Page:Shepheards Calendar-Crane 1898.djvu/50

 A shaft in earnest snatched,

And hit me running in the heel:

For then I little smart did feel,

But soon it sore increased;

And now it rankleth more and more,

And inwardly it fest’reth sore,

Ne wote I how to cease it.

WIL. Thomalin, I pity thy plight,

Perdie with Love thou didest fight;

I know him by a token:

For once I heard my father say,

How he him caught upon a day,

(Whereof he will be wroken,)

Entangled in a fowling net,

Which he for carrion crows had set

That in our pear-tree haunted:

Then said, he was a winged lad,

But bow and shafts as then none had,

Else had he sore been daunted.

But see, the welkin thicks apace,

And stooping Phbus steeps his face;

It’s time to haste us homeward.

To be wise and eke to love,

Is granted scarce to gods above.

Of honey and of gall in love there is stove;

The honey is much, but the gall is more.