Al be Gre that he ban nat wel endite
Yet Gatt he made low de folle selyte
to serve you/m preyfinge of your name
Be made the book that Gigte the hons of ffame
and che the death of Blanche the Ducheffe
And the plement of foules, as 9 gespe
and at the love of palamon and arate
Pf Thebes, those the slovye yo nomen byte
And many an Emone for your haldayes
What Gighten Balades woundels melayco
And for to fpeke of other Golnesse
Be Gath in proce translated (Bocce
And maade the lyfe als of feynt scale
He made also soon yo a grete while
Purgence Apon the wandeleyne
hym ongite now to have the leffe peyne
The Gatt maade many alay and many athinge
How do ye be a god, and ele a lynge
ad your Alceste whilond grene of trace
afle you this mand/vyste of your grace
hat ye him never Hietem at his Give
And he thal Avered to you and that blive
he shat never more agilten in the wyse
But shal maken as ye wol dempse
of women trewe in lobyng al hue lyfe
wher so ye wol of mayden 02 of wyfe
And forthven you, as much as he mys safe
Dzm the hole or olles m Creforde
#he god of love, anfierede hne ancon
Badame quod Be it is so long agoon
#Bat
#9 you knome, so charitable and the
What mener you son that the worlde was newe
to me ne founde y better mon than yee
If that ye molde have my degree
may ne wolnat/weone your regnefte Al hett in you, dooth myth hynd, as you lifte Jal al fozyève withoneen longer Apace