Whilst youth and error led my wandring minde,
And set my thoughts in heedeles waies to range:
All vnawares a Goddesse chaste I finde,
Diana-like, to worke my suddaine change.
For her no sooner had my view bewrayd,
But with disdaine to see me in that place:
With fairest hand, the sweet vnkindest maide,
Castes water-cold disdaine vpon my face.
Which turn’d my sport into a Harts dispaire,
Which still is chac’d, whilst I haue any breath,
By mine owne thoughts: set on me by my faire,
My thoughts like houndes, pursue me to my death.
Those that I fostred of mine owne accord,
Are made by her to murther thus their Lord.