"Doth not your servaunt hens away to dryve,
Rosiall," quod she; and than myn harte [it] brak,
For tender †reuth: and where I found moch lak
In your persoune, †than I my-self bethought,
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And seid, "This is the man myne harte hath sought."'
'Gramercy, Pitè! might I †but suffice
To yeve the lawde unto thy shryne of gold,
God wot, I wold; for sith that †thou did rise
From deth to lyve for me, I am behold