Fortune, what aileth thee Thus for to banish me Her company whom I love best? For to complain me Nothing availeth me. Adieu, farewell, this night's rest. Her demure countenance, Her homely patience Hath wounded me through Venus' dart, That I cannot refrain me Neither yet abstain me But needs must love her with all my heart. Long have I loved her, Oft have I prayed her. Yet, alas, she through disdain Nothing regards me Nor yet rewards me But lets me lie in mortal pain. Yet shall I love her still With all my heart and will Wheresoever I ride or go. My heart, my service, Afore all ladies', Is hers all only and no moe. She hath my heart and ever shall In this terrestrial. What can she more of me require? Her who I love best, God send her good rest And me heartily my whole desire. |