Xxx

His lovely words her seemd due recompence Of all her passed paines: one loving howre For many yeares of sorrow can dispence: A dram of sweet is worth a pound of sowre: She has forgot, how many a woful stowre For him she late endurd; she speakes no more Of past: true is, that true love hath no powre To looken backe; his eyes be fixt before. Before her stands her knight, for whom she toyld so sore.