Ix

Woe to mine eyes, the organs of mine ill; Hate to my heart, for not concealing joy; A double curse upon my tongue be still, Whose babbling lost what else I might enjoy! When first mine eyes did with thy beauty joy, They to my heart thy wondrous virtues told; Who, fearing lest thy beams should him destroy, Whate'er he knew, did to my tongue unfold. My tell-tale tongue, in talking over bold, What they in private council did declare, To thee, in plain and public terms unrolled; And so by that made thee more coyer far. What in thy praise he spoke, that didst thou trust; And yet my sorrows thou dost hold unjust.