Pucell

Stande up, quod she; I marvayle of this cace, What sodayne love hath you so arayde Wyth so great payne your heart to embrace? And why for me ye should be so dismayde? As of your lyfe ye nede not to be afrayde. For ye of me now have no greater awe, But whan ye lyst ye may your love wythdraw.