Dame natures werke, which is so secretely.
Thoughe she be mayde, let her say what she lyst,
She wolde have man, though do man it wyst
To make her joye whan nature doth agre,
Her thought is hers, it is unto her fre.
Who spareth to speke he spareth to spede;
I shall provyde for you convenyent
A gentyl tyme for to attayne your mede,
That you shall go to your lady excellent;
And ryght before take good advysement