1584.
¶Thine owne delay must win the field,
When lust doth leade thy heart to yeeld:
When steed is stolne, who makes al last,
May go on foot for al his haste:
In time shut gate,
For had I wist, doth come too late,
Fast bind, fast find,
Repentance alwaies commeth behind.
¶If The Syrens times [tunes] oft time beguiles,
So doth the teares of Crocodiles:
But who so learnes Vlysses lore,
May passe the seas, and win the shore.
Stop eares, stand fast,
Through Cupids trips, thou shalt him cast:
Flie baits, shun hookes,
Be thou not snarde with louely lookes.
¶Where Venus hath the maisterie,
There loue hath lost her libertie:
where loue doth win the victorie,
The fort is sackt with crueltie.
First look, then leap,
In suretie so your shinnes you keepe:
The snake doth sting,
That lurking lieth with hissing.
¶Where Cupids fort hath made a waie,
There graue aduise doth beare no swaie,
Where Loue doth raigne and rule the roste,
There reason is exilde the coast:
Like all, loue none, except ye vse discretion,
First try, then trust, be not deceiued with sinful lust,
¶Marke Priams sonne, his fond deuise
When Venus did obtaine the price:
For Pallas skil and Iunoes strength,
He chose that bred his bane at length.
Choos[e] wit, leaue wil, let Helen be with Paris stil:
Amis[s] goeth al, wher fancie forceth iooles to fall.
