My herte was drenched in great sorow depe,
Though outwardly my countenaunce was lyght;
The inward wo into my hert did crepe,
To hide my payne it was great force and myght.
Thus her swete beaute with a soden sight
My hert hath wounded, which much nedes obey
Unto such a sorow, alas, welawaye!
For she is gone, and departed right ferre,
In her countre where she doth abyde;
She is now gone, the fayre shining sterre!