Lyke as fayre Phebus doth shyne in the glasse.
So was my herte by the stroke of love
With sorow prest, and with mortall payne;
That unneth I myght from the place remove,
Where as I stode I was so take certayne,
Yet up I loked to se her agayne,
And at aventure with a sory moode,
Up than I went where as her person stode.
And first of all my herte gan to lerne
Right well to register in remembraunce,