LII.

So oft as homeward I from her depart, I go lyke one that, having lost the field, Is prisoner led away with heavy hart, Despoyld of warlike armes and knowen shield. So doe I now my self a prisoner yield To sorrow and to solitary paine, From presence of my dearest deare exylde, Long-while alone in languor to remaine. There let no thought of ioy, or pleasure vaine, Dare to approch, that may my solace breed; But sudden* dumps**, and drery sad disdayne Of all worlds gladnesse, more my torment feed. So I her absens will my penaunce make, That of her presens I my meed may take. [* _Sudden_, Qu. sullen?] [** _Dumps_, lamentations.]