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SO oft as
homeward I from her depart,
I goe lyke one that
hauing lost the field:
is prisoner led away with
heauy hart,
despoyld of warlike armes and knowen
shield.
So doe I now my selfe a prisoner yeeld,
to sorrow and to solitary paine:
from presence of my
dearest deare exylde,
longwhile alone in languor to
remaine.
There let no thought of ioy or pleasure
vaine,
dare to approch, that may my solace breed:
but sudden dumps and drery sad disdayne,
of all
worlds gladnesse more my torment feed.
So I her
absens will my penaunce make,
that of her presens I
my meed may take.
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