Yet drede exile and lyve in hope and trust,
For at the last you shall attayne your lust.
And specially I gyve to you a charge
To fyxe your love, for to be true and stable
Upon your lady, and not to fle at large
As in sundry wise for to be variable,
In corrupt thoughtes vyle and culpable;
Prepence nothing unto her dishonesty,
For love dishonest hath no certaynte.
And sithen that I was cause you be gone