abababab
Trew king, that sittes in trone,
Unto the I tell my tale,
And unto the I bid a bone,
For thou ert bute of all my bale:
Als thou made midelerd and the mone,
And bestes and fowles grete and smale.
Unto me send thi socore sone,
And dresce my dedes in this dale.
(Laurence Minot: Battle of Halidon Hill. 1352.)
On Minot's lyrics see ten Brink's History of English Literature, Kennedy translation, vol. i. p. 323.
ababbaba
Since love is such that as ye wot
Cannot always be wisely used,
I say, therefore, then blame me not,
Though I therein have been abused.
For as with cause I am accused,
Guilty I grant such was my lot;
And though it cannot be excused,
Yet let such folly be forgot.
(Sir Thomas Wyatt: That the power of love excuseth the folly of loving, ab. 1550.)
ababbcbc
In a chirche þer i con knel
Þis ender day in on morwenynge,
Me lyked þe servise wonder wel,
For þi þe lengore con i lynge.
I seiȝ a clerk a book forþ bringe,
Þat prikked was in mony a plas;
Faste he souȝte what he schulde synge,
And al was Deo gracias!