And ther I stood as stille as ought,
460
That, sooth to saye, he saw me nought,
For-why he heng his heed adoune.
And with a deedly sorwful soune
He made of ryme ten vers or twelve,
Of a compleynt to him-selve,
465
The moste pite, the moste rowthe,
That ever I herde; for, by my trowthe,