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Both night and day these lovers true

Suffred great paine, wo, and grevaunce, How eche to other theyr minde might shewe; Tyll at the laft, by a fodaine chaunce,

This knight was in a garden grene,

And thus began him to complayne, Alas! he fayd, with murnynge eyen,

Now is my herte in wo and payne.

From mournynge can i nat refrayne,

This ladyes love dothe me fo wounde, I feare the hath of me disdayne:

With that he fell downe to the grounde.

The lady in a wyndowe laye,

With herte colde as any stone,

She wyft nat what to do nor faye
Whan fhe herde the knightes mone.

Sore fighed that lady of renowne,

In her face was no colour founde,

Than into the gardein came she downe,

And fawe this knight lye on the grounde.

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Whan fhe fawe hym lye fo for her fake,
Her hert for wo was almooft gone,
To her comforte coude the none take,
But in fwoune fell downe hym upon,

So fadly that the knyght awoke,

And whan that he fawe her fo nere,

To hym comforte anone he toke,

And began the lady for to chere.

He fayd, Lady and love, alas,

> Into this cure who hath you brought? She fayd, My love, and my folas,

Your beauté ftandeth fo in my thought,

That, yf i had no worldly make,

Never none should have my herte but ye. The knyght fayd, Lady, for your fake,

I fhal you love in chastytè.

Our love, he fayde, fhal be none other

But chafte and true, as is betwene

A goodly fyster and a brother,

Fro lufte our bodyes to kepe clene.

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And where fo ever mi body be,

Bothe day and night, at every tyde, My fimpele herte in chastitè

Shall ever more lady with you abide.

This lady, white as any floure,

Replete with feminine fhamefaftneffe, Begayn to chaunge her fare coloure,

And to hym fayd, My love, doubteleffe,

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Under fuche forme i shall you love,

With faythful herte in chastitè,

Next unto god that is above

Bothe in welthe and adverfytè.

Eche of them kyfsed other truely,
But, ever alas! ther was a fo

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Behynde the wall, them to efpye,

Which after torned them to muche wo.

Out of the gardyn whan they were gone,

Eche from other dyd departe,

Awaye was all theyr wofull mone,

The one had lyghted the others herte.

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Than this spye, of whome i tolde,

Whyche ftode behinde the garden wall,

Wente unto his lorde ful bolde,

And fayd, Syr, fhewe you i fhall,

By your gardyn as i was walkynge,
I herde the knight of curtesye
Which with your lady was talkinge

Of love unlawfull pryyely:

Therfore yf ye fuffre him for to procede,
Wyth your lady to have his joye,
He shal bee lede fro you in dede

Or elles they bothe fhall you distroye.

Whan than the lorde had understande

The wordes that the spye him tolde,

He fware he would rydde him fro that [lande],
Were he never fo stronge and bolde.

He fware an othe, by god almyght,

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That he should never be glade certayne

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While that knight was in his fight,

Tyl that he by fome meane were flaine.

Than let he do crye a feest,

For every man that thider wolde come, For every man bothe moost and leeft,

Thyder came lordes bothe olde and yonge.

The lorde was at the table fet,

And his lady by him that tide,

The knight of curtefy anone was fet,
And fet downe on the other fyde.

Theyr hartes fhould have be wo-begone,
If they had knowen the lordes thought;
But whan that they were ftyll echone,

The lorde these wordes anone forth brought:

Me thinke it is fyttinge for a knight

For aventures to enquyre,
And nat thus, bothe day and night,
At home to fojourne by the fyre.

Therfore, fyr knight of curtefye,

This thinge wyl i you counfeyll,
To ryde and go throughe the countrè,

To feke adventures for your avayle.

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