Willobie his Auisa. Or the true picture of a modest maid, and of a chast and constant wife In hexamiter verse. The like argument wherof, was neuer hereto fore published. Read the preface to the reader before you enter farther.

The third trial; wherin are expressed the long passionate, and constant affections of the close and wary sutor, which by signes, by sighes, by letters, by pri∣uie messengers, by Iewels, Rings, Golde, diuers gifts, and by a long continued course of courtesie, at length pre∣uaileth with many both maides and wiues, if they be not garded wounderfully with a better spirite then their owne, which all are here finely daunted, and mildly o∣uer throwne, by the constant aunsweres, and chast replies of Auisa.

CANT. XXIII.

D. B. A French man.

AS flaming flakes, too closely pent, With smothering smoke, in narrow vault, Each hole doth trie, to get a vent, And force by forces, fierce assault, With ratling rage, doth rumbling raue, Till flame and smoke free passage haue.

So I (my deare) haue smothered long, Within my hart a sparkling flame, Whose rebell rage is grown so strong, That hope is past to quell the same, Except the stone, that strake the fire, With water quench this hote desire.

The glauncing speare, that made the wound, Which ranckling thus, hath bred my paine, Must pearcing slide with fresh rebound, And wound, with wound, recure againe. That flooting eye that pearst my hart, Must yeeld to salue my curelesse smart.

I striu'd, but striu'd against the streame, To daunt the qualmes of fond desire, The more their course I did restraine, More strong and strong they did retire, Bare need doth force me now to runne, To seeke my helpe, where hurt begunne.

Thy present state wants present aid, A quicke redresse my griefe requires, Let not the meanes be long delaid, That yeelds vs both our harts desires, If you will ease my pensiue hart, I'le find a salue to heale your smart.

I am no common gameling mate, That list to bowle in euery plaine, But (wench) consider both our state, The time is now, for both to gaine, From daungerous bands I set you free, If you wil yeeld to comfort mee.

CANT. XXIIII.

AVISA.

YOur fierie flame, your secret smart, That inward frets with pining griefe, Your hollow sighes, your heuie hart, Me thinks might quickly find reliefe, If once the certaine cause were knowne, From whence these hard effects haue growne.

It little boots to shew your sore, To her that wants all Phisicke skill, But tell it them, that haue in store, Such oyles as creeping cankers kill, I would be glad, to doe my best, If I had skill, to giue you rest.

Take heede, let not your griefe remaine, Till helpes doe faile, and hope be past, For such as first refus'd some paine, A double paine haue felt at last, A little sparke, not quencht be time, To hideous flames will quickly clime.

If godly sorrow for your sin, Be chiefest cause, why you lament, If giltie conscience doe begin, To draw you truely to repent, A ioyfull end must needs redound, To happie griefe so seldome found.

To striue all wicked lusts to quell, Which often sort to dolefull end, I ioye to heare you meane so well, And what you want, the Lord will send: But if you yeeld to wanton will, God will depart, and leaue you still.

Your pleasant aide with sweete supply, My present state, that might amend, If honest loue be ment thereby, I shall be glad of such a frend, But if you loue, as I suspect, Your loue and you, I both reiect.

CANT. XXV.

D. B. A French man.

VVHat you suspect, I can not tell, What I doe meane, you may perceiue, My workes shall shew, I wish you well, If well ment loue you list receiue, I haue beene long in secret mind, And would be still your secret frind.

My loue should breed you no disgrace, None should perceiue our secret plaie, We would obserue both time and place, That none our dealings should bewraie, Be it my fortune, or my fault, Loue makes me venter this assault.

You mistresse of my doubtfull chance, You Prince of this my soules desire, That lulls my fancie in a trance, The marke whereto my hopes aspire, You see the sore, whence springs my griefe You weld the sterne of my reliefe.

The grauest men of former time, That liu'd with fame, and happie life, Haue thought it none, or pettie crime, To loue a friend besides their wife, Then sith my wife you can not be, As dearest friend accompt of me.

You talke of sinne, and who doth liue, Whose dayly steps slide not awrie? But too precise, doth deadly grieue, The hart that yeelds not yet to die, When age drawes on, and youth is past, Then let vs thinke of this at last.

The Lord did loue King Dauid well, Although he had more wiues then one: King Solomon that did excell, For wealth and wit, yet he alone; A thousand wiues and friends possest, Yet did he thriue, yet was he blest.

CANT. XXVI.

AVISA.

O Mightie Lord, that guides the Spheare; Defend me by thy mightie will, From iust reproch, from shame and feare, Of such as seeke my soule to spill, Let not their counsell (Lord) preuaile, To force my hart to yeeld or quaile.

How frames it with your sober lookes, To shroud such bent of lewd conceites? What hope hath pla'st me in your bookes, That files me fit, for such deceites? I hope that time hath made you see, No cause that breeds these thoughts in mee.

Your feruent loue is filthy lust, And therefore leaue to talke of loue, Your truth is treason vnder trust, A Kite in shape of hurtlesse Doue, You offer more then friendship wold, To giue vs brasse in steed of gold.

Such secret friends to open foes, Do often change with euery wind, Such wandring fits, where follie groes, Are certaine signes of wauering mind, A fawning face, and faithlesse hart, In secret loue, breeds open smart.

No sinne to breake the wedlocke faith? No sinne to swim in Sodomes sinke? O sinne the seed and sting of death! O sinnefull wretch that so doth thinke! Your grauest men with all their schooles, That taught you thus, were heathē fooles.

Your lewd examples will not serue, To frame a vertue from a vice, When Dauid and his Sonne did swerue, From lawfull rule, though both were wise, Yet both were plagu'd, as you may see, With mightie plagues of each degree.

CANT. XXVII.

D. B. A French man.

FRom whence proceeds this sodaine change? From whence this quainte and coye speech? Where did you learne to looke so strange? What Doctor taught you thus to preach? Into my hart it can not sinke, That you doe speake, as you doe thinke.

Your smiling face, and glauncing eye, (That promise grace, and not despite) With these your words doe not agree, That seeme to shun your chiefe delight, But giue me leaue, I thinke it still, Your words doe wander from your will,

Of women now the greatest part, Whose place and age doe so require, Do chuse a friend, whose faithfull hart, May quench the flame of secret fire, Now if your liking be not pla'st, I know you will chuse one at last.

Then chusing one, let me be he, If so our hidden fancies frame, Because you are the onely she, That first inrag'd my fancies flame, If first you graunt me this good will, My hart is yours, and shall be still.

I haue a Farme that fell of late, Woorth fortie pounds, at yearely rent, That will I giue to mend your state, And proue my loue is truely ment, Let not my sute be flat denide, And what you want, shall be supplide.

Our long acquaintance makes me bold; To shew my greife, 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 aduice; Your hap is good, if you be wise.

CANT. XXVIII,

AVIS A.

MY hap is hard, and ouer bad, To be misdeemd of euery man; That thinke me quickly to be had, That see me pleasant now and than: Yet would I not be much a greiu'd, If you alone were thus deceiu'd.

But you alone are not deceiu'd, With tising baytes of pleasant view, But many others haue belieu'd, And tride the same, as well as you, But they repent their folly past, And so will you, I hope at last.

You seeme, as though you lately came From London, from some bawdie sell, Where you haue met some wanton dame, That knowes the trickes of whoores so well, Know you some wiues, vse more then one? Go backe to them, for here are none.

For here are none, that list to chuse, A nouell chance, where old remaine, My choice is past, and I refuse, While this doth last, to chuse againe, While one doth liue, I will no more, Although I begge from dore to dore.

Bestow your farmes among your frinds, Your fortie pounds can not prouoke, The setled hart, whom vertue binds, To trust the traines of hidden hooke, The labor's lost that you indure, To gorged Hauke, to cast the lure.

If lust had led me to the spoyle, And wicked will, to wanton change, Your betters that haue had the soyle, Had caus'd me long ere this to range, But they haue left, for they did see, How far they were mistake of mee.

CANT. XXIX.

D. B. A French man.

MIstake indeed, if this be true, If youth can yeeld to fauours foe; If wisdome spring, where fancie grew; But sure I thinke it is not so: Let faithfull meaning purchase trust, That likes for loue, and not for lust.

Although you sweare, you will not yeeld, Although my death you should intend, Yet will I not forsake the field, But still remaine your constant frend, Say what you list, flie where you will, I am your thrall, to saue or spill.

You may command me out of sight, As one that shall no fauour find, But though my body take his flight, Yet shall my hart remaine behind, That shall your guilty conscience tell, You haue not vs'd his masterwell.

His masters loue he shall repeate, And watch his turne to purchase grace, His secret eye shall lie in waite; Where any other gaine the place: When we ech others can not see, My hart shall make you thinke of mee.

To force a fancie, where is none, T'is but in vaine, it will not hold, But where it growes it selfe alone, A little fauour makes it bold, Till fancie frame your free consent, I must perforce, be needs content.

Though I depart with heauie cheare, As hauing lost, or left my hart, With one whose loue, I held too deare, That now can smile, when others smart, Yet let your prisoner mercy see, Least you in time a prisoner bee.

CANT. XXX.

AVISA.

IT makes me smile to see the bent, Of wandring minds with folly fed, How fine they faine, how faire they paint, To bring a louing soule to bed; They will be dead, except they haue, What so (forsooth) their fancie craue.

If you did seeke, as you pretend, Not friendlesse lust, but friendly loue, Your tongue and speeches would not lend, Such lawlesse actions, so to moue, But you can wake, although you winke, And sweare the thing, you neuer thinke.

To wauering men that speake so faire, Let women neuer credit giue, Although they weepe, although they sware, Such fained shewes, let none belieue; For they that thinke their words be true. Shall soone their hastie credit rue.

When ventring lust doth make them dare, The simple wenches to betray, For present time they take no care, What they doe sweare, nor what they say, But hauing once obtaind the lot, Their words and othes are all forgot.

Let rouing Prince from Troyes sacke, Whose fauning fram'd Queene Dido's fall, Teach women wit, that wisdome lacke, Mistrust the most, beware of all, When selfewill rules, where reason sate, Fond women oft repent too late.

The wandring passions of the mind; Where constant vertue bares no sway, Such franticke fickle chaunges find, That reason knowes not where to stay, How boast you then of constant loue, Where lust all vertue doth remoue?

Notes

• Catullus. Tum ••am nulla viro ••uranti foemi∣na credat. Nulla viri ••eret, sermo∣••es esse fideles. Qui dum ali∣quid cupiens ••nimus praege∣••tit apisci, Nil metuunt iura∣••e, nihil pro∣mittere par∣••unt. Sed simul ac cupidae mentis satiata libido est, Dicta nihil metuere, nihil periuria cu∣rant.
• Combat be∣tweene reasō and appetite. No constant loue where vnconstant affections rule. That loue on∣ly constant that is groun∣ded on vertue