With thought of yll my mynde was never myxte,
To you, madame, but alway clene and pure,
Bothe daye and nyght upon you hole perfyxte.
But I my mynde yet durst nothynge discure,
How for your sake I dyd suche wo endure,
Tyll now this houre with dredfull hert so faynt
To you, swete herte, I have made my complaynt.
Pucell.
I demed ofte you loved me before,
By your demenour I dyde it aspye,