Our hertes swelled as that they should breke;
The fyre of love was so sore kept under.
Whan I from her should depart asundre,
Wyth her fayre head she dyd lowe enclyne,
And in lykewyse so dyd I wyth myne.
CAP. XX.
OF THE GREAT SOROWE THAT GRAUNDE AMOUR MADE AFTER THE DEPARTYNGE AND OF THE WORDES OF COUNCEYLE.
Her frendes and she on theyr waye they sayled
Alonge the haven, God them save, and bryng
Unto the londe! I herd whan that they hayled,
Wyth a great peale of gunnes, at theyr departyng,