[For by myn hidde sorwe] y-blowe on brede
I shal bi-Iaped been a thousand tyme
More than that fool of whos folye men ryme.
77. But now help god, and ye, swete, for whom
I pleyne, y-caught, ye, never wight so faste!
535
O mercy, dere herte, and help me from
The deeth, for I, whyl that my lyf may laste,
More than my-self wol love yow to my laste.
And with som freendly look gladeth me, swete,