Pucell

Ye, so sayd they, tyll that they had their wyll; Theyr wyll accomplysshed, they dyd fle at large; For men say wel, but they thinke full yll. Though outwarde swetenes your tonge doth enlarge, Yet of your heart I never can have charge; For men do love, as I am right sure, Nowe one, now other, after theyr pleasure.