And in my mynde I juged evermore
That at the laste ye wolde full secretly
Tell me your mynde of love right gentilly;
As ye have done, so my mercy to crave,
In all worshyppe you shal my true love have.
Amoure.
O Lorde God than! how joyfull was I!
She loked on me wyth lovely countenaunce;
I kyst her ones or twise right swetely;
Her depured vysage, replete with pleasaunce,