169. And she answerde, '[of gilt misericorde!]
That is to seyn, that I foryeve al this;
And ever-more on this night yow recorde,
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And beth wel war ye do no more amis.'
'Nay, dere herte myn,' quod he, 'y-wis.'
'And now,' quod she, 'that I have do yow smerte,
Foryeve it me, myn owene swete herte.'
170. This Troilus, with blisse of that supprysed,
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