Th answere that ye made to me my dere

Th answere that ye made to me my dere
Whan I did sewe for my poore hartes redresse
Hath so appal Id my countenaunce and my chere,
That yn this case I ame all comfortelesse
Sins I of blame no cawse can well expresse
I have no wrong where I can clayme no right :
Nowght tane me fro, whan I nothing have had :
Yete of my wo I can nott so be quyte :
Namely, sins that anothr may be glad
With that, that thus in sorowe makethe me sad.
Another, why, shall lyberty be bond !
Ffre hert may not be bond but by desert
Nor none can clayme I say by former graunte
That knowithe nott of any graunt att all
And by deserte I dare well make avaunt.
Of faythfull will, ther is no wher that shall
Bere you more trowthe, more redy att your call.
Now, good then call agayne that frendly worde
That selthe your frende in saving of his payne
And say, my dere, that itt was sayde in borde
Late or too sone lett that nott rule the gayne
Wher with free will trew deserte retayne.