The frenshe man sayth / that shall be shall be yf that I dye / louer was neuer none Deyed in this worlde / for a fayrer persone || Your beaute causeth all my amyte Why sholde your beaute / to my dethe condyscende your vertue and mekenes / dyde so arest me Why sholde ye than to dame dysdayne intende your prudence your goodnes / dooth mercy extende Why sholde ye than enclyne to cruelte Your grace I trust wyll non extremyte A dere herte I maye complayne ryght longe you here me not / nor se me not arayed Nor causes my paynes for to be stronge It was myn eyes / that made me fyrst dysmayde With stroke of loue / that coude not me delaye My ryght fayre lady / my herte is colde and faynt Wolde now to god / that you knewe my complaynte Thus as I mourned I herde a lady speke I loked asyde I sawe my lady gracyous
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