Though ye to me ne do no daliance.
"For though I weep of tearës full a tine [cask],
Yet may that woe my heartë not confound;
Your seemly voice, that ye so small out-twine,
Maketh my thought in joy and bliss abound.
So courteously I go, with lovë bound,
That to myself I say, in my penance,
Sufficeth me to love you, Rosamound,
Though ye to me ne do no daliance.
"Was never pike wallowed in galantine,