Songes and Sonettes | ||
Of his loue that pricked her finger with a nedle.
She sat, and sowed: that hath done me the wrong:Wherof I plain, and haue done many a day:
And, whilst she herd my plaint, in piteous song:
The blinde maister, whom I haue serued so long:
Grudgyng to heare, that he did heare her say:
Made her owne weapon do her finger blede:
To fele, if pricking wer so good in dede.
Songes and Sonettes | ||