This is the cold that wolde me begyle.
For ever the better that in trouthe I mente
With al my mighte faythfully to serve,
With herte and al for to be diligent,
The lesse thank, alas! I can deserve!
250
Thus for my trouthe Daunger doth me sterve.
For oon that shulde my deeth, of mercy, lette
Hath mad despyt newe his swerd to whette
Ayeines me, and his arowes to fyle