Breast, lock up fast in thee thy life's sole treasure;
Arms, still embrace and never be disclosed;
Feet, run to her without or pace or measure;
Tongue, heart, eyes, lips, hands, breast, arms, feet,
Consent to do true homage to your Queen,
Lovely, fair, gentle, wise, virtuous, sober, sweet,
Whose like shall never be, hath never been!
O that I were all tongue, her praise to shew;
Then surely my poor heart were freed from woe!


XXXII

Sore sick of late, nature her due would have,
Great was my pain where 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