To lute or daunce, but it avayleth nought:
For the fyre kyndled, and waxed more and more,
The dauncynge blewe it, wyth her beaute clere,
My hert sekened and began to waxe sore;
A mynute vi. houres, and vi. houres a yere
I thought it was, so hevy was my chere;
But yet for cover my great love aryght,
The outwarde countenaunce I made glad and light.
CAP. XVII.
HOWE GRAUNDE AMOURE WAS ENAMOURED OF LA BELL PUCELL IN THE TOWER OF MUSIKE, AND MET WITH COUNSAYLE IN A TEMPLE
And for fere myne eyes should my hert bewray,