Þurch a wildernes as y ȝede,

Þer y founde in a dale

Wiþ lyouns a man totorn smale,

And wolues him frete wiþ teþ so scharp.

Bi him y fond þis ich harp; 540

Wele ten ȝere it is ygo.'

'O,' quaþ þe steward, 'now me is wo!

Þat was mi lord Sir Orfeo.

Allas! wreche, what schal y do,

Þat haue swiche a lord ylore? 545