1584.]
Wherefore, sweet wench,
Some louing words, this heat to quench
Fine smiles, smirke lookes,
And then I neede no other lookes,
¶Your gleams hath gript the hart,
alas within my captiue breast:
O how I feele the smart,
And how I find my griefe increast:
My fancie is so fixt on you,
That none away the same can do:
My deer vnlesse you it remooue:
Without redresse I die for loue,
Lament with me,
Ye Muses nine, where euer be,
My life I loth,
My Ioies are gone, I tel you troth.
¶All Musicks solemne sound,
Of song, or else of instrument:
Me thinks they do resound,
With doleful tunes, me to lament,
And in my sleep vnsound, alas,
Me thinks such dreadful things to passe:
that out I crie in midst of dreames,
Wherwith my tears run down as streams,
O Lord, think I,
She is not here that should be by:
What chance is this,
That I embrace that froward is?
¶The Lions noble minde,
His raging mood (you know) oft staies,
When beasts do yeeld by kinde,
On them (forsooth) he neuer praies:
Then sithence that I am your thrall,
To ease my smart on you I call.
A bloudie conquest is your part,
