Vithoutine hope ore traiſtinge of comfort;
So be such meine fatit was my sort.
Thus in my ſaull Rolinge al my wo,
The sword of love carves my heart.
[28] My carful hart carwing cañ In two
The derdful ſuerd of lowis hot diſſire;
So be the morow set I was a-fyre
In felinge of the acceß hot and colde,
[32] That haith my hart in ſich a fevir holde,
Only to me thare was noñe vthir eß