But thou, my crown, from sad hairs ta'en away,
On this hard threshold till the morning lay.
That when my mistress there beholds thee cast,
She may perceive how we the time did waste.70
Whate'er thou art, farewell, be like me pained!
Careless farewell, with my fault not distained![161]
And farewell cruel posts, rough threshold's block,
And doors conjoined with an hard iron lock!
FOOTNOTES:
[154] Not in Isham copy or ed. A.