3110
Which is most passaunt of beautee,
My lyf, my deth, and my martyre,
And tresour that I most desyre.'
Than Bialacoil, affrayed all,
Seyde, 'Sir, it may not fall;
3115
That ye desire, it may not ryse.
What? wolde ye shende me in this wyse?
A mochel foole than I were,