So oft as homeward I from her depart,
    I goe lyke one that having lost the field:
    is prisoner led away with heavy hart,
    despoyld of warlike armes and knowen shield.
So doe I now my selfe a prisoner yeeld,
    to sorrow and to solitary paine:
    from presence of my dearest deare exylde,
    longwhile alone in languor to remaine.
There let no thought of joy or pleasure vaine
    dare to approch, that may my solace breed:
    but sudden dumps and drery sad disdayne
    of all worlds gladnesse more my torment feed.
So I her absens will my penaunce make,
    that of her presens I my meed may take.