thing that may not, at my wil, in armes me hente! Mirth is
chaunged in-to tene, whan swink is there continually that reste was
wont to sojourne and have dwelling-place. Thus witless, thoughtful,
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sightles lokinge, I endure my penaunce in this derke prison,
†caitived fro frendshippe and acquaintaunce, and forsaken of al
that any †word dare speke. Straunge hath by waye of intrucioun
mad his home, there me shulde be, if reson were herd as he
shulde. Never-the-later yet hertly, lady precious Margarit, have
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