Councell me ledde, for to take my reste.
The night was wete, and also tenebrous;
But I my selfe, with sorowe opprest,
Dyd often muse what was for me best
Unto my fayre lady for to tell or saye,
And all my drede was for fere of a naye.
Though that my bedde was easy and softe,
Yet dyd I tomble, I myght not lye styll;
On every syde I tourned me ful ofte,
Upon the love I had so set my wyll,