re still my mind did rest;
No hope but heaven, no comfort but my grave,
Which is of comforts both the last and least;
But on a sudden, the Almighty sent
Sweet ease to the distressed and comfortless,
And gave me longer time for to repent,
With health and strength the foes of feebleness;
Yet I my health no sooner 'gan recover,
But my old thoughts, though full of cares, retained,
Made me, as erst, become a wretched lover
Of her that love and lovers aye disdained.
Then was my pain with ease of pain increased,
And I ne'er sick until my sickness ceased.

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.

XXXIV

Fie pleasure, fie! Thou cloy'st me with delight;
Sweet thoughts, you kill me if you lower stray!
O many be the joys of one short night!
Tush, fancies never can desire allay!
Happy, unhappy thoughts! I think, and have not.
Pleasure, O pleasing pain! Shows nought avail me!
Mine own conceit doth glad me, more I crave not;
Yet wanting substance, woe doth still assail me.
Babies do children please, and shadows fools;
Shows have deceived the wisest many a time.
Ever to want our wish, our courage cools.
The ladder broken, 'tis in vain to climb.
But I must wish, and crave, and seek, and climb;
It's hard if I obtain not grace in time.

XXXV

I have not spent the April of my time,
The sweet of youth in plotting in the air,
But do at first adventure seek to climb,
Whilst flowers of blooming years are green and fair.
I am no leaving of all-withering age,
I have not suffered many winter lours;
I feel no storm unless my love do rage,
And then in grief I spend both days and hours.
This yet doth comfort t