That yvel is ful of curtesye
That [lauhwith] in his maladye;
2295
For ever of love the siknesse
Is meynd with swete and bitternesse.
The sore of love is merveilous;
For now the lover [is] Ioyous,
Now can he pleyne, now can he grone,
2300
Now can he singen, now maken mone.