Trewly, I leve, in myn herte is writte, of perdurable letters, al the
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entencions of lamentacion that now ben y-nempned! For any
maner disese outward, in sobbing maner, sheweth sorowful yexinge
from within. Thus from my comfort I ginne to spille, sith she
that shulde me solace is fer fro my presence. Certes, her
absence is to me an helle; my sterving deth thus in wo it myneth,
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that endeles care is throughout myne herte clenched; blisse of
my joye, that ofte me murthed, is turned in-to galle, to thinke on