| Madame, ye ben of al beaute shryne |
| As fer as cercled is the mapamounde, |
| For as the cristal glorious ye shyne, |
| And lyke ruby ben your chekes rounde. |
| 5 | Therwith ye ben so mery and so jocounde |
| That at a revel whan that I see you daunce, |
| It is an oynement unto my wounde, |
| Thogh ye to me ne do no daliaunce. |
| |
| For thogh I wepe of teres ful a tyne, |
| 10 | Yet may that wo myn herte nat confounde; |
| Your semy voys that ye so smal out twyne |
| Maketh my thoght in joy and blis habounde. |
| So curtaysly I go with love bounde |
| That to myself I sey in my penaunce, |
| 15 | "Suffyseth me to love you, Rosemounde, |
| Thogh ye to me ne do no daliaunce." |
| |
| Nas never pyk walwed in galauntyne |
| As I in love am walwed and ywounde, |
| For which ful ofte I of myself devyne |
| 20 | That I am trewe Tristam the secounde. |
| My love may not refreyde nor affounde, |
| I brenne ay in an amorous plesaunce. |
| Do what you lyst, I wyl your thral be founde, |
| Thogh ye to me ne do no daliaunce. |
| |
| tregentil¯¯¯¯¯¯¯¯//¯¯¯¯¯¯¯chaucer |