Tmeiskin was jonck,
wel van passe, niet te groet.
Ic quam gheloepen met eenem spronck.
Ic custe se an haren roede mont.
Scoen lief, ghy compt zo selden.
Ey ridder, seyt so edel ghenoet,
hu liefde quelt my totter doet.
The maiden was young,
just the right size, not too big.
I came bounding towards her
and kissed her on her mouth so red.
‘Beloved, you come so rarely,’ (she said):
‘my knight, you are such a noble prince:
alas, love’s longing is killing me.’