[ sig. Bvv]
Me thinks they do resound, (40) with doleful tunes, me to lament, And in my sleep vnfound, alas, Me thinks such dreadful things to passe: that out I crie in midst of dreames, Wherwith my tears run down as streams, +(45) 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, (50) 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. (55) A bloudie conquest is your part, To kill so kind a louing heart: Alas remorce, Or presently I die perforce: God grant pitie, (60) Within your breast now planted be. ¶ As nature hath you deckt, with worthie gifts aboue the rest, So to your praise most great, Let pitie dwell within your brest, (65) That I may saie with heart and wil, Lo, this is she that might me kil: For why? in hand she held the knife, And yet (forsooth) she saued my life.