The Canterbury Tales: The Miller's Tale
Under his tonge a trewe-love he beer,
For therby wende he to ben gracious.
Wel litel thenken ye upon my wo,
That for youre love I swete ther I go.
No wonder is thogh that I swelte and swete,
I moorne as doth a lamb after the tete.
Y-wis lemman, I have swich love-longinge,
That lyk a turtel trewe is my moorninge.