I yeve hit up for now and ever-more;
For I shal never eft putten in balaunce
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My sekernes, ne lerne of love the lore.
But as the swan, I have herd seyd ful yore,
Ayeins his deth shal singe in his penaunce,
So singe I here my destiny or chaunce,
How that Arcite Anelida so sore
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Hath thirled with the poynt of remembraunce!