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.