“What do ye, honeycomb, sweet Alisoún? My fairë bird, my sweet cinamomé, 1137 Awaken, leman 1138 mine, and speak to me. Full little thinkë ye upon my woe, That for your love I sweat there as 1139 I go. No wonder is that I do swelt 1140 and sweat. I mourn as doth a lamb after the teat. Y-wis, 1141 leman, I have such love-longíng, That like a turtle true is my mourníng. I may not eat, no morë than a maid.” “Go from the window, thou jack fool,” she said: “As help me God, it will not be, come ba me. 1142 I love another, else I were to blamë, Well better than thee, by Jesus, Absolon.