173. The thridde, ferthe, fifte, sixte day
After tho dayes ten, of which I tolde,
Bitwixen hope and drede his herte lay,
Yet som-what trustinge on hir hestes olde.
But whan he saugh she nolde hir terme holde,
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He can now seen non other remedye,
But for to shape him sone for to dye.
174. Ther-with the wikked spirit, god us blesse,
Which that men clepeth wode Ialousye,