Madrigal, upon His Departure

Sure, dear, I love you not; for he that loveth,
When he from her doth part.
That's mistress of his heart,
A deadly pain, a hellish torment proveth.

But when sad fates did sever
Me far from seeing you, I would see ever;
I felt in my absenting
No pain, nor no tormenting.
For sense of pain how could he find.
That left his heart and soul behind!