LXVII.

Lyke as a huntsman, after weary chace, Seeing the game from him escapt away, Sits downe to rest him in some shady place, With panting hounds, beguiled of their pray, So, after long pursuit and vaine assay, When I all weary had the chace forsooke, The gentle deer returnd the selfe-same way, Thinking to quench her thirst at the next brooke. There she, beholding me with mylder looke, Sought not to fly, but fearlesse still did bide, Till I in hand her yet halfe trembling tooke, And with her own goodwill her fyrmely tyde. Strange thing, me seemd, to see a beast so wyld So goodly wonne, with her owne will beguyld.

LXVIII

Most glorious Lord of lyfe! that on this day Didst make thy triumph over death and sin, And, having harrowd* hell, didst bring away Captivity thence captive, us to win, This ioyous day, dear Lord, with ioy begin; And grant that we, for whom thou diddest dy, Being with thy deare blood clene washt from sin, May live for ever in felicity; And that thy love we weighing worthily, May likewise love thee for the same againe, And for thy sake, that all lyke deare didst buy, With love may one another entertayne! So let us love, deare Love, lyke as we ought: Love is the lesson which the Lord us taught. [* _Harrowd_, despoiled.]