Nay, truly, it can nothyng be myne,
For I therof take no possessyon;
Your heart is your by substancyall lyne,
It is not in my domynacyon.
Love where ye list; at every season
Your heart is fre, I do not it accept:
It is your owne, I have it never kept.
Amoure.
Alas! madame, ye may say as ye liste,
With your beaute ye toke mine hert in snare;