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CXXXIII.
Beshrew that heart that makes my heart to groan
For
that deep wound it gives my friend and me!
Is't not
enough to torture me alone,
But slave to slavery my
sweet'st friend must be?
Me from myself thy cruel eye
hath taken,
And my next self thou harder hast
engross'd:
Of him, myself, and thee, I am forsaken;
A torment thrice threefold thus to be cross'd.
Prison
my heart in thy steel bosom's ward,
But then my
friend's heart let my poor heart bail;
Whoe'er keeps
me, let my heart be his guard;
Thou canst not then
use rigor in my gaol:
And yet thou wilt; for I, being
pent in thee,
Perforce am thine, and all that is in
me.
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