But to his bed was brought, and layd aboue,
Like ruefull ghost, vnable once to stirre or moue.
Which when his mother saw, she in her mind xxi
Was troubled sore, ne wist well what to weene,
Ne could by search nor any meanes out find
The secret cause and nature of his teene,
Whereby she might apply some medicine;
But weeping day and night, did him attend,
And mourn’d to see her losse before her eyne,
Which grieu’d her more, that she it could not mend: