Your eyen two wol sleye me sodenly/I may the beauté of hem nat susteyene

     Merciles Beaute
     A Triple Roundel

Your yen two wol slee me sodenly;
I may the beautee of hem not sustene,
So woundeth hit throughout my herte kene.

And but your word wol helen hastily
My hertes wounde, while that hit is grene.
     Your eyen two wol slee me sodenly;
     I may the beautee of hem not sustene.

Upon my trouthe I say you feithfully
That ye ben of my lyf and deeth the quene;
For with my deeth the trouthe shal be
          sene.
     Your eyen two wol slee me sodenly;
     I may the beautee of hem not sustene,
     So woundelth it throughout my herte 
          kene.

          II
So hath your beautee fro your herte chaced
Pitee, that me ne availeth not to pleyne;
For Daughter halt your mercy in his cheyne.


Giltless my deeth thus han ye me purchaced;
I sey you sooth, me nedeth not to feyne;
     So hath your beautee fro your herte
          chanced
     Pitee, that me ne availeth not to
          pleyne.

Alas! that Nature hath in you compassed
So greet beautee, that no man mey atteyne
To mercy, though he sterve for the peyne.
     So hath your beautee fro your herte
          chaced
     Pitee, that me ne availeth no to
          pleyne;
     For Daughter halt your mercy in his
          cheyne.

      III
Sin I fro Love escaped am so fat,
I never thenk to ben in his prison lene;
Sin I am free, I counte him not a bene.

He may answere, and seye this and that;
I do no fors, I speke right as I mene.
     Sin I fro Love escaped am so fat,
     I never thenk to ben in his prison lene.

Love hath my name ystrike out of his scalt,
And he is strike out of my bokes clene
For evermo; [ther] is non other mene.
     Sin I fro Love escaped am so fat,
     I never thenk to ben in his prison lene;
     Sin I am free, I counte him not a bene.

--Geoffrey Chaucer, British poet.

The Complete Works of Geoffrey Chaucer, ed. F.N. Robinson, Boston and New York: Houghton Mifflin Company, 1933, pg. 638