What was it but love that made thee so endure?
Semely saphyre, depe loupe, and blewe ewage,
Stable as the loupe, ewage of pitè,
This is to say, the fresshest of visage,
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Thou lovest hem unchaunged that serven thee.
And if offence or wrything in hem be,
Thou art ay redy upon hir wo to rewe,
And hem receyvest with herte ful trewe.
O goodly gladded, whan that Gabriel