Vnto this houre, this present lucklesse howre,
I neuer ioyed happinesse nor rest,
But thus turmoild from one to other stowre,
I wast my life, and doe my daies deuowre
In wretched anguishe and incessant woe,
Passing the measure of my feeble powre,
That living thus, a wretch and[167] louing so,
I neither can my loue, ne yet my life forgo.
Then good sir Claribell him thus bespake, xl
Now were it not sir Scudamour to you[168]