The self banished

It is not that I love you lesse
Then when before your feet I lay
But to prevent the sad encrease
Of hopeless Love I keep away:
In vain alas for ev'ry thing that I have
Known belong to you
Your form dares to my fancy bring
And make my old wounds bleed anew

But I have vow'd, and never must
Your banish'd fervant trouble you
For if he break you may distrust
The vow he made to love you too

Who in the Spring from the new Sun
Already hath a Feaver got;
Too late begins those shafts to shun
Which Phabus through his veines hath shot
Too late he would the pains aswage
And to thick shadows does retire
About with him he bears the rage
And in his tainted bloud the fire