With many a Murmur, god it wot,
Thus drinke I in myn oghne swot, 1390
And thogh I make no semblant,
Min herte is al desobeissant;
And in this wise I me confesse
Of that ye clepe unbuxomnesse.
Now telleth what youre conseil is.
Confessor.[367]
Mi Sone, and I thee rede this,[368]
What so befalle of other weie,