Truth will not faine, but yet doth grieve to showe, This deed of ruthe and miserable woe.

I would faine sett eye on some of them; Ile venture a little farther; Devonshire Dick was never afraid yet.

I shall grow lazy if I fight not; I would faine play with halfe a dozen Fencers, but it should be at sharpe.[140] Dam.

How doth it stirre this ayery part of us To heare our Poets tell imagin'd fights And the strange blowes that fained courage gives!

Thus I the time with expectation spend, And faine my griefe with chaunges to beguile, That further seemes his terme still to extend, And maketh every minute seem a myle.

I shall grow lazy if I fight not; I would faine play with halfe a dozen Fencers, but it should be at sharpe.[140] Dam.