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Vile woman, and abandoned quean,

Most foully I deceived have been

In days gone by, by your false tongue,

Which hath my watchful care unstrung,

To that vile libertine the bliss

Permitting, my sweet Rose to kiss;

The devil ’twas that drove me on,

Good-natured fool, to grant the boon,

But, by the holy body of God,

My patient kindness you’ve out-trod,

And now past doubt shall surely die.

Then doth the helpless damsel cry

Mercy in name of God’s sweet love,

Unable thence one step to move,

While shakes the boor his club in air,

Rages, and by all saints doth swear

That die she must without delay.

Pity looks on in dire dismay

One moment, then all unafraid

Of Danger, runs to Franchise’ aid.

Within her hand she grasped a sword

Of steel, yclept a misericorde.

By way of weapon, which with tears

She bathed, o’ercome with hopes and fears.

This sword, unless the author lie,

Will adamant pierce readily,

(The keenness of its point is such,)

How slight soe’er may be the touch.

Her shield of solacing was made,

And round its edges were displayed

VOL. III.