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334 THE MERCHANT'S DAUGHTER. |
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And after many wearie steps i«
In Padua they safely doe arrive at last: For very joy her heart it leapes ; She thinkes not of her sorrowes past.
Condemned to dye hee was, alas !
Except he would from his religion turne ; *•
But rather then hee would to masse,
In fiery flames he vow'd to burne.
Now doth Maudlin weepe and waile: Her joy is chang'd to weeping, sorrow, griefe and care; But nothing could her plaints prevaile, iss
For death alone must be his share.
Shee walkes under the prison walls,
Where her true love doth lye and languish in distresse;
Most wofully for foode he calls,
When hunger did his heart oppresse. 160
He sighs and sobs and makes great moane: " Farewell," hee said, " sweete England, now for evermore, And all my friends that have me knowne In Bristow towne with wealth and store.
" But most of all farewell," quoth hee, iss
"My owne true love, sweet Maudlin, whom I left
behind; For never more shall I see thee. Woe to thy father most unkind !
" How well were I, if thou wert here,
With thy faire hands to close these wretched eyes: tfo |
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