O! mestress, why
Outecaste am I
All utterly
From your pleasaunce?
Sithe ye and I
Or this, truly,
Familiarly
Have had pastaunce.

And, lovingly,
Ye wolde apply
Thy company
To my comforte:
But now, truly,
Unlovingly,
Ye do deny
Me to resorte.

And me to see
As strange ye be
As thowe that ye
Shuld nowe deny,
Or else possess
That nobleness
To be Dochess
Of grete Savoy.

But sithe that ye
So strange will be
As toward me,
And will not medill,
I truste, percase,
To finde some grace
To have free chaise,
And spede as well.