Ther was no more betwix hem tweyne and me.
I herd the lover syghing wonder sore;
For ay the neer, the sorer it him sought.
His inward payne he coud not kepe in store,
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Nor for to speke, so hardy was he nought.
His leche was neer, the gretter was his thought;
He mused sore, to conquere his desyre;
For no man may to more penaunce be brought
Than, in his hete, to bringe him to the fyre.