Forsothe madame / I dyde compyle that boke

As the holy goost / I call vnto wytnes

But ygnorauntly / who so lyst to loke

Many meruelous thynges in it / I do expresse

My lyue and loue / to enserche well doublesse

Many a one doth wryte / I knowe not what in dede

Yet the effecte dooth folowe / the trouthe for to spede

¶ Pucell.

I graunt you well / all that whiche you saye

But tell me who it is / that ye loue so sure

I promyse you that I wyll not bewraye

Her name truely to ony creature

Pyte it is / you sholde suche wo endure

I do perceyue / she is not ryght ferre hence

Whiche that ye loue / withouten neclygence

¶ Amour.

Surely madame / syth it pleaseth your hyghnesse

And your honour to speke so nobly

It is your grace / that hath the intresse

In my true herte / with loue so feruently

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