4625
That was posshed in every side,
That I nist where I might abyde,
Til she, demurely sad of chere,
Seide to me as she com nere:—
'Myn owne freend, art thou yit greved?
4630
How is this quarel yit acheved
Of Loves syde? Anoon me telle;
Hast thou not yit of love thy fille?