XXIII. A BALADE OF COMPLEYNT.
Compleyne ne coude, ne might myn herte never
My peynes halve, ne what torment I have,
Though that I sholde in your presence ben ever,
My hertes lady, as wisly he me save
5
That bountee made, and beutee list to grave
In your persone, and bad hem bothe in-fere