The Fancy of a wearier Lover

THE FANCY, which that I have served long;

That hath alway been enemy to mine ease;

Seemed of late to rue upon my wrong,

And bade me fly the cause of my misease.

And I forthwith did press out of the throng,

That thought by flight my painful heart to please

Some other way, till I saw faith more strong;

And to myself I said, ‘Alas! those, days

In vain were spent, to run the race so long.’

And with that thought I met my guide, that plain,

Out of the way wherein I wander’d wrong,

Brought me amidst the hills in base Bullayne:

Where I am now, as restless to remain

Against my will, full pleased with my pain.