With voice swete entuned and so small,
That me thought it the sweetest melody
That ever I herdë in my lyf, soothly.
And thus they came[n], dauncing and singing,
Into the middes of the mede echone,
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Before the herber, where I was sitting,
And, god wot, me thought I was wel bigon;
For than I might avyse hem, on by on,
Who fairest was, who coud best dance or sing,