Xxiv

His blessed body spoild of lively breath, Was afterward, I know not how, convaid And fro me hid: of whose most innocent death When tidings came to me, unhappy maid, O how great sorrow my sad soule assaid. Then forth I went his woefull corse to find, And many yeares throughout the world I straid, A virgin widow, whose deepe wounded mind With love long time did languish as the striken hind.