A Balade Of Complaint
Compleyne
ne
koude,
ne
might
myn
herte
never,
My
peynes
halve,
ne
what
torment
I
have,
Though
that
I
sholde
in
your
presence
ben
ever,
Myn
hertes
lady,
as
wisly
he
me
save
That
Bountee
made,
and
Beautee
list
to
grave
In
your
persone,
and
bad
hem
bothe
in-fere
Ever
t'awayte,
and
ay
be
wher
ye
were.
As
wisly
he
gye
alle
my
joyes
here
As
I
am
youres,
and
to
yow
sad
and
trewe,
And
ye,
my
lyf
and
cause
of
my
gode
chere,
And
deeth
also,
whan
ye
my
peynes
newe,
My
worldes
joye,
whom
I
wol
serve
and
sewe,
Myn
heven
hool,
and
al
my
suffisaunce,
Whom
for
to
serve
is
set
al
my
plesaunce.
Beseching
yow
in
my
most
humble
wyse
T'accepte
in
worth
this
litel
pore
dyte,
And
for
my
trouthe
my
servyce
not
despyse,
Myn
observaunce
eke
have
not
in
despyte,
Ne
yit
to
longe
to
suffren
in
this
plyte;
I
yow
beseche,
myn
hertes
lady,
here,
Sith
I
yow
serve,
and
so
wil
yeer
by
yere.
