Thanne Lechour seide, "Allas!"

And on oure Lady he cryde,

To maken mercy for hise mys-dedes

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Bitwene God and his soule;

With that he sholde the Saterday,

Seven yer therafter,

Drynke but myd the doke,

And dyne but ones.

[Envye with hevy herte]