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

[P] 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

[P] Pucell.

{Tho}ughe that I be yonge / yet I haue perceuera[un]ce
{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

[P] 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

[P] 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

[P] 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.

[P] Pucell.

Of late I sawe aboke of your makynge
Called the pastyme of pleasure