Ful privily in prison evermore,
(110)
And kepte her to his usage and his store,
So that she mighte him nevermore asterte.
O sely Philomene! wo is thyn herte;
2340
[God wreke thee, and sende thee thy bone]!
Now is hit tyme I make an ende sone.
[This Tereus is to his wyf y-come],
And in his armes hath his wyf y-nome,