Page 167
XVII Lettyr
My best belouyd lady and maistresse,
To whom I must of verey ryght obey,
I, wofull wyght, lyuyng in heuynesse,
Wyth-out coumfort, I wot nat what to say;
As oftyn tyme as thought ymagyn may, [ 5]
Wyth hert, body, my trouth and my seruyse,
I recomawnde me in ryght lowly wyse.
And yf it please yow to your gentyllesse
To haue knowlech as of my pore estate, [ 10]
Myn hert ys seke, and lythe in gret dystresse, [fol. 325]
Wyth-outyn help of Ioy full desperate.
I seke refuyt, it comyth alle to late.
That I wold faynest haue, ther-of I fayle,
And though I playn, yt is to non avayle.
But your presence wold put alle thys away [ 15]
And make me hole of alle myn gret greuaunce;
Wher-for to god wyth all myn hert I pray
To sende yt sone, and yit be hys plesaunce.
For, trysteth treuly, in my remembraunce
Is non so mych as only your parsone, [ 20]
That knowyth god, that made us euerychone.
I wryte no more, but god in trinite
He be your guerdon of hys [hye] goodnesse,
And be your sheld from all aduersyte
From mysfortune and from alle hevynesse, [ 25]
Long endure in Ioie and in gladnesse.
Wrytyn in hast of verey trouth to say,
At [Space. In the margin some hand inserts the assumpcion.] vpon our lady day.