By-raft the lyf, or doon my bretheren dye,
Or slayn my-self, that thus compleyne and crye,
I, [combre-world], that may of no-thing serve,
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But ever dye, and never fully sterve?
41. If that Criseyde allone were me laft,
Nought roughte I whider thou woldest me stere;
And hir, allas! than hastow me biraft.
But ever-more, lo! this is thy manere,
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