And after that I †ginne on esperaunce
With feble entune, though it thyn herte perce,
Yet for thy sake this lettre I do reherce.
God wot, on musike I can not, but I gesse,
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(Alas! why so?) that I might say or singe,
So love I you, myn own soverain maistresse,
And ever shal, withouten départinge.
Mirrour of beautè, for you out shuld I ringe,
In rémembraunce eke of your eyen clere,