And lyve in hope, whych shall do you good.
Joy cometh after, whan the payne is past.
Be ye pacyent and sobre in mode;
To wepe and wayle all is for you in wast:
Was never payne, but it had joye at last.
In the fayre morrow, ryse and make you redy,
At ix. at the clocke, the time is necessary
For us to walke unto your lady gent;
The bodyes above be than well domysyde
To helpe us forwarde without ympediment.