Your seemly voys that ye so smal out-twyne
Maketh my thoght in Ioye and blis habounde.
So curteisly I go, with lovë bounde,
That to my-self I sey, in my penaunce,
15
Suffyseth me to love you, Rosemounde,
Thogh ye to me ne do no daliaunce.
Nas never pyk walwed in galauntyne
As I in love am walwed and y-wounde;
For which ful ofte I of my-self divyne