¶ Pucell.

I denye not but that your dedes do shewe

By meruaylous prowes / truely your gentylnesse

To make you a carter / there were not afewe

But tho by crafte / whiche thought you to oppresse

To accombre them selfe applye the besynesse

yet thynke not you / so soone to se a cradle

I graunt you loue / whan ye were golden sadle

¶ Amour.

Madame truely / it is oft dayly sene

Many a one dooth trust / his fortune to take

From an other man / to make hym blynde I wene

Whiche blyndeth hym / and dooth his pompe aslake

Often some hye / do fall alowe and quake

Ryght so maye they / whiche dyde fyrst prepence

My wo and payne for all theyr yll scyence

¶ Pucell.

To loue me so / whiche knoweth my persone

And my frendes eke / me thynke ye are not wyse

As now of me conforte haue ye none

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