Though this the port and I thy servant true


Though this thy port and I thy servant true
And thou thyself dost cast thy beams from high
From thy chief house, promising to renew
Both joy and eke delight, behold yet how that I,
Banished from my bliss, carefully do cry,
" Help now, Cytherea my lady dear,
My fearful trust en voguant la galere."

Alas, the doubt that dreadful absence giveth!
Without thine aid assurance is there none.
The firm faith that in the water fleeteth
Succour thou therefore; in thee it is alone.
Stay that with faith that faithfully doth moan
And thou also givest me both hope and fear.
Remember thou me en voguant la galere.

By seas and hills elonged from thy sight,
Thy wonted grace reducing to my mind,
In stead of sleep thus I occupy the night.
A thousand thoughts and many doubts I find
And still I trust thou canst not be unkind,
Or else despair my comfort, and my cheer
Would flee forthwith en voguant la galere.

Yet, on my faith, full little doth remain
Of any hope whereby I may myself uphold,
For since that only words do me retain
I may well think thy affection is but cold.
But since my will is nothing as I would
But in thy hands it resteth whole and clear,
Forget me not en voguant la galere.
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