So hath your beautee fro your herte chaced
Pitee, that me ne availeth not to pleyne,
For Daunger halt your mercy in his cheyne.
Giltles my deeth thus han ye me purchaced;
I sey you sooth, me nedeth not to feyne;
So hath your beautee [fro your herte chaced
Pitee, that me ne availeth not to pleyne].
Allas, that Nature hath in you compassed
So greet beautee, that no man may atteyne
To mercy though he sterve for the peyne.
So hath your beautee [fro your herte chaced
Pitee, that me ne availeth not to pleyne,
For Daunger halt your mercy in his cheyne].
