I am departed from you, my soveraine;
Fortune, alas! dont vient la destenee,
That in no wyse I can ne may attayne
To see the beautè of your eyën twayne.
55
Wherfore I say, for tristesse doth me grame,
Tant me fait mal departir de ma dame!
Why nere my wisshing brought to suche esploit
That I might say, for joye of your presence,
'Ore a man cuer ce quil veuilloit,