3163   ffor feer of hym I tremblyde and quoke,
3164   So cherlishly his heed it shoke;
3165   And seide, if eft he myght me take,
3166   I shulde not from his hondis scape.
3167   Thanne Bialacoil is fledde and mate,
3168   And I all soole, disconsolate,
3169   Was left aloone in peyne and thought;
3170   ffor shame, to deth I was nygh brought.
3171   Thanne thought I on myn high foly,
3172   How that my body, utterly,
3173   Was yeve to peyne and to martire;
3174   And therto hadde I so gret ire,
3175   That I ne durst the hayes passe;
3176   There was noon hope, there was no grace.
3177   I trowe nevere man wiste of peyne,
3178   But he were laced in loves cheyne;
3179   Ne no man, and sooth it is,
3180   But if he love, what anger is.
3181   Love holdith his heest to me right wele,
3182   Whanne peyne he seide I shulde fele.
3183   Noon herte may thenke, ne tunge seyne,
3184   A quarter of my woo and peyne.
3185   I myght not with the anger laste;
3186   Myn herte in poynt was forto barste,