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For Fate with an ill-omened hand hath wrought upon our loves And hindered me from my delight and her from hers, yfere. Indeed, what time it filled the cup, whereof she drank what I E'en made her drink, it poured us out grief, all unmixed and sheer.
Come then, O Love, thou source of all my weal, All hope and every issue glad and bright Sing ye awhile yfere Of sighs nor bitter pains I erst did feel, That now but sweeten to me thy delight, Nay, but of that fire clear, Wherein I, burning, live in joy and cheer, And as my God, thy name do magnify.
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