THE JUDGMENT OF
BISHOP VALENTINE
One tyme a Youthe of faire degree
Didde looke upon a Mayde. Ah me,
She was as coye as anye flow’r,
She stole hys harte in thatte sayme how’r.
Alle vainlie he to Love didde calle,
Ye blinde Godde holp hym notte atte alle.
To Bishop Valentine thenne hies
Ye Youthe, ye Damosel likewyse,
Ande each ’gan tell hys tayle of griefe.