Which hath on me no mercy ne no rewthe
That love hir best, but sleeth me for my trewthe.
Can I noght doon ne seye that may yow lyke,
[For] certes, now, allas! allas! the whyle!
10
Your plesaunce is to laughen whan I syke,
And thus ye me from al my blisse exyle.
Ye han me cast in thilke spitous yle
Ther never man on lyve mighte asterte;
This have I for I lovë you, swete herte!