| Your yen two woll sle me sodenly!
|
| I may the beute of them not sustene
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| So wondeth is throrowout my herte kene
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| And, but your word woll helen hastely
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| My hertes wound, while that it is grene
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| Your yen two woll sle me sodenly!
|
| I may the beute of them not sustene
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| Upon my trouth, I sey you feithfully
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| That ye ben of my liffe and deth the quene
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| For with my deth the trouth shall be sene
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| So hath your beaute fro your herte chased
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| Pitee, that me n’availeth not to plaine
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| For Danger, halt your mercy in his chaine
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| Giltless, my deth thus have ye me purchased!
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| I sey you soth, me nedeth not to feine
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| So hath your beaute fro your herte chased
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| Pitee, that me n’availeth not to plaine
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| Alas! |
| That Nature hath in you compassed
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| So grete beaute that no man may attaine
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| To mercy, though he sterve for the paine
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| Your yen two woll sle me sodenly!
|
| I may the beute of them not sustene
|
| So wondeth is throrowout my herte kene
|
| And, but your word woll helen hastely
|
| My hertes wound, while that it is grene |