But soon it sore increased;
And now it rankleth more and more,
And inwardly it fest'reth sore,
Ne wote I how to cease it.
WIL. Thomalin, I pity thy plight,
Perdie with Love thou didest fight;
I know him by a token:
For once I heard my father say,
How he him caught upon a day,
(Whereof he will be wroken,)