Vpon the glistering waue doth play, (40) such play is a pitteous plight.
The glaunce into my heart did glide, hey hoe the glider: There-with my soule was sharply gride, such wounds soone wexen wider. (45) Hasting to raunch the arrow out, hey hoe Perigot: I left the head in my heart roote, it was a desperate shot.
There it rankleth aye more and more, (50) hey hoe the arrow: Ne can I finde salue for my sore, loue is a curelesse sorrow. And though my bale with death I bought, hey hoe heauie cheere: (55) Yet should thilke Lasse not from my thought, so you may buy gold too deere.
But whether in painefull loue I pine, hey hoe pinching paine: Or thriue in wealth, she shall be mine, (60) but if thou can her obtaine. And if for gracelesse griefe I dye, hey hoe gracelesse griefe: Witnesse, she slew me with her eye, let thy folly be the preefe.