So blithe as I were, whosoe’er she be.
If gladsome youthfulness
In a fair lover might content a maid,
Virtue and worth discreet,
Valiance or gentilesse,
wit and sweet speech and fashions all arrayed
In pleasantness complete,
Certes. I’m she for whose behoof these meet
In one; for, love-o’erborne,
All these in him who is my hope I see.