Though Mars shal helpe his knight, yet natheless Bitwixe yow ther moot be som tyme pees, Al be ye noght of o compleccioun, That causeth al day swich divisioun. I am thyn aiel, redy at thy wille; Weep now namoore, I wol thy lust fulfille.
In al this world, that som tyme he ne deyde. This world nys but a thurghfare ful of wo, Andwe been pilgrymes, passynge to and fro. Deeth is an ende of every worldly soore.
And though he were a povre bachelor, Syn he hath served yow so many a yeer, And had for yow so greet adversitee, It moste been considered, leeveth me; For gentil mercy oghte to passen right.