WHEN first the cruel Fair deigned graciously
To look on me with kind and courteous view;
And cast on me a lovely glancing eye:
She knew not that I was her servant true.
But She no sooner 'ware was of the same;
But that She turned her back with great disdain.
So as the wound I then close bare in breast;
I now, through grief, show outward in my face:
But if that She, by whom I wounded rest,
Lives in compassion cold towards me, sans grace:
Hard hearted is She, cruel was She to her friend;
And wicked shall be, world withouten end.