Compared with what y once did seeke—
Soe, ladye, from yr. bounteous meede
Y pray you kyndly heere mee speke.
Still is yr. Slosson my supporte,
As once y was his soul's delite—
Holde hym not ever in yr. courte—
O lette me have hym pay-daye nite!
One nite per weeke is soothly not
Too oft to leese hym from yr. chaynes;
Thinke of my lorne impoverisht lotte