"Love of yourselfe," she saide, "and deare constraint,
Lets me not sleepe, but waste the wearie night
In secret anguish and unpittied plaint,
Whiles you in carelesse sleepe are drowned quight."
Her doubtfull words made that redoubted knight
Suspect her truth; yet since no' untruth be knew,
Her fawning love with foule disdaine full spight
He would not shend; but said, "Deare dame, I rew
That for my sake unknowne such griefe unto you
grew:
"Assure your selfe, it fell not all to ground;
For all so deare, as life is to my bart,
I deeme your love, and hold me to you bound:
Ne let vaine fears procure your needlesse smart,
Where cause is none; but to your rest depart."
Not all content, yet seemd she to appease
Her mournefull plaintes, beguiled of her art,
And fed with words, that could not chose but please:
So, slyding softly forth, she turnd as to her ease.
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