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She bewaileth Vlysses long tarrying.
HOw doth Vlysses time detract?
How doth he play the cosoning knight,
He writes Troy is alreadie sack't,
Yet wil he not appeare in sight.
I feare me he hath caught some doue,
And keepes her tame, with tills of loue.
I would I wist he false did play,
Of spight I would reuenged be:
But then what would the people say?
As is the hee, so is the shee:
No, no, the care I absent take,
His presence wil the sweeter make.
Nor wealth, nor woe▪ nor enuies crosse,
Nor griefe, nor gaine, nor fortunes fall:
Nor paine, nor pleasure, lucke or losse,
Nor treasure, nor yet wretched thrall,
Shall make me my Vlysses loath.
Nor to him false my faith and troath.