Such as ye wont, whenas those bitter stounds* Of raging love first gan you to torment, And launch your hearts with lamentable wounds 375 Of secret sorrow and sad languishment, Before your loves did take you unto grace; Those now renew, as fitter for this place.

If thou once turn away thy face and hide Thy cheerful look, My feeble flesh may not abide That dreadful stound; hour.

And sitting all in seates about me round, 25 With pleasant tales fit for that idle stound [Stound, time.

Within a little stound. moment.