithless plot  
I most detest, and tell you plain,  
If now I were to cast my lot,  
With free consent to choose again,  
Of all the men I ever knew,  
I would not make my choice of you.   

Let this suffice, and do not stay  
On hope of that which will not be,  
Then cease your suit, go where you may,  
Vain is your trust, to hope on me.  
My choice is past, my heart is bend,  
While that remains to be content.   

Now having tract the winding trace  
Of false resemblance, give me leave,  
From this to show a stranger grace,  
Then heretofore, you did perceive,  
'Gainst friendless love if I repine,  
The fault is yours, & none of mine.    

CANT. LXVII.  
H. W.  

I Will not wish, I cannot vow,  
Thy hurt, thy grief, though thou disdain,  
Though thou refuse, I know not how,  
To quite my love with love again:  
Since I have swore to be thy friend,  
As I began, so will I end.   

Swear thou my death, work thou my woe,  
Conspire with grief to stop my breath,  
Yet still thy friend, & not thy foe  
I will remain until my death:  
Choose whom thou wilt, I will resign,  
If love, or faith, be like to mine.   

But while I wretch too long have lent  
My wandering eyes to gaze on thee.  
I have both time, & travel spent  
In vain, in vain: and now I see,  
They do but fruitless pain procure,  
To haggard kites that cast the lure.   

When I am dead, yet thou mayst boast,  
Thou hadst a friend, a faithful friend,  
That living lived to love thee most,  
And loved thee still unto his end:  
Though thou unworthy, with disdain  
Didst force him live, and die in pain.   

Now may I sing, now sigh, and say,  
Farewell my life, farewell my joy,  
Now mourn by night, now weep by day,  
Love, too much love breeds mine annoy:  
What can I wish, what should I crave,  
Sith that is gone, that I should have.   

Though hope be turned to despair,  
Yet give my tongue leave to lament,  
Believe me now, my heart doth swear,  
My luckless love was truly meant:  
Thou art too proud, I say no more,  
Too stout, and woe is me therefore.  
Felice chi puo.    

CANT. LXVIII.  
Auisa having heard this pathetical fancy of H. W. and seeing the tears trill down his cheeks, as half angry to see such passionate folly, in a man that should have government, with a frowning countenance turned from him, without farther answer, making silence her best reply, and following the counsel of the wise, not to answer a fool in his folly lest he grow too foolish, returted quite from him, and left him alone. But he departing home, and not able by reason to rule the raging fume of this fantastical fury, cast himself upon his bed, & refusing both food & comfort for many days together, fell at length into such extremity of passionate affections, that as many as saw him, had great doubt of his health, but more of his wits, yet, after a long space a bsence, having procured some respite from his sorrows, he takes his pen & wrote, as followeth.  

H. W  

Like wounded Dear, whose tender sides are bathed in blood,  
From deadly wound, by fatal hand & forked shaft:  
So bleeds my pierced heart, for so you think it good,  
With cruelty to kill, that which you got by craft:  
You still did loath my life, my death shall be your gain,  
To die to do you good, I shall not think it pain.   

My person could not please, my talk was out of frame,  
Though heart and eye could never brook my loathed sight,  
Yet love doth make me say, to keep you out of blame,  
The fault was only mine, and that you did but right  
When I am gone, I hope my ghost shall show you plain,  
That I did truly love, and that I did not feign.   

Now must I find the way to wail while life doth last,  
Yet hope I soon to see, the end of doleful days;  
When floods of flowing fears, and creeping cares are past,  
Then shall I leave to sing, and write these pleasant lays:  
For now I loath the food, and blood that lends me breath,  
I count all pleasure's pain that keep me from my death.   

To dark and heavy shades, I now will take my flight,  
Where neither tongue nor eye shall tell or see my fall,  
That there I may disiect these dregs of thy despite,  
And purge the clotted blood, that now my heart doth gall:  
In secret silence so, Perforce shall be my song,  
Till truth make you confess that you have done me wrong.  
Gia speme spenta. H. W.   
Auisa refusing both to come or send him any answer, after a long & melancholic deliberation, he wrote again so as followeth.    

CANT. LXIX  
H. W.  

THough you refuse to come or send,  
Yet this I send, though I do stay,  
Unto these lines some credit lend,  
And mark it well what they shall say,  
They cannot hurt, then read them all,  
They do but show their masters fall.   

Though you disdain to show remorse,  
You were the first and only wight,  
Whose fawning features did enforce  
My will to run beyond my might:  
In female face such force we see,  
To captive them, that erst were free.   

Your only word was then a law  
Unto my mind, if I did sin,  
Forgive this sin, but then I saw  
My bane or bliss did first begin,  
See what my fancy could have done,  
Your love at first, if I had won.   

All fortune flat I had defied,  
To choice and change defiance sent,  
No frowning fates could have denied,  
My loves pursuit, & willing bend,  
This was my mind, if I had found  
Your love as mine, but half so sound.   

Then had I bade the hellish rout,  
To frounce aloft their wrinkled front,  
And cursed hags that are so stout,  
I boldly would have bid avaunt,  
Let earth and air have frowned their fill,  
So I had wrought my wished will.   

Noraging storm, nor whirling blast,  
My settled heart could have annoyed,  
No sky with thundering clouds o'ercast  
Had hurt, if you I had enjoyed,  
Now hope is past, lo you may see,  
How every toy tormenteth me.  
Chi cerca trova.    

CANT. LXX.  
H. W.  

WIth oaken planks to plane the waves,  
What Neptune's rage could I have feared  
To quell the gulf that rudely raves,  
What peril could have once appeared?  
But now that I am left alone;  
Bare thoughts enforce my heart to groan.   

With thee to pass the chamfered grounds,  
What force or fear could me restrain?  
With thee to chase the Scillan hounds,  
Me thinks it were a pleasant pain,  
This was my thought, this is my love,  
Which none but death, can yet remove.   

It than behoves my fainting spirit,  
To lofty skies return again,  
Sith only death brings me delight,  
Which loving live in cureless pain,  
What hap to strangers is assind,  
If known friends do such favour find.   

How often have my friendly mates  
My loving errors laughed to scorn,  
How oft for thee found I debates,  
Which now I wish had been forborn:  
But this & more would I have done,  
If I thy favour could have won.   

I saw your gardens passing sign,  
With pleasant flowers lately decked,  
With Couslops and with Eglantine,  
When woeful Woodbine lies reject:  
Yet these in weeds and briers meet,  
Although they seem to smell so sweet.   

The dainty daisy bravely springs,  
And cheesest honour seems to get,  
I envy not such friendly things,  
But bless the hand that these have set:  
Yet let the Hyssop have his place,  
That doth deserve a special grace.  
Vivi, Chi vince.    

CANT. LXXI.  
H. W.  

But now farewell, yourself shall see,  
An odd exchange of friends in time,  
you may perhaps then wish for me,  
And wail too late this cruel crime:  
Yea wish yourself perhaps beshrewd,  
That you to me such rigour showed.   

I cannot force you for to like,  
Where cruel fancy doth rebel,  
I must some other fortune seek,  
But where or how I cannot tell:  
And yet I doubt where you shall find  
In all your life so sure a friend.   

Of pleasant days the date is done,  
My carcase pineth in conceit,  
The line of life his race hath run,  
Expecting sound of deaths retreat:  
Yet would I live to love thee still,  
And do thee good against thy will.   

How can I love, how can I live,  
Whilst that my heart hath lost his hope,  
Despair abandons sweet relief,  
My love, and life have lost their scope:  
Yet would I live thy feature to behold,  
Yet would I love, if I might be so bold.   

My grief is green, and never springs, 
These verses exceed mea●ure, to show that his affec●ions keep no compass, and ●is exceeding ●oue.   
My sorrow full of deadly sap,  
Sweet death remove these bitter things,  
Give end to hard and cruel hap:  
Yet would I live, if I might see,  
My life, or limbs might pleasure thee.   

Farewell that sweet and pleasant walk,  
The witness of my faith and woe,  
That oft hath heard our friendly talk,  
And given me leave my grief to show,  
O pleasant path, where I could see  
No cross at all but only she.  
Il fine, fa il tutto.    

CANT. LXXII.  
H. W.  

LIke silly Bat, that loves the dark,  
And seldom brooks the wished light,  
Obscurely so I seek the mark,  
That aye doth vanish from my sight,  
Yet shall she say, I died her friend,  
Though by disdain she sought mine end.   

Feign would I cease, and hold my tongue,  
But love and sorrow set me on,  
Needs must I plain of spiteful wrong,  
Sith hope and health will both be gone,  
When branch from inward rind is fled,  
The bark doth wish the body dead.   

If ever man were borne to woe,  
I am the man, you know it well,  
My chiefest friend, my greatest foe,  
And heaven become my heavy hell,  
This do I feel, this do I find:  
But who can loose, that God will bind?   

For since the day, O dismal day,  
I first beheld that smiling face,  
My fancy made her choice strait way,  
And bade all other loves give place,  
Yea since I saw thy lovely sight,  
I freeze and fry, twixt joy and spite.   

Where fond suspect doth keep the gate,  
There trust is chased from the door,  
Then faith and truth will come too late,  
Where falsehood will admit no more;  
Then naked faith and love must yield,  
For lack offence, and fly the field.   

Then easier were it for to choose,  
To crale against the craggy hill,  
Then suits, than sighs, than words to use,  
To change a froward woman's will,  
Then oaths and vows are allin vain,  
And truth a toy, where fancies reign.  
Ama, Chi ti ama.    

CANT. LXXIII.  
H. W.  

MY tongue, my hand, my ready heart,  
That spoke, that felt, that freely thought,  
My love, thy limbs, my inward smart,  
Have all performed what they ought,  
These all do love you yet, and shall,  
And when I change, let vengeance fall.   

Shall I repent, I ever saw  
That face, that so can frown on me?  
How can I wish, when fancies draw  
Mine eyes to wish, and look for thee?  
Then though you do deny my right,  
Yet bar me not from wished sight.   

And yet I crave, I know not what,  
Perchance my presence breeds your pain,  
And if I were persuaded that,  
I would in absence still remain,  
You shall not feel the smallest grief,  
Although it were to save my life,   

Ah woe is me, the case so stands,  
That senseless papers plead my woe,  
They can not weep, nor wring their hands,  
But say perhaps, that I did so,  
And though these lines for mercy crave,  
Who can on papers pity have?   

O that my griefs, my sighs, my tears,  
Might plainly muster in your view,  
Then pain, not pen, than faith, not fears,  
Should vouch my vows, and writings true,  
This wishing shows a woeful want,  
Of that which you by right should grant.   

Now far thou well, whose welfare brings  
Such loathsome fear, and ill to me.  
Yet here thy friend this farewell sings,  
Though heavy word a farewell be.  
Against all hope, if I hope still,  
Blame but abundance of good will.  
Grand Amore, grand Dolore, Inopem me copia fecit. H. W.    

CANT, LXXIIII.  
AVISA. her last reply.  

YOur long Epistle I have read,  
Great store of words, and little wit,  
(For want of wit, these fancies bred)  
To answer all I think not sit,  
But in a word, you shall perceive,  
How kindly I will take my leave.   

When you shall see sweet Lilies grow,  
And flourish in the frozen ice,  
When ebbing tides shall leave to flow,  
And mountains to the skies shall rise,  
When roaring Seas do cease to rave,  
Then shall you gain the thing you crave.   

When Fish as haggard Hawks shall fly,  
When Seas shall flame, and Sun shall freeze,  
When mortal men shall never die,  
And earth shall yield, nor herb nor trees,  
Then shall your words my mind remove,  
And I accept your proffered love.   

When Thames shall leave his channel dry,  
When Sheep shall seed amidst the Sea.  
When stones aloft, as Birds shall fly,  
And night be changed into Day,  
Then shall you see that I will yield,  
And to your force resign the field.   

Till all these things do come to pass,  
Assure yourself, you know my mind,  
My heart is now, as first it was,  
I came not of dame Chrysiedes kind,  
Then leave to hope, learn to refrain,  
Your mind from that, you seek in vain.   

I wish you well, and well to far,  
And there with all a godly mind,  
Devoid of lust, and foolish care,  
This if you seek, this shall you find.  
But I must say, as erst before,  
Then cease to wail, and writ no more.  
Always the same Auisa.   
H. W. Was now again stricken so dead, that he hath not yet any farther assayed, nor I think ever will, and where he be alive or dead I know not, and therefore I leave him.    

The Author's conclusion.  

SO thus she stands unconquered yet,  
As Lamb amidst the Lion's pause,  
Whom gifts, nor wills, nor force of wit,  
Can vanquish once with all their shows,  
To speak the truth, and say no more,  
I never knew her like before.   

Then blame me not, if I protest,  
My silly Muse shall still commend  
This constant A. above the rest,  
While others learn their life to mend,  
My tongue on high and high shall raise,  
And always sing her worthy praise.   

While hand can write, while wit devise,  
While tongue is free to make report,  
Her virtue shall be had in prize  
Among the best and honest sort,  
And they that will mislike of this,  
I shall suspect, they strike amiss.   

Eternal then let be the fame  
Of such as hold a constant mind,  
Eternal be the lasting shame,  
Of such as wave with every wind:  
Though some there be that will repine;  
Yet some will praise this wish of mine.   

But here I cease for fear ofblame,  
Although there be a great deal more,  
That might be spoken of this dame,  
That yet lies hid in secret store,  
If this be liked, then can I say,  
Ye may see more another day.  
agitant calescimus illo. Farewell.   
FINIS.   

The resolution of a chaste and a constant wife, that minds to continue faithful unto her husband.  
To the tune of Fortune.  

THough winged Birds, do often scorn the lure,  
And flying far, do think themselves most sure,  
Yet fancy so, his luring engines frame,  
That wildest hearts, in time become most tame.   

Where secret nature, frames a sweet consent,  
Where privy fates their hidden force have bend,  
To join in heart, the bodies that are twain,  
Fly where you list, you shall return again.   

From fancy's lore, I strived still to fly,  
Long time I did my fortune flat deny,  
Till at the length, my wrestling bred my woe,  
Knowing that none, their fortune can forego.   

For while I lived, in prime of vernant youth,  
Falsehood that show'd, the face of feigned truth,  
Falsely 'gan wean, a web of wily kind;  
So to entrap, my plain and simple mind.   

Great were the suits, great were the friendly signs,  
Sweet were the words, to poison tender minds,  
Large were the gifts, great were the proffers made,  
To force my mind, to try a trustless trade.   

Great were the wights, that daily did conspire,  
To pluck the rose, their fancies did desire,  
Trail did the tears, in hope to purchase trust,  
Yet this was all, no love, but luring lust.   

No fancy could then force me to reply,  
Nor move my mind such doubtful deeds to try:  
For well I knew, although I knew not all,  
Such trickle trades procure a sudden fall.   

Thus did I mount, thus did I fly at will,  
Thus did I scape the fowlers painted skill,  
Thus did I save, my feathers from their lime,  
Thus did I live, a long and happy time.   

Cupid that great, and mighty kings could move,  
Can never frame, my heart to like of love,  
His limber shafts, and eke his golden dart,  
Were still too blunt, to pierce my steely heart.   

Till at the length, as nature had assind,  
Unto the earth, I bent a willing mind:  
He was the first, to whom I gave my hand,  
With free consent, to live in holy band.   

Eva that gave her faithful promise so,  
With Adam to live in wealth and in woe,  
Of faithful heart, could never have more store,  
Then I have felt, thrice three years space & more.   

When I had gieu'n my heart and free consent,  
No earthly thing could make me once repent,  
No Seas of grief, ne cares that I could find,  
Can so prevail, to make me change my mind.   

Did fortune fawn, or did our fortune frown,  
Did he exalt, or did he cast him down,  
My faithful heart did ever make me sing,  
Welcome to me, what ever fortune bring.   

Now when I thought, all dangers had been passed  
Of lawless suits, and suitors at the last,  
The trade, the time, the place wherein I live,  
Unto this Lamp, new oil do daily give.   

But like of this all you that love to range,  
My fixed heart likes not the skittish change,  
Now have I made the choice that shall remain,  
Vengeance befall, when I do change again.   

Now have I found a friend of high desert,  
I have his love, and he hath stool my heart,  
Now fortune pack, with all thy pelting store,  
This is my choice, I like to choose no more   

Cease then your suits, ye lusty gallants all,  
Think not I stoop at every Falconers call,  
Truss up your lures, your luring is in vain,  
Chosen is the Perch, whereon I will remain.   

Spend not your breath in needless feigned talks,  
Seek other mates, that love such roving walks,  
None shall ever vaunt, that they have my consent,  
Then let me rest, for now I am content.   

Great be your birth, and greater be your wealth,  
I reckon more my credit and my health,  
Though I be weak, my power very scant,  
God so provides that I shall never want.   

Be mine own at home, or be he absent long,  
Absent or present, this still shall be my song,  
Fortune my friend, A friend to me hath lent,  
This is my choice, and therewith am content.   

Range they that list, and change who ever will,  
One hath mine oath, and his I will be still,  
Now let us fall, or let us rise on high,  
Still will I sing, now well content am I    

The praise of a contented mind.  

THe God that framed the fixed pole, and Lamps of gleaming light,  
The azure skies, and twinkling Stars. to yield this pleasant sight,  
In wisdom pight this peerless plot, a rare surpassing frame,  
And so with brave and sweet delights, have fraught and decked the same,  
That every creature keeps his course, his compass and his place,  
And with delightful joy runs, his pointed time and race,  
In one consent they friendly join, from which they can not fall,  
As if the Lord had first ordained, one soul to guide them all,  
In every part there doth remain, such love and free consent,  
That every frame doth kiss his lot, and cries I am content,  
The Arctic pole that never moves, by which the shipmen sail,  
Craves not to change his frizen Axe, nor from his place to steal,  
The fixed Stars, that seldom range, delight their circles so,  
That from their choice by wanton change, they never yield to go.  
The Sun and Moon that never hide, their brave resplendent rays,  
Did never wish in wavering will, to change their wont ways.  
The roaring Sea, with ebbs and tides, that leaps against the land,  
Is yet content for all his rage, to stay within his band.  
The flooting Fish, the singing Bird, all beasts with one consent,  
To live according to their kind, do show themselves content,  
So that by practice and by proof, this sentence true I find,  
That nothing in this earth is like, a sweet contented mind.  
The beasts, the Birds, and airy powers, do keep their compass well,  
And only man above the rest, doth love for to rebel,  
This only man, the Lord above, with reason did endue,  
Yet only man, ungrateful man, doth show himself untrue.  
No sooner was brave Adam made, but Satan wrought his thrall,  
For not content, aspiring pride, procured his sudden shall.  
The princely Primrose of the East, proud Eva gave consent,  
To change her bliss to bale, for that, her mind was not content.  
Thus may the darkest eye perceive, how folly strikes us blind,  
Thus may we see the often change, of man's unconstant mind,  
The Moon, the Sea, by nature's course, do not so often change.  
As do the wits, and wanton wills, of such as love to range.  
The rangling rage that held from home, Ulysses all too long.  
Made chaste Penelope complain of him that did her wrong.  
The loathsome days, and linger nights, her time in spinning spent:  
She would not yield to change her choice, because she was content.  
Such calm content doth plainly show, that love did much abound,  
Where free consent breeds not content, such faith is seldom found.  
For careless Crysed that had gin, her hand, her faith and heart,  
To Troilus her trusty friend, yet falsely did departed:  
And giglot like from Troy town, to Grecians camp would go,  
To Diomedes, whom in the end, she found a faithless foe,  
For having fliued the gentle slip, his love was turned to hate.  
And she a leper did lament, but than it was too late.  
Now foolish fancy was the cause, this Crysed did lament,  
For when she had a faithful friend, she could not be content.  
Ten thousand fell at Troy's siege, whose blood had not been spent,  
If fickle headed Helen could, at first have been content.  
You can not in the Serpent's head, such deadly poison find,  
As is the feigned love that lives, with discontented mind.  
Of all the wisdom of the wise, that I could ever tell,  
This wisdom bears the chiefest sway, to stay when we be well,  
As sweetest Music rudely jars, except there be consent:  
So hottest love doth quickly cool, except it be content.  
Of all the brave resounding words, which God to man hath lent,  
This soundeth sweetest in mine ear, to say. I am content.  
Ever or Never.   
FINIS.   

LONDON Imprinted by john Windet, dwelling at Paul's wharf at the sign of the cross Keys and are there to be sold. 1594.