He thenkith parte it with no man;
Certayn, no love is in him than.
How shulde love within him be,
Whan in his herte is no pite?
That he trespasseth, wel I wat,
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For ech man knowith his estat;
For wel him oughte be reproved
That loveth nought, ne is not loved.
'But sith we arn to Fortune comen,