Lv

Long after lay he musing at her mood, Much griev'd to thinke that gentle Dame so light, For whose defence he was to shed his blood. At last, dull wearinesse of former fight Having yrockt asleepe his irkesome spright, That troublous dreame gan freshly tosse his braine, With bowres, and beds, and Ladies deare delight: But when he saw his labour all was vaine, With that misformed spright he backe returnd againe.

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