| | Not but . v . or . vj . of her meyne | |
| | And in a trenche ferre in a park goth she | |
| 385 | The vapour whiche fro the erthe glode | |
| | Makith the sonne to seme rody and brood | |
| | But neuerthelesse it was fair of sighte | |
| | That it made alle her hertis for to lighte | |
| | What for the seson and the Mornynge | |
| 390 | And for the fowlis that she herde synge | |
| | For right anon she wiste what they ment | |
| | Right be here song and knew al her entent | |
| | The knotte why that euery tale is told | |
| | If it be taried til lust be colde | |
| 395 | Of hem that haue it harkened aftir yore | |
| | The sauour passith and euer lenger the more | |
| | For fulsamnes of prolixite | |
| | And by the same reson thinkith me | |
| | I sholde vnto the knotte condescende | |
| 400 | And make of hir walkyng an ende | |
| | A mydde a tre for drede as whyte as chalk | |
| | As Canace was pleyynge in her walk | |
| | Ther sat a fawcon ouer her hed ful hye | |
| | That with a pitous voys so gan to crye | |
| 405 | That al the wode resowned of her crye | |
| | And beten hadde her self so pitouslye | |
| | With bothe her wyngis til the rede blood | |
| | Ran endlong the tre as she stood | |
| | And euyr in one she cryde alwey & shright | |
| 410 | And with her bek her self she pyght | |
| | That ther nas tigre nor cruel beste | |
