Whan that your beaute, clerely splendent,
Into my herte full wonderly dyd passe,
Lyke as fayre Phebus dothe shyne in the glas,
All alone, wyth inwarde care so rent,
Into a temple forth on my way I went.
Where that I walked, plunged in the pytte
Of great dispayre; and he than me mette.
Alas! he sayde, me thinke ye lose your wytte;
Tell me the trouth now, wythout any lete,
Why ye demeane suche mortall sorow great.