345
'O, welawey that I was born!
[For through yow is my name lorn],
And alle myn actes red and songe
Over al this lond, on every tonge.
[O wikke Fame]! for ther nis
350
Nothing so swift, lo, as she is!
O, sooth is, [every thing is wist],
Though hit be kevered with the mist.