Xxxii

Sore sick of late, nature her due would have, Great was my pain where still my mind did rest; No hope but heaven, no comfort but my grave, Which is of comforts both the last and least; But on a sudden, the Almighty sent Sweet ease to the distressed and comfortless, And gave me longer time for to repent, With health and strength the foes of feebleness; Yet I my health no sooner 'gan recover, But my old thoughts, though full of cares, retained, Made me, as erst, become a wretched lover Of her that love and lovers aye disdained. Then was my pain with ease of pain increased, And I ne'er sick until my sickness ceased.