I rew that thus thy better dayes are drowned
In sad despaire, and all thy senses swowned
In stupid sorow, sith thy iuster merit
Might else haue with felicitie bene crowned:
Looke vp at last, and wake thy dulled spirit,
To thinke how this long death thou mightest disinherit.
Much did he maruell at her vncouth speach, xxxvii
Whose hidden drift he could not well perceiue;
And gan to doubt, least she him sought t’appeach
Of treason, or some guilefull traine did weaue,