And joy full of tormentry.
A laughter it is, weeping aye;
Rest, that travaileth night and day;
Also a sweet Hell it is,
And a sorrowful Paradise;[1]
A pleasant gaol, and an easy prison,
And full of froste, summer season;
Prime-time, full of froste’s white,
And May devoid of all delight.”
“Mesment de ceste amour