Farewel all joye and al perfyte pleasure!
Fare wel my luste and my lykynge!
For wo is comen wyth me to endure;
Now must I lede my lyfe in mornynge;
I may not lute, or yet daunce or synge!
O! La Bel Pucel, my lady glorious;
You are the cause that I am so dolorous.
Alas! fayre lady, and myne owne swete herte,
Wyth my servyce I yelde me to your wyll,
You have me fettered; I may not asterte;