I durste nat ones loke hir on,
For wit, manere, and al was gon.
I seyde "mercy!" and no more;
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Hit nas no game, hit sat me sore.
'So atte laste, sooth to seyn,
Whan that myn herte was come ageyn,
To telle shortly al my speche,
With hool herte I gan hir beseche
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