Which as a lethargy o'er mine inmost vitals a-creeping,Hath from my bosom expelled all of what joyance it joyed,Now will I crave no more she love me e'en as I love her,Nor (impossible chance!) ever she prove herself chaste:Would I were only healed and shed this fulsome disorder.Oh Gods, grant me this boon unto my piety due!
TO RUFUS, THE TRAITOR FRIEND.Rufus, trusted as friend by me, so fruitlessly, vainly, (Vainly? nay to my bane and at a ruinous price!)Hast thou cajoled me thus, and enfiring innermost vitals,Ravished the whole of our good own'd by wretchedest me?Ravished; (alas and alas!) of our life thou cruellest cruel