John Lydgate

“ With feble entune, though it thyn herte perce,
Yet for thy sake this lettre I do reherce.
God wot, on musike I can not, but I gesse,
(Alas! why so?) that I might say or singe, 30
So love I you, myn own soverain maistresse,
And ever shal, withouten départinge. ”

“ Wherfore I say, for tristesse doth me grame, 55
Tant me fait mal departir de ma dame!
Why nere my wisshing brought to suche esploit
That I might say, for joye of your presence,
'Ore a man cuer ce quil veuilloit,
Ore a man cuer the highest excellence 60
That ever had wight;' and sith myn advertence
Is in you, reweth on my paynes smerte,
I am so sore wounded to the herte.
To live wel mery, two lovers were y-fere,
So may I say withouten any blame; 65
If any man [per cas] to wilde were,
I coude him [sonë] teche to be tame ”