136811With this he breaketh from the
sweet embrace,
812Of tho
se faire armes which bound him to her bre
st,
813And homeward through the dark lawnd runs apace,
814Leaues loue vpon her backe, deeply di
stre
st,
815 Looke how a bright
star
shooteth from the skye;
816 So glides he in the night from Venus eye.
137817Which after him
she dartes, as one on
shore
818Gazing vpon a late embarked friend,
819Till the wilde waues will haue him
seene no more,
820Who
se ridges with the meeting cloudes contend:
821 So did the mercile
sse, and pitchie night,
822 Fold in the obie
ct that did feed her
sight.
138823Whereat ama
s'd as one that vnaware,
824Hath dropt a precious iewell in the
flood,
825Or
stoni
sht, as night wandrers often are,
826Their light blowne out in
some mi
stru
stfull wood;
827 Euen
so confounded in the darke
she lay,
828 Hauing lo
st the faire di
scouerie of her way.
139829And now
she beates her heart, whereat it grones,
830That all the neighbour caues as
seeming troubled,
831Make verball repetition of her mones,
832Pa
ssion on pa
ssion, deeply is redoubled,
833 Ay me,
she cries, and twentie times, wo, wo,
834 And twentie ecchoes, twentie times crie
so,
140835She marking them, begins a wailing note,
836And
sings extemporally a wofull dittie,
837How loue makes yong-men thrall, & old men dote,
838How loue is wi
se in follie, fooli
sh wittie:
839 Her heauie antheme
still concludes in wo,
840 And
still the quier of ecchoes an
swer
so.