So rich a fielde coud not be espide
On no coast, as of the quantity,
For of all good thing there was plenty.
And I that all this pleasaunt sight sie,
Thought sodainly I felt so sweet an aire
Of the eglentere, that certainely,
There is no hert, I deme, in such dispaire,
Ne with thoughts froward, and contraire,
So overlaid, but it should soon have bote,
If it had ones felt this savour sote.