XXXII
Sore sick of late, nature her due would have,
Great was my pain where still my mind did rest;
No hope but heaven, no comfort but my grave,
Which is of comforts both the last and least;
But on a sudden, the Almighty sent
Sweet ease to the distressed and comfortless,
And gave me longer time for to repent,
With health and strength the foes of feebleness;
Yet I my health no sooner 'gan recover,
But my old thoughts, though full of cares, retained,
Made me, as erst, become a wretched lover
Of her that love and lovers aye disdained.
Then was my pain with ease of pain increased,
And I ne'er sick until my sickness ceased.
