And caste up many a pitous lok
Unto the hevene, and seide thus:
‘O thou Cupide, O thou Venus,
P. i. 46
Thou god of love and thou goddesse,
Wher is pite? wher is meknesse?
Now doth me pleinly live or dye,
For certes such a maladie
As I now have and longe have hadd,
It myhte make a wisman madd,[233] 130