Long thus he chawd the cud of inward griefe, xviii
And did consume his gall with anguish sore,
Still when he mused on his late mischiefe,
Then[1095] still the smart thereof increased more,
And seem’d more grieuous, then it was before:
At last when sorrow he saw booted nought,
Ne griefe might not his loue to him restore,
He gan deuise, how her he reskew mought,
Ten thousand wayes he cast in his confused thought.
At last resoluing, like a pilgrim pore, xix