He may not longe in Ioye of love endure.

This is no feyned mater that I telle;

My lady is the verrey sours and welle

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Of beaute, lust, fredom, and gentilnesse,

Of riche aray—how dere men hit selle!—

Of al disport in which men frendly dwelle,

Of love and pley, and of benigne humblesse,

Of soune of instruments of al swetnesse;

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