103 [from Cynthia]
Sighing, and sadly sitting by my Love,
He ask’t the cause of my hearts sorrowing,
Conjuring me by heavens eternall King
To tell the cause which me so much did move.
5 Compell’d: (quoth I) to thee I will confesse,
Love is the cause; and onely love it is
That doth deprive me of my heavenly blisse.
Love is the paine that doth my heart oppresse.
And what is she (quoth he) whom thou do’st love?
10 Looke in this glasse (quoth I) there shalt thou see
The perfect forme of my fælicitie.
When, thinking that it would strange Magique prove,
He open’d it: and taking off the cover,
He straight perceav’d himselfe to be my Lover.