Let me not dye in languor and long teares.
Why Dame (quoth he) what hath ye thus dismayd?
What frayes ye, that were wont to comfort me affrayd?

LIII

Love of your selfe, she saide, and deare constraint,
Lets me not sleepe, but wast the wearie night 470
In secret anguish and unpittied plaint,
Whiles you in carelesse sleepe are drowned quight.
Her doubtfull words made that redoubted knight
Suspect her truth: yet since no' untruth he knew,
Her fawning love with foule disdainefull spight 475
He would not shend; but said, Deare dame I rew,
That for my sake unknowne such griefe unto you grew.

LIV

Assure your selfe, it fell not all to ground;°
For all so deare as life is to my hart,
I deeme your love, and hold me to you bound: 480
Ne let vaine feares procure your needlesse smart,
Where cause is none, but to your rest depart.
Not all content, yet seemd she to appease
Her mournefull plaintes, beguiled of her art,
And fed with words that could not chuse but please, 485
So slyding softly forth, she turned as to her ease.

LV