As I beheld I saw a herdman wild
With his sheephook a picture fine deface
Which he sometime, his fancy to beguild
Had carved on bark of beech in secret place
and with despite of most afflicted mind
Through deep despair, of heart, for love dismayed
He pulled e'en from the tree, the carved rind
And weeping sore these woeful words he said
Ah Philida, would God thy picture fair
I could as lightly blot out of my breast
Then should I not thus rage, with great despite
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