“Yet since so much thou seemst to rue my griefe,
And car’st for one that for himselfe cares nought,
(Sign of thy love, though nought for my reliefe,
For my reliefe exceedeth living thought,) 95
I will to thee this heavie case relate: 
Then harken well till it to end be brought,
For never didst thou heare more haplesse fate.

“Whilome I usde (as thou right well doest know)
My little flocke on westerns downes to keep, 100
Not far from whence Sabrinaes streame doth flow,
And flowrie bancks with silver liquor steepe;
Nought carde I then for worldly change or chaunce,
For all my ioy was on my gentle sheepe,
And to my pype to caroll and to daunce. 105

“It there befell, as I the fields did range
Fearlesse and free, a faire young Lionesse,
White as the native rose before the chaunge
Which Venus blood did in her leaves impresse,
I spied playing on the grassie plaine 110
Her youthfull sports and kindlie wantonnesse,
That did all other beasts in beawtie staine.
  [Ver. 107.—­A fair young Lionesse, So called from the white lion in
  the arms of the Duke of Norfolk, the head of the family to which Lady
  Douglas Howard belonged.  H.]

“Much was I moved at so goodly sight,
Whose like before mine eye had seldome seene,
And gan to cast how I her compasse might, 115
And bring to hand that yet had never beene: 
So well I wrought with mildnes and with paine,
That I her caught disporting on the greene,
And brought away fast bound with silver chaine.

“And afterwardes I handled her so fayre, 120
That though by kind shee stout and salvage were,
For being borne an auncient lions hayre,
And of the race that all wild beastes do feare,
Yet I her fram’d, and wan so to my bent,
That shee became so meeke and milde of cheare 125
As the least lamb in all my flock that went.

“For shee in field, where-ever I did wend,
Would wend with me, and waite by me all day;
And all the night that I in watch did spend,
If cause requir’d, or els in sleepe, if nay, 130
Shee would all night by me or watch or sleepe;
And evermore when I did sleepe or play,
She of my flock would take full warie keepe*.
  [* Keepe, care.]

“Safe then, and safest, were my sillie sheepe,
Ne fear’d the wolfe, ne fear’d the wildest beast, 135
All* were I drown’d in carelesse quiet deepe: 
My lovely Lionesse without beheast
So careful was for them and for my good,
That when I waked, neither most nor least
I found miscarried, or in plaine or wood. 140
  [* All, although.]

“Oft did the shepheards which my hap did heare,
And oft their lasses, which my luck envyde,
Daylie resort to me from farre and neare,
To see my Lyonesse, whose praises wyde
Were spred abroad; and when her worthinesse 145
Much greater than the rude report they tryde*,
They her did praise, and my good fortune blesse.
  [* Tryde, proved, found.]