Is me befallen a greater loss than Priam had of Troy
She is reversed clean, and beareth me in hand,
That my deserts have given cause to break this
faithful band:

And for my just excuse availeth no defence.
Now knowest thou all; I can no more; but, Shep-
herd, hie thee hence,

And give him leave to die, that may no longer live: Whose record, lo! I claim to have, my death I do

forgive.

And eke when I am gone, be bold to speak it plain, Thou hast seen die the truest man that ever love did

pain.'

Wherewith he turned him round, and gasping oft for breath,

Into his arms a tree he raught, and said: 'Welcome my death!

Welcome a thousand fold, now dearer unto me
Than should, without her love to live, an emperor

to be.'

Thus in this woful state he yielded up the ghost;

And little knoweth his lady, what a lover she hath

lost.

Whose death when I beheld, no marvel was it, right For pity though my heart did bleed, to see so piteous

sight.

My blood from heat to cold oft changed wonders

sore;

A thousand troubles there I found I never knew

before;

Tween dread and dolour so my sprites were brought

in fear,

That long it was ere I could call to mind what I did there.

But as each thing hath end, so had these pains of

mine:

The furies past, and I my wits restor❜d by length of

time.

Then as I could devise, to seek I thought it best Where I might find some worthy place for such a

corse to rest.

And in my mind it came, from thence not far away,
Where Cressid's love, king Priam's son, the worthy
Troilus lay.

By him I made his tomb, in token he was true,
And as to him belonged well, I covered it with blue.
Whose soul by angels' power departed not so soon,
But to the heavens, lo! it fled, for to receive his
doom.

COMPLAINT OF THE ABSENCE OF HER LOVER, BEING UPON THE SEA.

GOOD ladies! ye that have your pleasure in exile, Step in your foot, come, take a place, and mourn

with me awhile:

And such as by their lords do set but little price,
Let them sit still, it skills them not what chance

come on the dice.

But ye whom Love hath bound, by order of de

sire,

To love your Lords, whose good deserts none other would require;

Come ye yet once again, and set your foot by mine, Whose woful plight, and sorrows great, no tongue may well define.

My love and lord, alas! in whom consists my wealth, Hath fortune sent to pass the seas, in hazard of his

health.

Whom I was wont t'embrace with well contented

mind,

Is now amid the foaming floods at pleasure of the

wind.

Where God will him preserve, and soon him home me send;

Without which hope my life, alas! were shortly at an end.

Whose absence yet, although my hope doth tell me plain,

With short return he comes anon, yet ceaseth not my pain.

The fearful dreams I have ofttimes do grieve me so, That when I wake, I lie in doubt, where they be

true or no.

Sometime the roaring seas, me seems, do grow so

high,

That my dear Lord, ay me! alas! methinks I see him die.

And other time the same, doth tell me he is come,

And playing, where I shall him find, with his fair little son.1

So forth I go apace to see that liefsome sight,

And with a kiss, methinks I say, 'Welcome, my Lord, my knight;

Welcome, my sweet; alas! the stay of my welfare; Thy presence bringeth forth a truce betwixt me and my care.'

Then lively doth he look, and saluteth me again, And saith, My dear, how is it now that you have all this pain?'

Wherewith the heavy cares, that heap'd are in my breast,

Break forth and me dischargen clean, of all my huge

unrest.

But when I me awake, and find it but a dream, The anguish of my former woe beginneth more extreme;

And me tormenteth so that unneath 2 may I find Some hidden place, wherein to slake the gnawing of my mind.

1 In the copy printed by Dr. Nott from the Harrington MS. this line stands,

"And playing, where I shall him find with T. his little son; which induces that writer to observe: "This proves the piece to have been written, not as an exercise of fancy, but for some existing person." If this conjecture be correct, the Complainant may have been intended for Lady Surrey, and "T. his little son," for Thomas her eldest son, afterwards Duke of Norfolk. 2 With difficulty.

Thus every way you see, with absence how I burn; And for my wound no cure I find, but hope of good

return:

Save when I think, by sour how sweet is felt the

more,

6

It doth abate some of my pains, that I abode before. And then unto myself I say: When we shall meet, But little while shall seem this pain; the joy shall be so sweet.'

Ye winds, I you conjure, in chiefest of your rage, That ye my Lord me safely send, my sorrows te

assuage.

And that I may not long abide in this excess, Do your good will to cure a wight, that liveth in distress.

A PRAISE OF HIS LOVE,

WHEREIN HE REPROVETH THEM THAT COMPARE THEIR LADIES WITH HIS.

GIVE place, ye lovers, here before

That spent your boasts and brags in vain ;

My Lady's beauty passeth more

The best of yours, I dare well sayen,

Than doth the sun the candle light,
Or brightest day the darkest night.

And thereto hath a troth as just
As had Penelope the fair;