"Whan I was hurt thus in that stounde, I fel doun plat unto the grounde."
"The God of Love, with bowe bent, That al day set hadde his talent To pursuen and to spyen me, Was stonding by a fige-tree. And whan he sawe how that I Had chosen so ententifly The botoun, more unto my pay Than any other that I say, He took an arowe ful sharply whet, And in his bowe whan it was set, He streight up to his ere drough The stronge bowe, that was so tough, And shet at me so wonder smerte, That through myn eye unto myn herte The takel smoot, and depe it wente. And therwithal such cold me hente, That, under clothes warme and softe, Sith that day I have chevered ofte. Whan I was hurt thus in that stounde, I fel doun plat unto the grounde. Myn herte failed and feynted ay, And long tyme ther aswone I lay." (p. 261)