That they hem shape to disceyve thee,
To make thee buxom to hir lawe,
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And with hir corde thee to drawe
Wher-so hem lust, right at hir wil;
I drede they have thee brought thertil.
Withoute comfort, thought me sleeth;
This game wol bringe me to my deeth.
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For if your gode wille I lese,