Ons as me thought fortune me kyst

Ons as me thought fortune me kyst,
And bad me aske what I thought best
And I should have it as me list,
Therewith to set my hert in rest.

I asked nought but my dere hert
To have for evermore myn owne ;
Then at an ende were all my smert,
Then should I nede no more mone.

Yet for all that, a stormy blast
Had overtorned this goodely day.
And fortune semed at the last
That to her promes she saide nay.

But, like as oon out of dispere
To soudden hope revived I ;
Now fortune sheweth herself so fayer
That I content me wonderly.

My moost desire my hand may reche
My will is alwaye at my hand ;
Me nede not long for to be seche
Her that hath power me to command.

What erthely thing more can I crave ?
What would I wisshe more at my will ?
No thing on erth more would I have,
Save that I have, to have it still.

Ffor fortune hath kept her promes.
In graunting me my moost desir;
Of my sufferaunce I have redres.
And I content me with my hiere.