LAdy, thou seemest like Fortune unto me; When I most wistly mark, how thou dost go With golden tresses loose (a joy to see!); Which gentle wind about thy ears doth blow. And as thou her resemblest in this sort; So dost thou in attire, and all thy port. Only thou wantest for thy swift right hand The rolling Wheel: and shadowing Veil to hide Those eyes; which, like Controllers, do command. But if thou long'st of these to be supplied, Take me, thy prisoner, for to play this part! For my desire's the Wheel, the Veil's my heart.
XXXII.
THou, merry, laugh'st, and pleasantly dost smile: I woeful weep, and mestful sorrow still; Lest this thy mirth increasing, me beguile, And weave a web for me of greater ill. Too well perceive I this thy deep disdain, By this thy feignèd looks and cloakèd glee. Thou of disaster mine art glad and fain; And fain my death, as basilisk, would'st see; Since that of war and 'bate this laughter is, And not of gentle peace and calmy bliss.
XXXIII.
