Liii

Love of your selfe, she saide, and deare constraint, Lets me not sleepe, but wast 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 he knew, Her fawning love with foule disdainefull spight He would not shend; but said, Deare dame I rew, That for my sake unknowne such griefe unto you grew.