Trewly, I leve, in myn herte is writte, of perdurable letters, al the entencions of lamentacion that now ben y-nempned! For any 5 maner disese outward, in sobbing maner, sheweth sorowful yexinge from within. Thus from my comfort I ginne to spille, sith she that shulde me solace is fer fro my presence. Certes, her absence is to me an helle; my sterving deth thus in wo it myneth, that endeles care is throughout myne herte clenched; blisse of 10 my joye, that ofte me murthed, is turned in-to galle, to thinke on thing that may not, at my wil, in armes me hente! Mirth is chaunged in-to tene, whan swink is there continually that reste was wont to sojourne and have dwelling-place. Thus witless, thoughtful, sightles lokinge, I endure my penaunce in this derke prison, 15 +caitived fro frendshippe and acquaintaunce, and forsaken of al that any +word dare speke. Straunge hath by waye of intrucioun mad his home, there me shulde be, if reson were herd as he shulde. Never-the-later yet hertly, lady precious Margarit, have mynde on thy servaunt; and thinke on his disese, how lightles he 20 liveth, sithe the bemes brennende in love of thyn eyen are so bewent, that worldes and cloudes atwene us twey wol nat suffre my thoughtes of hem to be enlumined! Thinke that oon vertue of a Margarite precious is, amonges many other, the sorouful to comforte; yet +whyles that, me sorouful to comforte, is my lust 25 to have nought els at this tyme, d[r]ede ne deth ne no maner traveyle hath no power, myn herte so moche to fade, as shulde to here of a twinkling in your disese! Ah! god forbede that; but yet let me deye, let me sterve withouten any mesure of penaunce, rather than myn hertely thinking comfort in ought 30 were disesed! What may my service avayle, in absence of her that my service shulde accepte? Is this nat endeles sorowe to thinke? Yes, yes, god wot; myn herte breketh nigh a-sonder. How shulde the ground, without kyndly noriture, bringen forth any frutes? How shulde a ship, withouten a sterne, in the grete see 35 be governed? How shulde I, withouten my blisse, my herte, my desyre, my joye, my goodnesse, endure in this contrarious prison, that thinke every hour in the day an hundred winter? Wel may now Eve sayn to me, 'Adam, in sorowe fallen from welth, driven art thou out of paradise, with swete thy sustenaunce to beswinke!' 40 Depe in this pyninge pitte with wo I ligge y-stocked, with chaynes linked of care and of tene. It is so hye from thens I lye and the commune erth, there ne is cable in no lande maked, that might strecche to me, to drawe me in-to blisse; ne steyers to steye on is none; so that, without recover, endeles here to 45 endure, I wot wel, I [am] purveyed. O, where art thou now, frendship, that som-tyme, with laughande chere, madest bothe