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The complete works of Geoffrey Chaucer

Edited, from numerous manuscripts by the Rev. Walter W. Skeat

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‘Sire, if thee list to undirstande,
I merveile thee asking this demande.
For-why or wherfore shulde ye
O stages or borwis aske of me,
Or any other sikirnesse,
Sith ye wote, in sothfastnesse,
That ye have me surprysed so,
And hool myn herte taken me fro,
That it wol do for me no-thing
But-if it be at your bidding?
Myn herte is yours, and myn right nought,
As it bihoveth, in dede and thought,
Redy in alle to worche your wille,
Whether so [it] turne to good or ille.
So sore it lustith you to plese,
No man therof may you disseise.
Ye have theron set sich Iustise,
That it is werreyd in many wise.
And if ye doute it nolde obeye,
Ye may therof do make a keye,
And holde it with you for ostage.’
‘Now certis, this is noon outrage,’
Quoth Love, ‘and fully I accord;
For of the body he is ful lord
That hath the herte in his tresor;
Outrage it were to asken more.’