(35) Ther was no wo, might me displease: Of pleasant ioyes I had my fill. No paynfull thought dyd passe my hart: I spilt no teare to wet my brest: I knew no sorow, sigh, nor smart, (40) My greatest griefe was quiet rest. I brake no slepe, I tossed not: Nor dyd delite to syt alone. I felt no change of colde and hote: Nor nought a nightes could make me mone. (45) For al was ioy that I did fele: And of voide wandering I was free. I had no clogge tied at my hele: This was my life at libertie. That yet me thinkes it is a blisse, (50) To thinke vpon that pleasure past. But forthwithall I finde the misse, For that it might no lenger last. Those daies I spent at my desire, Without wo or aduersitie: (55) Till that my hart was set a fire, With loue, with wrath, and ielousie. For on a day (alas the while) Lo, heare my harme how it began: The blinded Lord, + the God of guile (60) Had list to end my fredome than. And through mine eye into my hart All sodenly I felt it glide. He shot his sharped fiery dart, So hard, that yet vnder my side (65) The head (alas) doth still remaine, And yet since could I neuer know, The way to wring it out againe: Yet was it nye three yere ago. This soden stroke made me agast: (70) And it began to vexe me sore. But yet I thought, it would haue past, As other such had done before. But it did not that (wo is me) So depe imprinted in my thought, (75) The stroke abode: that yet I see, Me thinkes my harme how it was wrought.