XXXIII
He that would fain Fidessa's image see,
My face of force may be his looking-glass.
There is she portrayed and her cruelty,
Which as a wonder through the world must pass.
But were I dead, she would not be betrayed;
It's I, that 'gainst my will, shall make it known.
Her cruelty by me must be bewrayed,
Or I must hide my head and live alone.
I'll pluck my silver hairs from out my head,
And wash away the wrinkles of my face;
Closely immured I'll live as I were dead,
Before she suffer but the least disgrace.
How can I hide that is already known?
I have been seen and have no face but one.
