Was hote, dredende alle schame,
Sih that sche mihte noght debate,
And wel sche wiste he wolde algate
Fulfille his lust of Robberie,
Anon began to wepe and crie,
And seide, ‘O Pallas, noble queene,
Scheu nou thi myht and let be sene,[473] 6190
To kepe and save myn honour:
Help, that I lese noght mi flour,
P. ii. 335