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The voice I heard came from a Grove, which thereAt my right hand did grow,Which considering, silently drew nearThe cause of it to knowWhere I did see a Lady finely dressed,Sit sighing by a Spring,She utterd words as if with grief oppressed,And oft her hands would wring.Ah me, quoth she, how is my joy departed!Oh dismal cruel death!Could any think the Fiend so flinty hearted,So as to bereave him breath?I then drew near, and thought to have asswagedWith pleasant words her grief:The more I spake, the more she was enraged,Nay she disdain’d relief.Her face was Lilly white, with Purple spotsUpon her cheeks and chin;Her Rosie lips, her feature free from blots,T’ amaze me did begin.Beauty most rare, quoth I, what dost thou weeping?What Wight most vile shall dareTo wrong thee, whom the Gods have in their keeping,Whose face is mortals snare?Good Sir, quoth she, forbear your words of sorrow,I live, yet living dye:I wish my life might end before the morrow,As death I fear’s not nigh.I had a Husband dear, of comely feature,A King of great renown;So lovely and so loving, that in natureThere’s none may put him down.His Constitution was so strong, he scornedTo fly from any foe:His Person was with grace so well adorned,That none but him did know.145