He euer tasted, but with penaunce sad
And pensiue sorrow pind and wore away,
Ne euer laught, ne once shew’d countenance glad;
But alwaies wept and wailed night and day,
As blasted bloosme through heat doth languish and decay;[136]
Till on a day, as in his wonted wise iii
His doole he made, there chaunst a turtle Doue
To come, where he his dolors did deuise,
That likewise late had lost her dearest loue,
Which losse her made like passion also proue.