poore man, to whome my servauntes have done moche vylany. A! fayre sone thou hast suffred them right swetely and debonayrly. Alas, thou that were my trust, my comforte, and my solace in myn olde age, how mightest thou hide ye from me, that am thy sorowfull moder, who shall gyve to myn eyen from hens forth a fountayn of teres for to make payne unto ye sorowe of my herte. And after this came the wyfe of Alexis in wepyng throwynge herselfe upon the body, and with grete syghes and heuyness sayd, Right swete frende and spouse whome longe I haue desyred to se, and chastely I haue to ye kept myselfe lyke a turtle yt alone without make[1] wayleth and wepeth, and loo here is my ryght swete husbonde, whome I have desyred to se alyue, and now I se hym deed, fro hens forth I wote not in whome I shall haue fyaunce ne hope. Certes my solace is deed, and in sorowe I shall be unto ye deth. For now fortho[2] I am ye most unhappy amonge all women, and rekened amonge the sorowfull wydowes. And after these pyteous complayntes ye people wepte for the deth of Alexis. The pope made the body to be taken up and to be put into a shryne, and borne unto ye chirche. And whan it was borne through ye cyte ryght grete
