f. 31v

My self I mo[r]dre, with my prevy thoght
for sorowe and routhe, of your unkyndnesse
I wepe, I wake, I fast, al helpeth noght
I weyve joy, that is to speke of oght
I voyde companye, I fle gladnesse
who may avaunt her bet[er], of hevynesse
then I and to this plyte, have ye me broght
with out gift, me nedeth no witnesse

And shal I prey, and weyve womanhede
nay rather dethe, then do so foule a dede
and axe mercie, giltles what nede
and yf I pleyn, what lyfe I lede
yow rekketh not, that know I out of drede
and if I to yow, myn othes bede
for myn excuse, a skorne shal be my mede
your chere floureth, but wol not sede
ful longe agoon, I oght to have take hede

For thogh I had yow, to morowe ageyn
I myght as wel, holde apprile fro reyn
as holde yow, to make yow be stidfast
almyghty god, of trouthe sovereigne
wher is the trouthe of man who hath hit slayn
who that hem loveth, she shal hem fynde as fast
as in tempest is, a roten mast
this that a tame best, that is ay feyn
to renne away, when he is left agast

Now mercie suete, yf I myssey
have I seyde oght, amys I prey
I not my wit, is al a wey
I fare as dothe the songe, of chaunt plure
for now I pleyn, and now I pley
I am so mased, that I dey
Arcite hath borne, a wey the key
of al my worlde, and my good aventure

For in this worlde, ther is no creature