Selected quad for the lemma: reason_n

Word A	Word B	Word C	Word D	Occurrence	Frequency Band	MI	MI Band	Prominent
reason_n	rule_v	wit_n	work_v	3,117	5	12.1843	5	false

Text snippets containing the quad

ID	Title	Author	Corrected Date of Publication (TCP Date of Publication)	STC	Words	Pages
A18608	Youthes witte, or, The vvitte of grene youth choose gentlemen, and mez-dames which of them shall best lyke you / compiled and gathered together by Henry Chillester.	Chillester, Henry.	1581 (1581)	STC 5137.5; ESTC S745	81,387	162

haunt the field with more delight then euer he was wont Dame Procris she that markt it well beginneth now to muse and thinkes it but vnlawfull game her husband went to hūt See see the fruites of ielosie see on what ground they grow on no soyle els I warrante you but such as hat● a staine Silde seekes the Sire his sonne in ouen but that he first did know himselfe ful ofte to haue beene there this case is too too plaine Vpon a sweete smile SWéete are the smiles in secreat I receaue and secreat sweete is swéetest swéete of all Would God swéete wench thou plainly didst perceaue how by thy smiles I liue deuoyd of thrall Then my sweete soule I know to my delight thou stil wouldst vse swéete smiling in my sight For if swéete hope yeald me such swéetnes still my fancie swéete for foode wil neuer sterue I can but yeald swéete thankes for swéete good will and sweetely séeke such sweetnes to deserue And could my wish once winne my sweete desire soone should I reape the swéete I would require Which sweete request is to thy sweete content by thy sweete will to worke my sweetest wish Which wish so sweete my sweete so sweetely ment is by sweete baite to catch so sweete a fish Which baite so sweete is loue I lay for thee and thou the fish I seeke to draw to me Which sweetely let thy fancy feede vpon and thou shalt finde so sweete a kinde of baight as by my hooke of hope I thinke anone to draw thee vp by lines of sweete delight And thus my sweete I swéetely angle still till my sweete loue hath caught thy sweete good will An inuectiue against loue WIth ue that see my loyall harte graunt my desire enioy his due desarte That all the world may wel be warnd by me to shun such mischieues as themselues may sée Let Poets fayne and tell what tales they list the troth is this loue growes in deede of lust First looke then prate and so forsooth they kist and then you know what further follow must Which to obtaine yet better be without how wittes must worke to bring this geare about Loue is in déede a naturall instinct which first doth grow but by view of the eye Which moues desire to passe beyond precinct and so doth bréede a secreate malady So loue is then a naturall disease and doth in déede to nature little ease The law of loue instruckes no more but this truely to serue the lady whome we loue To prooue each meane to please a misteris whome euery toy may to displeasure moue It is I finde a flatteringe kinde of arte which with deceit will fraught the truest hart And if it be as learned fathers finde it is a fire that doth consume the harte A welcome wounde vnto the wanton minde a pleasaunte poyson bréeding deadly smarte And if in loue be such a state to proue happie is he that neuer falles in loue And for my selfe I solemnly protest See see the fruites of ielosie see on what groun● 〈…〉 on no soyle els I warrante you but such as hath 〈…〉 Silde seekes the Sire his sonne in ouen but that he first did know himselfe ful ofte to haue beene there this case is too too plaine Which since I doe by true experience proue I hate the nature state and lawe of loue He craueth speedie loue or speedie death OH care leaue of to tire my restles minde come comforte come reuiue my dulled spright Flie fancie flie or els some fauoure finde cease sorrow cease loue lende me some delight Auaunte despaire oh helpe me hope in haste happe helpe my hope least life no longer last Drawe neare delight cheare vp my heauie harte packe from me paine away vile wretched woe Swéete heauenly ioye come helpe my secreate smarte oh ruthe relieue the wretch that sorrowes so Griefe get thee gone let pleasure take thy place hence vgly death for I must liue a space Mistres deare dame sweete soueraigne my ioy the Saint I serue the comforte of my care My hope my healpe my mirth in all annoy my loue my life my ioy of ioyes that are Oh saue my life that thus on thée doe cry lende me thy loue or let me quickly die My faith hath vowde to foyle all false suspecte and will wil worke in spite of enuies face Trothe is the othe which I cannot neglecte that loue should finde to gaine his ladies grace Oh Gods of loue that see my loyall harte graunt my desire enioy his due desarte He being tormented with manie passions craueth speedie remedie WHether wil wit or what is reason fled what wretched will hath now bewitchd my brain What rechlesse rage kéepes reags within my head what frantike fitte hath vexd me in ech vaine What mad conceite doth thus my minde molest that tumbling thoughts wil neuer let me rest Worke no more wit till reason rule thy will by sage aduise to stay thy busie braine Suppresse thy rage by sacred wisdomes skill and frantike fits wil flie away againe Let madnes marche into some other minde and séeke thy selfe some quyet rest to finde For liuing thus thy wit doth worke thée woe and braine bewitchd doth breede thee wilfull bale And rueful rage in time wil rancor soe that wil cannot geue eare to wisoomes tale Therfore good will let wit in time take héede least reason lost thou runne starke madde indéede Yet sit not stil for idlenes is ill but call to God to graunt thee heauenly grace That willing wit may worke his heauenly will and troubled minde may finde a heauenly place About this worke goe beate thy busie braine both rest on earth and heauenly ioyes to gaine That wight is bewitched that is subiect to beautie THe griefe is great that neuer findes redresse harde is his hap that findes no happy houre Doleful his doome that dyeth in distresse bewitchd the will that waites on beauties bower Wretched his woes that is bewrapt in loue such griefe happe doome and wretched state I proue For fancie now hath reason put to flight and witles will doth wisdomes wordes disdaine Desire acquaints him selfe with fonde delight and running wit hath got a wanton vaine Selfe will hath sought sage wisdome to beguile and hath in deede deceaud himselfe the while For fancies gaine is losse vnto my griefe and reason fled what rechles race I run My déepe distresse dispayring in reliefe doth tell me plaine my pleasant dayes are done My foule despight doth shew my mourning minde the bitter fruites of fonde delight I finde Repentance rues sage wisdomes small regard and wretched woes doe wanton toyes bewaile And heauie harte lamenteth hap so hard and sorrow shewes that selfe willes sleights doe faile Which makes me sing vnto my dying hower bewitchd is he that waytes on beauties bower Seeke and finde THe prouerbe sayes who seekes shal surely finde shall finde but what not that he séekes I gesse For why my selfe haue sought in sundrie kinde vnto my griefe

despaire doth shew no gaine Good hap says hope despaire cries contrarie hope bids me liue despaire would haue me die Thus twixt those two at point of death I liue in hope of good yet fearing froward chaunce In you it lyes a happy hap to geue to bring me out of this despairing traunce Oh help me then that thus on knees doe crie Assure my hope or in despaire I die The Louer craueth rewarde for his long and faythfull seruice OH Loue to whome I long haue bene a slaue consider wel how truely I haue serud And blame not him who is compeld to craue the due reward that he hath wel deserud Let trustie troth be euer yet regarded that faithful seruants may be wel rewarded Thou knowest how long that I haue liued a thrall thou knowest againe my true and faithful minde And thou canst tel how landes limme life and all by faith full fast I once did firmely finde To serue a Saint all this thou loue doest know and how my faith I neuer did forgoe And since thou knowest I neuer reapt reward nor euer sought til now reward to craue Sweete loue let now my humble suite be heard and pittie take vpon thy silly slaue And cause the Saint whom I so long haue serud to lend me liking as I haue deserud Oh amour WHat thing is loue a God as Poets wright why Poets faine then how can that be true What is it then some worldly sweete delight oh then their loue why should so many rue It is a griefe then why are men so vaine to ioy in that which doth procure their paine But such a pain as pleasure bringes withal and such a griefe as yealds a heauenly ioy Doth make the heart to think the hurt but smal when fancie rids the minde of selfe annoy And such is sure the panges that louers proue that wretched wights can ioy so much in loue But peace I sée loue is a God in deede who diuers wayes doth worke in minde of man Whose mighty power mans reason doth exceede by working woe or comfort now and than But is it so is loue a power diuine then God of Gods spéede well this loue of mine Nought dare I do therfore oh God of loue I thée beséeche to worke for thy behooue Of a hauty minde THe conquest rare doth greatest glory gaine the strongest fortes by stoutest wightes are won The hardest thinges atchiude with greatest payne do bréede most ease when so the worke is done Well labors he how so his time be spent that for his paines doth reape his hartes content God knowes my hart and what I do desire but what I seeke doth few or no man know The nobler harte the higher doth aspier and for my selfe I cannot stoupe to lowe But if I séeke to clyme a steppe to hye God saue the childe for if I fall I dye In high attemptes the boldest bloudes of all do best preuaile when perill once is past Then lyue or dye or stand or slyde or fall clyme sure I will God set my footing fast And helpe me so to height of my desire that I may wishe saue heauen to clyme no hyer After many misfortunes he craueth death as the ender of all calamities I Longe in iest haue wishd and calde for death when foolishe toyes haue gone agaynst my mynde But dying now at latest gaspe of breath I call to God that I may fauoure find That sinne bréede not my soules eternall paine that dyinge here I may not dye agayne For now I sée the woes of wretched will and now I finde the filthie shame of sinne And now by grace I knowe the good from ill I lothe the state that I haue liued in I see the lyfe of man is but a floure which springes growes fades and dyeth in an houre What are we all but euen a clod of claye first made of earth whence back agayne we must A life vnsure which lasteth not a daye A death most sure to which each one may trust And yet that death yeldes lyfe by heauenly grace which grace God graunt ech one in wretched case And for my selfe God me my sinnes forgiue and God forgeue each one that is amisse Oure sinnes forgeue God graunt oure soules may lyue From wretched worlde with him in heauenly blisse And thus I end my solemne dyinge songe Lord saue my soule I dyinge lyue too longe He proueth vertue to be better then worldly riches THe golde that first within the ground doth growe doth come to stand on top of pillers hye The pretious Pearle that likewise lyes full low the Prince accountes a iewell for his eye What iemme so rare that euer yet was founde but that at first did growe out of the grounde Then when you see your pallace trimly deckt straight cal to minde from whence that decking came And to the ground haue presently respect who by Gods help did first bring forth the same And thinke the iemme that makes the brauest show ful rough at first within the ground did grow The man whose minde is ful and wholy bent to vertues throne to treade the redy way And meetes mishap ere halfe his iorney spent to lothsome vice to leade him out astray Where is the fault but in a froward wil who goes without the guide of wisdomes skill But what if wit be rulde by sage aduise and then doe chaunce to meete with naked neede It bootes alas but litle to be wise if wealth do want to help to doe the déede Yet wealthy wise who walkes to vertues schoole when he comes there shal see himselfe a foole How should the minde then séeke out vertues throne or els what minde is best to seeke the same The seate is straunge and standeth all alone and vertue she is thought a heauenly dame Which makes me thinke it is some heauenly place which heauenly minde must game by heauenly grace Which heauenly guide God graunt my willing minde with wisdomes skil to seeke out vertues schoole That though wealth want yet wit may wisely finde how long too long that I haue liued a foole And I may see from vertues heauenly way what wanton toyes haue led my minde astray The louer being ouercome is compelled of necessitie ●o sing of sorrow FAine would I write some pretie pleasaunt toy to put away fond fancies out of mind But secret spite so chokes me with annoy as wearied wits can litle pleasure find So that I sée if ought at all I write my song must be of sorrow and despite And sorrowes song who would desire to sing that dolefull dumpe doth lend but small delite And yet the mind which wretched woes do wring can sing no song but smackes of some despite For if of myrth it doth the more disease and solemne songs do litle paine appease Then sadde and swéete since that no song I see which may delite of cheare the heauy hart I can but ●igh let others sing for me no musicke mirth can ease my secret smart