As mochel joye sende thee this day
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As ever yet he any lover sende!'
Thus took the Nightingale her leve of me.
I pray to god, he alway with her be,
And joye of love he sende her evermore;
And shilde us fro the Cukkow and his lore;
260
For ther is noon so fals a brid as he.
Forth she fley, the gentil Nightingale,