Pien D' Un Vago Pensier, Che Me Desvia. His Tongue Is Tied By Excess Of Passion. Such Vain Thought As Wonted To Mislead Me In Desert Hope, By Well-Assur'D Moan, Makes Me From Company To Live Alone, In Following Her Whom Reason Bids Me Flee. She Fleeth As Fast By Gentle Cruelty; And After Her My Heart Would Fain Be Gone, But Arm'D Sighs My Way Do Stop Anon, 'Twixt Hope And Dread Locking My Liberty; Yet As I Guess, Under Disdainful Brow One Beam Of Ruth Is In Her Cloudy Look: Which Comforteth The Mind, That Erst For Fear Shook: And Therewithal Bolded I Seek The Way How To Utter The Smart I Suffer Within; But Such It Is, I Not How To Begin. Wyatt. Full Of A Tender Thought, Which Severs Me From All My Kind, A Lonely Musing Thing, From My Breast'S Solitude I Sometimes Spring, Still Seeking Her Whom Most I Ought To Flee; And See Her Pass Though Soft, So Adverse She, That My Soul Spreads For Flight A Trembling Wing: Of Arm'D Sighs Such Legions Does She Bring, The Fair Antagonist Of Love And Me. Yet From Beneath That Dark Disdainful Brow, Or Much I Err, One Beam Of Pity Flows, Soothing With Partial Warmth My Heart'S Distress: Again My Bosom Feels Its Wonted Glow! But When My Simple Hope I Would Disclose, My O'Er-Fraught Faltering Tongue The Crowded Thoughts Oppress. Wrangham.