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¶ Lutel wot hit any mon
Hou derne love may stonde,
Bote hit were a fre wymmon
That muche of love had fonde.
The love of hire ne lesteth no wyht longe;
Heo haveth me plyht, ant wyteth me wyth wronge.
Ever ant oo, for my leof, Ich am in grete thohte,
Y thenche on hire that Y ne seo nout ofte.
Y wolde nemne hyre today
Ant Y dorste hire munne;
Heo is that feireste may
Of uch ende of hire kunne;
Bote heo me love, of me heo haves sunne.
Who is him that loveth the love that he ne may ner ywynne!
Ever ant oo, for my leof, Ich am in grete thohte,
Y thenche on hire that Y ne seo nout ofte.
Adoun Y fel to hire anon
Ant crie, “Ledy, thyn ore!
Ledy, ha mercy of thy mon.
Lef thou no false lore.
Yef thou dost, hit wol me reowe sore.
Love dreccheth me that Y ne may lyve namore.”
Ever ant oo, for my leof, Ich am in grete thohte,
Y thenche on hire that Y ne seo nout ofte.
Mury hit ys in hyre tour
Wyth hatheles ant wyth heowes.
So hit is in hyre bour,
With gomenes ant with gleowes.
Bote heo me lovye, sore hit wol me rewe.
Wo is him that loveth the love that ner nul be trewe!
Ever ant oo, for my leof, Ich am in grete thohte,
Y thenche on hire that Y ne seo nout ofte.
Fayrest fode upo loft,
My gode luef, Y the greete
Ase fele sythe ant oft
As dewes dropes beth weete,
Ase sterres beth in welkne, ant grases sour ant suete.
Whose loveth untrewe, his herte is selde seete.
Ever ant oo, for my leof, Ich am in grete thohte,
Y thenche on hire that Y ne seo nout ofte.
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¶ Little does anyone know
How secret love may last,
Unless she be a noble woman
Who’s had much practice in love.
Her love lasts not at all long;
She’s promised me, yet blames me unjustly.
Ever and always, for my love, I am lost in thought,
I muse on her in my mind, the one I seldom see.
I would name her today
If I dared mention her;
She is the fairest maiden
Of all members of her kin.
Unless she loves me, she’ll commit sin on my account.
Woeful is he who loves the love that he may never win!
Ever and always, for my love, I am lost in thought,
I muse on her in my mind, the one I seldom see.
Down I fell before her soon
And cried, “Lady, your grace!
Lady, have mercy on your man.
Believe no false tales.
If you do, it will grieve me sorely.
Love afflicts me such that I may live no more.”
Ever and always, for my love, I am lost in thought,
I muse on her in my mind, the one I seldom see.
It is pleasing in her tower
With knights and with servants.
So too is it in her chamber,
With games and with love songs.
Unless she loves me, will it grieve me terribly.
Woe is he who loves the love that never will be true!
Ever and always, for my love, I am lost in thought,
I muse on her in my mind, the one I seldom see.
Fairest creature alive,
My good beloved, I greet you
As many times and as often
As dewdrops be wet,
As stars be in the sky, and herbs be bitter and sweet.
He who loves one untrue, his heart is seldom content.
Ever and always, for my love, I am lost in thought,
I muse on her in my mind, the one I seldom see.
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