Or of a thousand things,
But crave shem and have them;
With that I woo’d his wings.
XI.
What would’st thou give, my friend, quoth he,
To have those wanton wings to flee,
To sport thyself a while;
Or what if I should lend thee here,
Bow, quiver, shafts, and shooting geer,
Some body to beguile;
That geer quoth I cannot be bought,
Yet I would have it fain,
What if quoth he, it cost thee nought,
But giving it again.
His wings then he brings then,
And bound them on my back.
Go flee now, quoth he, now.
And so my leave I take.
XII.
I sprang up with Cupido’s wings
Who bow and shooting weapons brings,
To lend me for a day;
As Icarus with careless flight,
I mounted higher than I might,
Too perilous a play.
Then forth I drew that double dart,
Which sometime shot his mother,
Wherewith I hurt my wanton heart,
In hope to hurt another;
It tricket me, and pricket me,
While either end I handle;
Come see now, in me now,
The Butterfly and Candle.
XIII.
Like her, allured by the light,
I felt such fondness in my flight,
As simple too as she,
For as she flies till she be fir’d,
So with the dart that I desir’d,
