Of Phyllida

As I beheld I saw a herdman wild
With his sheep-hook a picture fine deface.
Which he sometime, his fancy to beguile,
Had carved on bark of beech in secret place;
And with despite of most afflicted mind.
Through deep despair of heart, for love dismay'd.
He pull'd even from the tree the carv'd rind.

And, weeping sore, these woful words he said:
"Ah, Phyllida, would God thy picture fair
I could as lightly blot out of my breast!
Then should I not thus ise in deep despair.
And tear the thing sometime I liked best.
But all in vain! it booteth not, God wot,
What printed is in heart, on tree to blot."