So oft as homeward I from her depart, I goe lyke one that having lost the field: is prisoner led away with heavy hart, despoyld of warlike armes and knowen shield. So doe I now my selfe a prisoner yeeld, to sorrow and to solitary paine: from presence of my dearest deare exylde, longwhile alone in languor to remaine. There let no thought of joy or pleasure vaine dare to approch, that may my solace breed: but sudden dumps and drery sad disdayne of all worlds gladnesse more my torment feed. So I her absens will my penaunce make, that of her presens I my meed may take.