'Myne owne servaunt,' quod she, 'trewly thou sittest nye
myne herte; and thy badde chere gan sorily me greve. But
amonge thy playning wordes, me thought, thou allegest thinges to
be letting of thyne helpinge and thy grace to hinder; wherthrough,
me thinketh, that wanhope is crope thorough thyn hert. God
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forbid that nyse unthrifty thought shulde come in thy mynde,
thy wittes to trouble; sithen every thing in coming is contingent.
Wherfore make no more thy proposicion by an impossible.
But now, I praye thee reherse me ayen tho thinges that