Madame sayd I / thoughe myn eyes se her not

Made dymme wt wepynde / & with grete wo togyder

Yet dooth myn herte / at this tyme I wote

Her excellent beaute / ryght inwardly concyder

Good fortune I trust / hath now brought me hyder

To se your mekenes / whiche doth her rapyre

Whose swete conforte / dooth kepe me fro dyspayre.

||

¶ Pucell.

Of late I sawe a boke of your makynge

Called the pastyme of pleasure / whiche is wõderous

erous

For I thynge and you had not ben in louynge

uy

Ye coude neuer haue made it so sentencyous

us

I redde there all your passage daungerous

Wherfore I wene for the fayre ladyes sake

That ye dyd loue / ye dyde that boke so make

¶ Amour.

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