Phebus, awayting til in thy brest he lighte
Under thy winge at domesday us dighte!
85
O ruby, rubifyed in the passioun
Al of thy sone, among have us in minde,
O stedfast dyamaunt of duracioun,
That fewe feres that tyme might thou finde,
For noon to him was founden half so kinde!
90
O hardy herte, O loving crëature,