[sig. Kiiir]
(50) Doth not bewray the colours hid, which vnderneth it hase: As doth thaccumbred sprite the thoughtfull throwes discouer, Of feares delite, of feruent loue: that in our hartes we couer. Out by these eyes, it sheweth that euermore delight. In plaint, and teares to seke redresse: and eke both day and night. (55) Those kindes of pleasures most wherein men so reioyce, To me they do redouble still of stormy sighes the voyce. For, I am one of them, whom plaint doth well content: It sits me well myne absent wealth me semes for to lament: And with my teares, tassay to charge mine eyes twain: (60) Like as my hart aboue the brink is fraughted full of pain. And forbecause, thereto, that those faire eyes to treate Do me prouoke: I will returne, my plaint thus to repeate. For, there is nothing els, so toucheth me within: Where they rule all: and I alone nought but the case, or skin. (65) Wherefore, I shall returne to them, as well, or spring: From whom descendes my mortall wo, aboue all other thing, So shall mine eyes in pain accompany my hart, That were the guides, that did it lead of loue to fele the smart. The crisped gold, that doth surmount Apollos pride: (70) The liuely streames of pleasant starres that vnder it doth glide: Wherein the beames of loue do still encrease their heate: Which yet so farre touch me so nere, in cold to make me sweate. The wise and pleasant talk, so rare, or els alone: That gaue to me the curteis gift, that erst had neuer none: (75) Be farre from me, alas: and euery other thing I might forbeare with better will: then this that did me bring With pleasant woord and chere, redresse of lingred pain: And wonted oft in kindled will to vertue me to train. Thus, am I forst to heare, and harken after newes. (80) My comfort scant, my large desire in doutfull trust renewes. And yet with more delite to mone my wofull case: I must complain those hands, those armes: that firmly do embrace Me from my self: and rule the sterne of my poore life: The swete disdaines, the pleasant wrathes, and eke the louely strife (85) That wonted well to tune in temper iust, and mete, The rage: that oft did make me erre, by furour vndiscrete. All this is hid fro me, with sharp, and ragged hilles: At others will, my long abode my depe dispaire fulfils.And if my hope sometime rise vp, by some redresse: (90) It stumbleth straite, for feable faint: my feare hath such excesse. Such is the sort of hope: the lesse for more desyre: