By Geoffrey Chaucer
WomUnc 1 Madame, for your newefangelnesse
WomUnc 2 Many a servaunt have ye put out of grace.
WomUnc 3 I take my leve of your unstedfastnesse,
WomUnc 4 For wel I wot, whyl ye have lyves space,
WomUnc 5 Ye can not love ful half yeer in a place,
WomUnc 6 To newe thing your lust is ay so kene.
WomUnc 7 In stede of blew, thus may ye were al grene.
WomUnc 8 Right as a mirour nothing may impresse,
WomUnc 9 But, lightly as it cometh, so mot it pace,
WomUnc 10 So fareth your love, your werkes beren witnesse.
WomUnc 11 Ther is no feith that may your herte enbrace,
WomUnc 12 But as a wedercok, that turneth his face
WomUnc 13 With every wind, ye fare, and that is sene;
WomUnc 14 In stede of blew, thus may ye were al grene.
WomUnc 15 Ye might be shryned for your brotelnesse
WomUnc 16 Bet than Dalyda, Creseyde or Candace,
WomUnc 17 For ever in chaunging stant your sikernesse;
WomUnc 18 That tache may no wight fro your herte arace.
WomUnc 19 If ye lese oon, ye can wel tweyn purchace;
WomUnc 20 Al light for somer (ye woot wel what I mene),
WomUnc 21 In stede of blew, thus may ye were al grene.