Who would have ever thought A heart that was so set, To have such wrong me wrought Or to be counterfeit? But who that trusteth the most Is like to pay the cost. I must of force, God wot, This painful life sustain; And yet I know not The chief cause of my pain; This is a strange disease: To serve and never please. I must of force endure This draught drawn awry, For I am fast and sure To have the mate thereby; But note I will this text, To draw better the next. |