These lines I read, and getting them by rote, took them for my device, for they bid the lover thrust himself foremost in the press, and in breach, mine, and escalade.
S'en assault viens, devant te lance, En mine, en eschielle, en tous lieux Ou proesce les bons avance, Ta Dame t'en aimera mieux.
But reading soon grew a weariness to me, as my life was, and my master coming home, bade me be of better cheer.
"By St.Andrew," quoth he, "this is no new malady of thine, but well known to leeches from of old, and never yet was it mortal! Remede there is none, save to make ballades and rondels, and forget sorrow in hunting rhymes, if thou art a maker.

Thou art none?
Nay, nor ever was I, lad; but I have had this disease, and yet you see me whole and well.

Come, lend me a hand at painting in these lilies; it passes not thy skill." So I wrought some work whereof I have reason to be proud, for these lilies were carried wheresoever blows and honour were to be won, ay, and where few might follow them.

Meanwhile, my master devised with me about such sights as he had seen on the way, and how great a concourse was on pilgrimage to Puy, and how, if prayers availed, the cause of France was won; "and yet, in England too, wives are praying for their lords, and lasses for their lads in France.

But ours is the better quarrel." So that weary day went by, one of the longest that I have known, and other days, till now the leech said that I might go back to the castle, though that I might march to the wars he much misdoubted.