mylk,
Yet right anon when that his dore is uppe,
He with his feet wil sporne doun his cuppe,
And to the woode he wil, and wormes ete;
So newefangled be thei in their mete,
And loven novelties of their owne kinde;
No gentilesse of bloode may them bynde.
So ferde this tercelet, allas the day!
Though he were gentil born, and fresshe, and gay,
And goodly for to see, and humble, and free,
He saw upon a tyme a kyte flee,
And sodeinly he loved thys kyte so,
That al his love is clene fro me go;
And hath his trouthe falsèd in this wyse.
Thus hathe the kite my love in hire servíse,
And I am lost withoute remedye.”
And with that word this faukon gan to crye,
And swounéd eft on Canacées arm.
Gret was the sorwe for the haukes harm,
That Canacee and alle hire wommen made;
They knew not how they mighte the fawkon glade.
But Canacee her bereth in her lappe,
And softely in plastres gan her wrappe,
Wher as she with her beek hath hurt her selve.
Now Canacee bigan the herbes delve
Out of the grounde, and maken salves newe
Of herbes precious and fyn of hewe,
To hele the hauk; and thus fro day to nyght
She doth her besynesse, and al her myght.
And made a cage by hir beddes-heed,
And it with blewe veluettes coverèd,
In signe of trouthe that is in wommen seene;
And al withoute the cage is peynted greene,
In which were peynted alle these false fowles,
As be these finches, tercelettes, and owles;
And magpies, on them for to crye and chyde,
Right for despyte were peynted them bysyde.

Thus leve I Canacee her hawk keeping.
I wil nomore as nowe speke of hir ryng,
Til it come eft to purpos for to seyn,
How that this faukon gat her love ageyn
Repentaunt, as the storie telleth us,
By mediacioun of Camballus
The kinges sone, of which that I you tolde;
But henceforth I wol my proces holde
To speke of áventúres, and of bataílles,
That yet was never herde so gret mervaílles.
First wil I telle you of Kambynskan,
That in his tyme many a cite wan;
And after wol I speke of Algarsif,
How that he wan Theodora to his wyf.
For which ful ofte in grete peril he was,
Hadde he not ben holpen by the hors of bras.
And after wil I speken of Camballo,
That faught in listes with the bretheren two
For Canacee, ere that he might hir wynne,
And where I lefte I wil ageyn bygynne.
Apollo whirleth up his car so hye
Til that the God Mercurius hous the slye

(This tale was never finished.)