To thinke me not the furst, That loue hath set aloft, (40) And casten in the dust.
The louer describes his
restlesse state. +
A S oft as I behold and see The soueraigne beauty that me bounds; The nyer my comfort is to me, Alas the fressher is my wound. (5) As flame doth quench by rage of fire, And runnyng stremes consume by raine: So doth the sight, that I desire, Appease my grief and deadly payne. +First when I saw those cristall streames, (10) Whose beauty made my mortall wound: I little thought within her beames So swete a venom to haue found. But wilfull will did prick me forth, And blinde Cupide did whippe and guide: (15) Force made me take my grief in worth: My fruteles hope my harme did hide. As cruel waues full oft be found, Against the rockes to rore and cry: So doth my hart full oft rebound (20) Against my brest full bitterly. I fall, and see mine owne decay, As one that beares flame in his brest, Forgets in payne to put away, The thing that bredeth mine vnrest.