Sumwhat musyng, And more mornyng,
In remembring The unstydfastnes;
This world being Of such whelyng,
Me contrarieng, What may I gesse?
I fere dowtles, Remediles, 5
Is now to sese My wofull chaunce.
[For unkyndness, Withouten less,
And no redress, Me doth avaunce,
With displesaunce, To my grevaunce,
And no suraunce Of remedy.] 10
Lo in this traunce, Now in substaunce,
Such is my dawnce, Wyllyng to dye.
Me thynkys truly, Bowndyn am I,
And that gretly, To be content:
Seyng playnly, Fortune doth wry[311][312] 15
All contrary From myn entent.
My lyff was lent Me to on intent,
Hytt is ny[313] spent. Welcome fortune!
But I ne went Thus to be shent,[314][315]
But sho[316] hit ment; Such is hur won.[317] 20
FOOTNOTES:
[310] [See Aldine edition of Chaucer's Poetical Works, ed. Morris, vol. vi. p. 305. We ought, perhaps, to read "attributed to Chaucer.">[