Poets ther ben in plenteous line yt take ye auncient theme
Of singing to a ladye's eyen whiche maken them to dreme,
And through ye blessed hours of slepe--thilk eyen or browne or blue
Doe soothe ye poet's slumbers deep: by goddiswoundes thaie doe!
O gentil reder, wit ye well, yt mony soche ther bee,
And whan an eyefulle damosel hath made a hitte wyth mee,
Hir eyen ben soe o'erpassing bright yt holden mee in thrall,
I tosse about ye livelong night, nor can ne slepe atte all.
