(160) Were worke and argument for him that vses, The daily conuersation of the Muses.
Who this should be, if any long to heare, I say it is the portraict of the Saint, Which deepe ingraued in my hart I beare, (165) The Mistres of my hope, my feare, and plaint, And thou that with hir praises I acquaint, If thou canst nothing else, yet wish thou me, Deliuerd of that beauties crueltie.
With vnperceiued motion drawing ny, (170) Vnto the bed of my distresse and feare, She with hir hand doth put the curtaine by, And sits hir downe vpon the one side there: My wasted spirits quite amazed were, To see the sudden morning of those eies, (175) Within the darke thus inexpected rise.
Being abrode (quoth she) I lately hard, That you were falne into a sudden feuer, And solitarie in your chamber bard, From companie you did your selfe disseuer, (180) To charitie it appertaineth euer, In duties to our neighbors for to sticke, And visit the afflicted and the sicke.
Which Christian office hither hath me led, Wishing I could recouerie to you bring, (185) Ladie (quoth I) as easly done as sed, For you that haue my life in managing, What need you wish, when you may doe the thing: For if you be disposd to charitie, Bestowe on me this wisht recouerie.
(190) Is’t in my garden that may doe thee good? (Quoth she) or in my closet of conserues,