And thanne ayeinward I beginne
To take of love a newe thorst,
The which me grieveth altherworst,
For thanne comth the blanche fievere,
With chele and makth me so to chievere, 240
And so it coldeth at myn herte,[724]
That wonder is hou I asterte,[725]
In such a point that I ne deie:
For certes ther was nevere keie
Ne frosen ys upon the wal