freshe so womanly of chere
Witħout chaunge whyle I haue lyf & mynde
And that ye wold suche grace sende
Of my seruyse that she not disdeyne
Sithen her to serue I may not me restreyne

And sitħ that hope me hatħ yeue hardynes
To loue her best and neuer to repente
Whylis that I lyue witħ al my besynes
To drede & serue, thaugħ daunger neuer assente
And here vpon ye knowe myn entente
How I haue vowed fully in myn mynde
To ben her man, thaugħ I no mercy fynde

For in my hert emprynted is so sore
Her shap her forme & al her semelynes
Her porte her chere, her godenes more & more
Her womanhed and eke her gentiles
Her troutħ, her faitħ and her kyndnes
Witħ alle vertues eche set in her degre
Ther is no lack, sauyng only of pyte

Her sad demenyng of wyl not variable
Of loke benygne, and rote of al plesance
And exemplayre to alle that wyl be stable
Discrete prudent of wisedom suffisance
Mirrour of witte ground of gouernance
A world of beaute compassed in her face
Whos persant loke doth thurgħ my hert race

And ouer this wonder secrete and true
A wel of fredome and right bounteous
And euer encrecyng in vertu new & newe
Of speche goodly, and wonder gracyous
Deuoyd of pryde, to poure not despytous
And yf that I shortly shal not feyne
Saue vpon mercy I no thing compleyne

What wonder thenne, thougħ I be witħ drede
Inly supprised for to axen grace
Of her that is quene of womanhede
For wel I wote in so higħ a place
Hit wil not be, therfore I ouer pace
And take lowly what wo I endure
Til she of pyte me take to her cure

But one auowe plainly here I make
That whethir so be, she do me lyue or deye
I wil not gruoche, but humbly hit take
And thanke god and wilfully obeye
For by my troutħ my hert shal neuer reneye
For lyf ne detħ mercy ne daunger
Of wil and thought to be at her desire

To ben as trewe as euer was antonyus
To cleopatre whyle hym lastetħ bretħ
Or vnto thesbe yong Piramus
That was faithful found, til them deptid deth
Right so shal I til Antropos me sletħ
For whele or woo her faithful man be found
Vnto my last, like as my hert is bound

To loue as wel as did Achilles
Vnto his laste the fair Polixene
Or as the grete famous Hercules
For dyanyre that felte the shott kene
Right so shal I saye right as I mene
Whyle that I lyue, her botħ drede and serue
For lack of mercy thougħ she do me sterue

Now lady venus to whom nothing vnknowe
Is in the world hid, ne nought may be
For ther nys thing nether hye ne lowe
May be conceyled from your pryuete
Fro whom my menyng is not now secret
But wite fully that myn entent is true
And liche my trouthe now on my peyne rue

For more of grace than of presumpcion
I axe mercy, and no thing of dute
Of lowly humbles, witħ oute offencion
That ye enclyne of your benygnyte
Your audience vnto my humylyte
To graunte me that to you I clepe & calle
Sum day relees yet of my peynes alle

And sitħ ye haue the guerdon and the mede
Of alle louers pleinly in your honde
Now of grace and pyte take ye hede
Of my distrees, that am vnder your bonde
So lowly bound, as ye wel vnderstonde
In that place where I toke first my wounde
Of pyte suffre ye my heltħ may be founde

That liche as she me hurte witħ a sight
Right so with helth late me hur sustene
And as the stremes of her eyen bright
Whylom my hert witħ woundes sharp & kene
Thurgħ persed haue and yet be fresh & grene
So as she me hurte, lete her me socoure
Or ellis certayn I may not long endure

For lack of speche I can say you no more
I haue mater but I can not pleyne
My witte is duƚƚ to tel al my sore
A mouth I haue, And yet for al my peyn
For want of wordes I may not now atteyn
To tel half, that dotħ my hert greue
Mercy abydyng, til she me list releue

But this theffect of my mater fynal
Witħ detħ or mercy relees for to fynde
For hert body thought lyf lust and al
Witħ al my reson and al my ful mynde
And fyue wittes of on assent I bynde
To her seruyse witħ oute ony stryf
And make her pryncesse of my detħ or lyf

And now I pray of routħ and eke pyte
O goodly planet, O lady venus bright
That ye your sone of his deyte
Cupide I mene that witħ his dredful myght
And witħ his brond that is so clere of light
Her herte so to fyre and to marke
As ye me whylem brent witħ a sparke

That euenlicħ and with the same fyre
She may be hit, as I now brenne and melte
So that her herte be flamed witħ desire
That she may knowe by feruence hou I swelte
For of pyte plainly yf she felte
The self hete that doth myn hert enbrace
I hope of routħ she wiƚƚ do me grace

And ther witħ al bemis as me thought
Towardes this man ful benyngely
Gan cast her eye, like as that she rought
Of his disease, and said ful goodly
Sith it is so, that thou so humbly
Witħ out gruachyng our hestes liste obeye
Toward thyn help I wil anon pourueye

And eke my sone Cupyde that is so blynde
He shal be helpyng fully to performe
Your hool desire, that nothing be behynde
Ne shal be lefte, so we shal reforme
This pietous cōpleynt, that maketħ the to morne
That she for whom thau sorowest most in hert
Shal thurgħ hur mercy relece al thy smert

Whan she scetħ tyme, thurgħ our purueaunce
Be not to hasty, but suffre althing wele
For in abydyng, thurgħ lowly obeyssaunce
Lyetħ ful redres, of al that ye now fele
And she shal be as trewe as ony stele
To you allone, by our myght and grace
Yf ye list mekely abyde a lityl space

But vnderstande ye that al her cherising
Shal be grounded vpon honeste
That no wight shal by ony compacyng
Demen amys of hur in no degre
For neyther mercy, coutħ ner pyte
She shal not haue ne take of the non hede
Further than longetħ vnto her womanhede

Be not astonyed of no wilfulnes
Ne not despeyred of this dissolucion
Late reson bridle lust by buxumnes
Witħout gruochyng or rebellyon
For ioye shal folowe al this passion
For who can suffre torment and endure
Ne may not faylle, but folowe shal his cure

For to fore alle she shal the louen best
So shal I her witħoute offencion
By Influence enspire in her brest
In honest wyse witħ ful entencion
For tenclyne by clene affection
Her hert fully on the to haue routhe
Be cause I knowe that thou menest trouthe

Go now to hir where as she stant a syde
Witħ humble chere, and put the in her grace
And al beforn lete hope be thy guyde
And thaugħ that drede wold witħ the pace
Hit sittetħ wel, but loke that thou arace
Out of thyn hert wanhop and despeire
To her presence er thou haue repeir

And mercy first shal thy way make
And honest menyng afore do thy message
To make pyte in her herte awake
And secretnes to further thy viage
Witħ humble porte to her that is so sage
Shal menes be, and I my self also
Shal the fortune, or thy tale be do

Go fortħ anon, and be right good of chere
For specheles nothing mayst thou spede
Be good of trust & be no thing in were
Sitħ I my self shal helpen in this nede
For atte lest of her goodly hede
She shal to the her audience enclyne
And lowe the to her til thou thy tale fyne

For wel thou wost yf I shal not feyne
Witħoute speche thou maist no mercy haue
For who that wil of his pryue peyne
Fully be cured his lyf to helpe and saue
He must mekely out of his hert graue
Discure his wound and shewe hit his leche
Or ellis deye for defaute