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[It burneth yet, alas, my hartes desire. ]

Louer.
It burneth yet, alas, my hartes desire.

Lady.
What is the thing that hath inflamde thy hert?

Louer.
A certain point, as feruent as the fyre.

Lady.
The heate shall cease, if that thou wilt conuert.

Louer.
I cannot stoppe the feruent raging yre.

Lady.
What may I do, if thy self cause thy smart?

Louer.
Heare my request, and rew my weeping chere.

Lady.
With right good wyll, say on: lo, I thee here.

Louer.
That thing would I, that maketh two content.

Lady.
Thou sekest, perchance, of me, that I may not.

Louer.
Would god thou wouldst, as thou maist, well assent.

Lady.
That I may not, thy grief is mine, God wot.

Louer.
But I it fele, what so thy wordes haue ment.

Lady.
Suspect me not: my wordes be not forgot.

Louer.
Then say, alas, shall I haue help, or no?

Lady.
I see no time to answer yea, but no.

Louer.
Say ye, dere hert, and stand no more in dout.

Lady.
I may not grant a thing that is so dere.

Louer.
Lo, with delayes thou drieues me still about.

Lady.
Thou wouldest my death: it plainly doth appere.

Louer.
First may my hart his bloode and life blede out.

Lady.
Then for my sake, alas, thy will forbere.

Louer.
From day to day, thus wastes my life away.

Lady.
Yet, for the best, suffer some small delay.

Louer.
Now good, say yea: do once so good a dede.

Lady.
If I sayd yea, what should therof ensue?

Louer.
An hart in pain of succour so should spede;
Twist yea and nay, my doute shall styll renew.
My swete, say yea and do away this drede.

Lady.
Thou wilt nedes so; be it so; but then be trew.

Louer.
Nought would I els, nor other treasure none.
Thus hartes be wonne by loue, request, and mone.