Xxxiii

He that would fain Fidessa's image see, My face of force may be his looking-glass. There is she portrayed and her cruelty, Which as a wonder through the world must pass. But were I dead, she would not be betrayed; It's I, that 'gainst my will, shall make it known. Her cruelty by me must be bewrayed, Or I must hide my head and live alone. I'll pluck my silver hairs from out my head, And wash away the wrinkles of my face; Closely immured I'll live as I were dead, Before she suffer but the least disgrace. How can I hide that is already known? I have been seen and have no face but one.