Alas! what pleasure, and eke wythout disporte,
Shall I now have, whan that ye be gone?
Ha, ha! truly now wythout good conforte,
My dolorous herte shall be left alone,
Wythout your presence to me is none;
For every houre I shall thynke a yere,
Tyll fortune brynge me unto you more nere.
Yet after you I wyll not be ryght longe,
But hast me after as faste as I maye;
In the toure of Chyvalry I shall make me stronge,