About her necke whyte as ony lyly A prety chayne of the fynest golde Some lynkes with grene enameled truely And some were blacke / the whiche I dyde beholde The vaynes blewe / in her fayre necke well tolde With her swete vysage tydynges to my herte That sodynly my thoughtes were asterte Her gowne was golde / of the clothe of tyssewe With armyns poudred / and wyde sleues pendaunt Her kyrtell grene of the fyne satyn newe To bere her longe trayne / was well attendaunt Gentyll dame dylygence / neuer varyaunt Than as touchynge her noble stature I thynke there can be / no goodlyer creature As of her aege / so tendre and grene Fayre / gracyous / prudent / and louynge humylyte Her vertue shyneth / beynge bryght and shene In her is nether pryde ne sybtylte Her gentyll herte / enclyneth to bounte Thus beaute / godlynesse / vertue / grace / and wytte With bounte and mekenesse / in this lady is knytte ¶ Amour. Thus whan my eyes hadde beholde her wele Madame I sayd how may I now be gladde But sygh and sorowe with herte euery dele Longe haue I loued / and lytell conforte hadde Wherfore no wonder though that I be sadde Your tendre age / full lytell knoweth ywys To loue vnloued / what wofull payne it is ¶ Pucell. {Tho}ughe that I be yonge / yet I haue perceueraũce {Th}at ther is no lady / yf that she gentyll be {And} ye haue with her ony acquayntaunce And after cast / to her your amyte Grounded on honoure / without duplycyte I wolde thynke in mynde / she wolde condescende To graunt your fauoure / yf ye none yll intende ¶ Amour. A fayre lady I haue vnto her spoken That I loue best / and she dooth not it knowe Though vnto her / I haue my mynde broken Her beaute clere / dooth my herte ouerthrowe Whan I do se her / my herte booth sobbe I trowe Wherfore fayre lady / all dysparate of conforte I speke vnknowen / I must to wo resorte ¶ Pucell. Me thynke ye speke / now vnder parable Do ye se her here / whiche is cause of your grefe Yf ye so dyde / that sholde I be able As in this cause / te be to your relefe Ryght lothe I were to se your myschefe For ye knowe well / what case that I am yn Peryllous it wolde be / or that ye coude me wyne ¶ Amour. Madame sayd I / thoughe myn eyes se her not Made dymme [with] wepynde / & with grete wo togyder Yet dooth myn herte / at this tyme I wote Her excellent beaute / ryght inwardly concyder Good fortune I trust / hath now brought me hyder To se your mekenes / whiche doth her rapyre Whose swete conforte / dooth kepe me fro dyspayre. ¶ Pucell. Of late I sawe aboke of your makynge Called the pastyme of pleasure / whiche is wõd{erous} For I thynge and you had not ben in louynge Ye coude neuer haue made it so sentencyo{us} I redde there all your passage daungerous Wherfore I wene for the fayre ladyes sake That ye dyd loue / ye dyde that boke so make ¶ Amour.