The Fancy of a wearier Lover


The Fancy of a wearier Lover


THE FANCY, which that I have served long;
That hath alway been enemy to mine ease;
Seemed of late to rue upon my wrong,
And bade me fly the cause of my misease.

And I forthwith did press out of the throng,
That thought by flight my painful heart to please
Some other way, till I saw faith more strong;
And to myself I said, ‘Alas! those, days
In vain were spent, to run the race so long.’
And with that thought I met my guide, that plain,
Out of the way wherein I wander’d wrong,
Brought me amidst the hills in base Bullayne:
  Where I am now, as restless to remain
  Against my will, full pleased with my pain.


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