Than I myself have in serteyn,
And for to sorwyn evyr and ay.
Alas! ffor sorwe myn hert doth blede,
My Lorde is take fro me away;
I muste nedys sore wepe and grede;
Where he is put I kan not say.
But, jentyl gardener, I pray to the,
If thou hym took out of his grave,
Telle me qwere I may hym se,
That I may go my Lorde to have.