Fyrst for to love, I shall a letter make
Unto your lady, and send it by my sonne,
Lytle Cupyde, that shall it to her take,
That she your sorow may detray or slake.
Her harded herte it shall well revolve,
Wyth pyteous wordes that shall it dissolve.
And right anon, as the mater foloweth,
She caused Sapyence a letter to wryte;
Lo! what her favour unto me avayleth
Whan for my selfe she did so well indite,