The Prohemye Of The Authour Poem by Christopher Goodwyn

Beholde you yonge Ladyes, of hyghe parentage
And you yonge virgyns, of eche degre
Here is a pamphlet, euen mete for your age
Where as in a myrrour, you maye lerne and se.
Howe vycyous loue, you shulde eschewe and fle
Hauynge alway shamfastnes, i your maydenly face
Then can you neuer mysse, of vertue and grace.


To loue I counceyll you, neuer enclyne
Excepe onely, it be for maryage
To the entent, to haue therby lyne
yet in that case, take hede you not rage
For hasty loue comonly, ryght soone wyll aswage
And beware that you loue not, before you be wyse
Lest you repent you, more ofter than twyse.


Yet dyuers in loue, hath had happy chaunce
I speke by my selfe, and many one mo
That of perfyte chaste loue, haue ben in the daunce
And sped to our myndes, yet for to do so
Thousandes haue myssed, and fynysshed in wo
Therfore I rede you, take good aduysement
Of good abydynge, none can repent.


Called is the name, of this lytell boke
The (Maydens dreme) whiche I hope shalbe
For your erudycions, yf you therin loke
Many a good instruccyon, here shall you se
Howe vertue to ensue, and vyce for to fle
For herein is contayned, both golde and glasse
They that worke well, shall well brynge to passe.


Thus to god, I do you comyt
Prayenge you to accept, this my lytell warke
For that it is so rudely done, is but for lacke of wyt
Howe be it euery man, can not be a clarke
Nor euery byrde flye, so hyghe as the larke
Ye wot what I meane, thus fare you well
Happy be they, that folowe good councell.

Thus endeth the Prologue