To you,
my purse, and to no other wight
Complain I, for you be my lady dear!
I am so sorry,
now that you be light;
For certes, but you make me haevy cheer,
Me were as lief be laid upon my bier;
for which unto your mercy thus I cry:
Be heavy again, or else must I die.
Tokek... where are u????
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