Of Lancelot du Lake

tell i no more

But this by leave

these ermytes seven.

But still Kynge Arthur

lieth there, and Quene Guenever,

As I you newyn.

 

And Monkes

That are right of lore

Who synge with moulded stewyn

Ihesu, who hath woundes sore,

Grant us the blyss of Heaven.