University of Virginia Library

LV.

Ber.
And thou wilt go? Alas! my bursting heart!

Æl.
My country waits my march, I must away;

47

Albeit I should go to meet the dart
Of certain death, yet here I would not stay.
But thus to leave thee, Bertha, doth asswaie
More torturing pains than can be said by tyngue.
Yet rouse thy honour up, and wait the day,
When round about me songs of war they sing.
O Bertha, strive my sorrow to accaie,
And joyous see my arms, dight out in war's array.