In such mannér as ye me shrive,[1]
For no woman that is alive.
The cause why I have it laft,[2]
Way be, for[3] I unto that craft,
Am nothing able for to steal,
Though there be women not so fele,[4]
But yet will I not say-e this,
When I am where my lady is,
In whom lieth wholly my quarrél,
And she to church or to chapél
Will go to matins or to mess,[5]
That time I wait-e well and guess.
To church I come, and there I stand,
And tho'[6] I take a book in hand,
My countenance is on the book,
But toward her is all my look;
And if so fallen[7] that I pray
Unto my God, and somewhat say
Of Pater Noster, or of creed,
All is for that I wold-e speed,
So that my bead in holy church,
There might-e some mirácle wirche,[8]
My lady's heart-e for to change,
Which ever hath been to me so strange.
So that all my devotión,
And all my contemplatión,
With all mine heart, and my couráge,
I only set on her imáge,
And ever I wait-e upon the tide,
If she look any thing aside,
That I me may of her advise:
Anon I am with covetise[9]
So smit, that me were lefe[10]
To be in holy church a thief.
But not to steal, a vest-e-ment,
For that is nothing my talént;
But I would steal, if that I might,
Á glad word, or a goodly sight.
And ever my servíce I proffer,
And namely, when she will go, offer,
For then I lead her, if I may:
For somewhat would I steal away
When I beclip her on the waist;
Yet at least, I steal a taste.
And other while 'grant mercy,'[11]
She saith. And so were I thereby
A lusty touch, a good word eke,
But all the rem-e-nant to seek,
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