In a valley of this restles mind I sought in mountain and in mead, Trusting a true love for to find. Upon an hill then took I heed; A voice I heard (and near I yede) In great dolour complaining tho: See, dear soul, how my sides bleed _Quia amore langueo_. Upon this hill I found a tree, Under a tree a man sitting; From head to foot wounded was he; His hearte blood I saw bleeding: A seemly man to be a king, A gracious face to look unto. I askèd why he had paining; [He said,] _Quia amore langueo_. _24._ yede] went. I am true love that false was never; My sister, man’s soul, I loved her thus. Because we would in no wise dissever I left my kingdom glorious. I purveyed her a palace full precious; She fled, I followed, I loved her so That I suffered this pain piteous _Quia amore langueo_. My fair love and my spouse bright! I saved her from beating, and she hath me bet; I clothed her in grace and heavenly light; This bloody shirt she hath on me set; For longing of love yet would I not let; Sweete strokes are these: lo! I have loved her ever as I her het _Quia amore langueo_. I crowned her with bliss and she me with thorn; I led her to chamber and she me to die; I brought her to worship and she me to scorn; I did her reverence and she me villany. To love that loveth is no maistry; Her hate made never my love her foe: Ask me then no question why-- _Quia amore langueo_. Look unto mine handes, man! These gloves were given me when I her sought; They be not white, but red and wan; Embroidered with blood my spouse them brought. They will not off; I loose hem nought: het] promised. I woo her with hem wherever she go. These hands for her so friendly fought _Quia amore langueo_. Marvel not, man, though I sit still. See, love hath shod me wonder strait: Buckled my feet, as was her will, With sharpe nails (well thou may’st wait!) In my love was never desait; All my membres I have opened her to; My body I made her herte’s bait _Quia amore langueo_. In my side I have made her nest; Look in, how weet a wound is here! This is her chamber, here shall she rest, That she and I may sleep in fere. Here may she wash, if any filth were; Here is seat for all her woe; Come when she will, she shall have cheer _Quia amore langueo_. I will abide till she be ready, I will her sue if she say nay; If she be retchless I will be greedy, If she be dangerous I will her pray; If she weep, then bide I ne may: Mine arms ben spread to clip her me to. Cry once, I come: now, soul, assay _Quia amore langueo_. Fair love, let us go play: Apples ben ripe in my gardayne. bait] resting-place. weet] wet. in fere] together.