the nobley in you printed; sorowe and helle comen at ones, to
suppose that I be †weyved. Thus with care, sorowe, and tene
am I shapt, myn ende with dethe to make. Now, good goodly,
65
thinke on this. O wrecched foole that I am, fallen in-to so lowe,
the hete of my brenning tene hath me al defased. How shulde
ye, lady, sette prise on so foule fylthe? My conninge is thinne,
my wit is exiled; lyke to a foole naturel am I comparisoned.
Trewly, lady, but your mercy the more were, I wot wel al my
70