To Ielousye, right wonder lowe.
First of his grace she bisought,
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And seide:—'Sire, ne leveth nought
Wikkid-Tunge, that fals espye,
Which is so glad to feyne and lye.
He hath you maad, thurgh flatering,
On Bialacoil a fals lesing.
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His falsnesse is not now anew,