So may I sayne that witħ a loke am yolde And haue no power to stryue thaugħ I wolde Thus stonde I euer betwix lif and detħ To loue and serue whyle I haue bretħ In suche a place where I dar not pleyne Liche hym that is in torment and in peyne And knowetħ not to whom to discure For ther that I haue holly set my aire I dar not wel for drede ne for daunger And for vnknowen tellen how the fyre Of loues bronde is kyndlid in my breste Thus am I murdred and slayn atte leste So priuely witħyn my thought O lady venus whom I haue sought So wysse me now what me is best to doo That am distraught witħ my self so That I ne wote what way for to torne Sauf by my self soleyn for to morne Hangyng in balance betwix hope and drede Witħ oute comfort remedye or rede For hope biddetħ pursue and assaye And agaynward drede answertħ naye And now witħ hope I am set a lofte But drede and daunger hard & nothyng softe Hatħ ouerthrowe my trust and put a doun Now at my large, now fetred in prisoun Now in torment, now in souerayn glorye Now in paradyse and now in purgatorye As man dispayred in a double were Born vp witħ hope, and theñe anon daunger Me drawetħ aback, and saitħ it shal not be For where as I of myne aduersite Am bolde somwhyle mercy to requyre Thenne cometħ dispair & gynnetħ me to lere A newe lesson to hope ful the contrary They be so diuerse they wil do me varye And thus I stand dismayed in a traunce For whan that hope were likly me tauaunce For drede I tremble & dar one word not speke And yf hit so be, that I not out breke To telle the harmes that greuen me so sore But in my self encrece them more and more And to be slayn fully me delyte When of my detħ she is nothing to wyte For but yf she my constreynt plainly knewe How shold she euer, on my peynes rue Thus oft tyme witħ hope I am meuyd To tel her aƚƚ, how I am greuyd And to be hardy on me for to take To axe mercy, but drede dotħ me theñe awake And than wanhop answertħ me agayn That better were than she haue disdayn To dye attones vnknowe of ony wight And ther witħ aƚƚ biddetħ hope anon right Me, to be bold and prayen her of grace And fitħ alle vertues be portreyd in her face Hit were not sittyng, that pyte were behynde And right anon witħyn my self I fynde A newe plee brought on me witħ drede That me so masetħ that I see no spede Be cause he saitħ that stonyetħ al my blood I am so symple and she is so good Thus hope & drede in me wyl not sece To plete and stryue my harmys to encrece But at hardest yet or I be dede Of my distresse sitħ I can no rede But stande dom̄ styl as ony stone To fore the goddesse I wil me haste anoñ And compleyne witħ oute more sermoñ Thougħ detħ be fyn and ful conclusion Of my request, yet I wyl assaye And right anon me thought I saye This woful man as I haue memorye Ful lowly entre in to an oratorye And knelid a doun in ful humble wyse To fore the goddesse and gan anon deuyse His pitous quarel witħ a doleful chere Sayng right this as ye shaƚƚ here .The compleynt of the man.