And often did beguile her of her tears, When I did speak of some distressful stroke That my youth sufferd. My story being done, She gave me for my pains a world of sighs; She swore, in faith, t was strange, t was passing strange, T was pitiful, t was wondrous pitiful; She wishd she had not heard it, yet she wishd That Heaven had made her such a man; she thankd me, And bade me, if I had a friend that loved her, I should but teach him how to tell my story, And that would woo her. Upon this hint I spake: She loved me for the dangers I had passd, And I loved her that she did pity them. This only is the witchcraft I have used.