Ii

The sly enchanter when to work his will And secret wrong on some forespoken wight, Frames wax in form to represent aright The poor unwitting wretch he means to kill, And pricks the image framed by magic's skill, Whereby to vex the party day and night; Like hath she done, whose show bewitched my sight To beauty's charms, her lover's blood to spill. For first, like wax she framed me by her eyes, Whose rays sharp-pointed set upon my breast Martyr my life and plague me in this wise With ling'ring pain to perish in unrest. Nought could, save this, my sweetest fair suffice, To try her art on him that loves her best.