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And when my heart is off my thought

So far, it seems by madness caught.

But I shall go to her, indeed,

Still following where mine heart doth lead,

Reckless of aught beside the way.”

Then wilt thou forth without delay;

But travelling at too great a pace

Wilt oft-times fail to win the race,

And so perforce must turn aback,

Pensive and sad, thine outlook black,

Bemoaning that all waste hath been

Thy journey since thou hast not seen

The longed-for object. Then to great

And grievous misery of estate

Thou com’st again, with sighs and groans,

And twitchings, shiverings, and moans,

And pains acute, and minor ills,

More quick and sharp than hedgehog’s quills.

Let him who doubts the truth hereof,

Ask some true lover ere he scoff.

But still thy heart will feel unrest,

With infinite desire oppressed

To see once more the face of her

Whose vision doth thy bosom stir

To madness, and if that sweet sight

Thou winnest, to thy great delight,

Past measure thou the chance wilt prize

Thereon to feast thy hungry eyes,

And through her beauty wilt thou be

Fulfilled of all felicity:

For gazing on the one sweet dame

Who sets thy being all aflame,