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In the meane season Psyches with all her beauty received no fruit of honor. She was wondred at of all, she was praised of all, but she perceived that no King nor Prince, nor any one of the superiour sort did repaire to wooe her. Every one marvelled at her divine beauty, as it were some Image well painted and set out.
Quhat better is the house that the Daw rises in the morning. Quha may wooe, but Cost? Quhen the well is full, it will run over. Quhair the Deer is slain, some bloud will lie. Quhom God will help, no man can hinder. Quhen the eye sees not, the heart rewes not. Quhen friends meets, hearts warms. Quhen I am dead, make me a caddel. Quhair the Pig breaks, let the shels lie.
An Horse may snapper on four feet. All things wytes that well not fares. All things thrive but thrice. Absence is a shro. Auld sin, new shame. A man cannot thrive except his wife let him. A bairn must creep ere he gang. As long as ye bear the tod, ye man bear up his tail. All overs are ill but over the water. A man may wooe where he will, but wed where is his weard. A mean pot plaid never even.
To him make knowne my misery, Wooe him with teares, with praires: this kisse; be happie. Wife. O, we shall never see ye more! Enter Captaine & others. Bar. Away! You Instrument of blood, why doe ye seeke us? I have knowne the day you have wayted like a suppliant And those knees bended as I past. Is there no reverence Belonging to me left now, that like a Ruffian Rudely ye force my lodgings?
Better wooe over midding, nor over mosse. Better happy to court, nor good service. Blaw the wind nere so saft, it will lowen at the last. Better be happy nor wise. Binde fast, finde fast. Better plays a full wemb nor a new coat. Better say, Here it is, nor, Here it was. Better auld debts nor auld sairs. Bourd not with Bawty, fear lest he bite ye. Better a fowl in hand nor twa flying.
"Be she with that goodness blest Which may merit name of best; If she be not such to me, What care I how good she be? "Great or good, or kind or fair, I will ne'er the more despair; If she love me, this believe, I will die ere she shall grieve. "If she slight me when I wooe, I can scorne and let her goe, If she be not fit for me, What care I for whom she be?"
"'Tis in vain to wooe a widow over long, In once or twice her mind you may perceive; Widows are subtle, be they old or young, And by their wiles young men they will deceive." Come, do not weep, my girl, Forget him, pretty Pensiveness; there will Come others, every day, as good as he.
God wot he was Petro Desperato, when I stepping to hir with a dunstable tale made vp my market A holy requiem to their soules that thinke to wooe women with riddles. I had some cunning plot you must suppose, to bring this about Her husband had abused her, and it was verie necessarie she shoulde be reuenged. Seldome doe they proue patient martyrs who are punisht vniustly.
Sweete poyson, pretious wooe, infectious jewell Such is a Ladie that is faire and cruell. How well could I with ayre, camelion-like, Live happie, and still gazeing on thy cheeke, In which, forsaken man, methink I see How goodlie love doth threaten cares to mee. Why dost thou frowne thus on a kneelinge soule, Whose faults in love thou may'st as well controule?
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