Lii

Your owne deare sake forst me at first to leave My Fathers kingdome--There she stopt with teares; Her swollen hart her speech seemd to bereave, And then againe begun; My weaker yeares Captiv'd to fortune and frayle worldly feares, Fly to your fayth for succour and sure ayde: Let me not dye in languor and long teares. Why Dame (quoth he) what hath ye thus dismayd? What frayes ye, that were wont to comfort me affrayd?