Page:Cherrie and the slae.pdf/48

 36 THE CHERRIE LXX. Perceiv'st thou not, wharefrae proceeds That phrantic fantasy that feeds Thy furious flaming fire, Which doth thy baleful breast combure, That nane but we (quoth they) can cure Nor help thy heart's desire ? The piercing passion of thy sp’rit Which wastes thy vital breath, Has hold thy heavy heart with heat, Desire draws on thy death. Thy puncis renounces All kind of quiet rest, That fever hath ever Thy person so opprest. LXXI. Couldst thou come once acquaint with ski He kens what humours do thee ill, And how thy care contracts; He knows the ground of all thy grief, And recipies for thy relief, All medicines he maks. Quoth Skill, come on, content am I, To put my helping hand, Providing always he apply To counsel and command. While we then, quoth he then, Are minded to remain, Give place now, in case now, Thou get us not again.