She sat and sowde that hath done me the wrong

She sat and sowde that hath done me the wrong :
Whereof I plain, and have done many a daye :
And whilst she herd my plaint in pitious song,
Wisshed my hert the samplar as it lay.
The blind maister whome I have served so long :
Grudging to here that he did here her saye ;
Made her own wepon do her fynger blede.
To fele if pricking were so good in dede.