Thus am I slayn with loves fyry dart.
I can but love hir best, my swete fo;
Love hath me taught no more of his art
But serve alwey, and stinte for no wo.
IV. (In ten-line stanzas.)
[With]-in my trewe careful herte ther is
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So moche wo, and [eek] so litel blis,
That wo is me that ever I was bore;
For al that thing which I desyre I mis,