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The broche of Thebes was of such a kynde,
So ful of rubies and of stones of Ynde
That every wight, that sette on hit an ye,
He wende anon to worthe out of his mynde;
So sore the beaute wolde his herte bynde.
Til he hit had, him thoghte he moste dye;
And whan that hit was his, then shulde he drye
Such woo for drede, ay while that he hit hadde,
That wel nygh for the fere he shulde madde.
And whan hit was fro his possessioun,
Then had he double wo and passioun
For he so feir a tresor had forgo;
But yet this broche as in conclusioun
Was not the cause of his confusioun,
But he that wroghte hit enfortuned hit so
That every wight that had hit shulde have wo;
And theifore in the worcher was the vice,
And in the covetour that was so nyce.
So fareth hyt by lovers and by me;
For thogh my lady have so gret beaute
That I was mad til I had gete her grace,
She was not cause of myn adversite,
But he that wroghte her, also mot I the,
That putte such a beaute in her face,
That made me coveyten and purchace
Myn oune deth— him wite I that I dye,
And myn unwit that ever I clamb so hye.