That poverte hath us hent that whylom stode
1145
At hartis ese, and free and in good case!
But now we dar not shew our-self in place,
Ne us embolde to duelle in company,
There-as our hart wold love right faithfully.'
And yet againward shryked every nonne,
1150
The prang of love so straineth thaim to cry:
'Now wo the tyme,' quod thay, 'that we be boun!