(10) Of lingring doubtes such hope is sprong pardie, That nought I finde displeasaunt in my sight: But when my glasse presented vnto me: The curelesse wound that bledeth day and night, To think (alas) such hap shoud graunted be (15) Unto a wretch that hath no hart to fight, To spill that blood that hath so oft bene shed, For Britannes sake (alas) and now is ded.
Exhortacion to learne by o-
thers trouble. +
The fansie of a weried
T He fansy, which that I haue serued long, That hath alway bene enmy to myne ease, Semed of late to rue vpon my wrong, And bad me flye the cause of my misease. (5) And I forthwith did prease out of the throng, That thought by flight my painfull hart to please Som other way: tyll I saw faith more strong: And to my self I said: alas, those daies In vayn were spent, to runne the race so long. (10) And with that thought, I met my guyde, that playnOut of the way wherin I wandred wrong, Brought me amiddes the hilles, in base Bullayn: Where I am now, as restlesse to remayn, Against my will, full pleased with my payn. +