258In blacke morne I, all feares
scorne I,
259Loue hath forlorne me, liuing in thrall:
260Hart is bleeding, all helpe needing,
261O cruell
speeding, fraughted with gall.
262My
shepheards pipe can
sound no deale,
263My weathers bell rings dolefull knell,
264My curtaile dogge that wont to haue plaid,
265Plaies not at all but
seemes afraid.
266 With
sighes
so deepe, procures to weepe,
267 In howling wi
se, to
see my dolefull plight,
268 How
sighes re
sound through hartles ground
269 Like a thou
sand vanqui
sht men in blodie
fight.