At my vigile, I pray thee take good hede
That al be wel; and [offre Mars my stede],
My swerd, myn helm, and, leve brother dere,
My sheld to Pallas yef, that shyneth clere.
45. The poudre in which myn herte y-brend shal torne,
310
That preye I thee thou take and it conserve
In a vessel, that men clepeth an urne,
Of gold, and to my lady that I serve,
For love of whom thus pitously I sterve,