Pucell

I denye not but that your dedes do shewe By meruaylous prowes / truely your gentylnesse To make you a carter / there were not afewe But tho by crafte / whiche thought you to oppresse To accombre them selfe applye the besynesse yet thynke not you / so soone to se a cradle I graunt you loue / whan ye were golden sadle