Sith everych yeer on that swete seintes day
Man can to mayden al his herte displaie
(Bye Cupid arwes smit in sory plighte—
One grote al pleyn, and twayn ypeinted brighte).
Then wol I mak my playnte, so maist ye knowe
Yon whele, dere ladye, don me mochel wo.
Algates I greve, whanne that scorchours I mete
That riden reccheles adoun the strete:
I praie, bethynke yow, swiche diversioun
Ben weel for mayde of mene condicioun,