136811With this he breaketh from the sweet embrace

812Of those fair arms which bound him to her breast,

813And homeward through the dark laund runs apace,

814Leaves love upon her back, deeply distressed.

815 Look how a bright star shooteth from the sky,

816 So glides he in the night from Venus' eye.

137817Which after him she darts, as one on shore

818Gazing upon a late embarkèd friend

819Till the wild waves will have him seen no more,

820Whose ridges with the meeting clouds contend.

821 So did the merciless and pitchy night,

822 Fold in the object that did feed her sight.

138823Whereat amazed, as one that unaware

824Hath dropped a precious jewel in the flood,

825Or stonisht, as night wanderers often are,

826Their light blown out in some mistrustful wood,

827 Even so confounded in the dark she lay,

828 Having lost the fair discovery of her way.

139829And now she beats her heart, whereat it groans,

830That all the neighbor caves, as seeming troubled,

831Make verbal repetition of her moans;

832Passion on passion, deeply is redoubled.

833 "Ay me," she cries, and twenty times, "Woe, Woe,"

834 And twenty echoes twenty times cry so.

140835She marking them begins a wailing note

836And sings extemporally a woeful ditty

837How love makes young men thrall and old men dote,

838How love is wise in folly, foolish witty.

839 Her heavy anthem still concludes in woe,

840 And still the choir of echoes answer so.