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LXXXIX

[Yf in the world ther be more woo]

Yf in the world ther be more woo
Then I haue yn my harte,
Wher so ytt is itt doithe come fro,
And in my brest there doithe itt groo,
For to encrease my smarte.
Alas I ame recepte of euery care
And of my liff eche sorrow claymes his part.
Who list to lyue in quyetnes
By me lett hym beware,
For I by highe dysdayne
Ame made withoute redresse;
And vnkyndenes, alas, hath slayne
My poore trew hart all comfortles.