73. But whanne he hadde a space fro his care,
Thus to him-self ful ofte he gan to pleyne;
He sayde, 'O fool, now art thou in the snare,
That whilom Iapedest at loves peyne;
Now artow hent, now gnaw thyn owene cheyne;
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Thou were ay wont eche lovere reprehende
Of thing fro which thou canst thee nat defende.
74. What wole now every lover seyn of thee,
If this be wist, but ever in thyn absence