I wolde they were / in warde all doutles

Lyke as I was / without conforte

Than wolde I thynke / my lady wolde resorte

Vnto dame mercy / my payne to consyder

God knoweth all / I wolde we were togyder

 Though in meane season / of grene grasse I fede

It wolde not greue me / yf she knewe my heuynesse

My trauayle is grete / I praye god be my spede

To resyste the myght / of myn enmyes subtylnesse

Whiche awayte to take / me by theyr doublenesse

My wysdome is lytel / yet god may graunt me grace

Them to defende / in euery maner of cace

 Lerne this she sayd / yf that you can by wytte

Of foes make frendes / they wyll be to you sure

yf that theyr frendshyp / be vnto you knytte

It is oft stedfast / and wyll longe endure

yf alwaye malyce / they wyll put in vre

No doubte it is / than god so hyght and stronge

Ful meruaylously / wyl soone reuenge theyr wronge

 And now she sayd come on your waye with me

 Prev. P 12/55 next