Bot falle anon upon the stede,
Wher as I se my lady stonde;
And there, I do yow understonde,
P. i. 61
I am topulled in my thoght,
So that of reson leveth noght,
Wherof that I me mai defende.
Confessor.
My goode Sone, god thamende:
For as me thenketh be thi speche