Such vain thought as wonted to mislead me, In desert hope by well assured moan, Maketh me from company to live alone, In following her whom reason bid me flee. She fleeth as fast by gentle cruelty, And after her mine heart would fain be gone; But armed sighs my way do stop anon, Twixt hope and dread locking my liberty. Yet, as I guess, under disdainful brow One beam of pity is in her cloudy look, Which comforteth the mind that erst for fear shook; And therewithal bolded I seek the way how To utter the smart that I suffer within, But such it is I not how to begin. |