The lyvely sperkes that issue from those lyes

The lyvely sperkes that issue from those lyes,
Against the which ne vaileth no defence,
Have prest myn hert and done it none offence,
With quaking pleasur more than ons or twise.

Was never man could anything devise
The Sonne bemes to torn with so great vehemence,
To dase mans sight, as by their bright presence.
Dased ame I, muche like unto the gyse

Of one ystricken with dynt of lightening :
Blynded with the stroke, erryng here and there,
So call I for helpe, I not when ne where,

The pain of my fait patiently bering.
For after the blase, as is no wounder
Of dedly nay here I the ferefull thounder.